“Rich!” he answered. He did not say another word for a moment, then he went slowly up to his wife, and took her hand.
“Mildred,” he said slowly, “do you realize—do you at all realize the fact that the child is dying?”
“Nonsense,” she answered, starting back.
“The child is dying,” repeated Ogilvie, “and when the child dies, any motive that I ever had for amassing gold, or any of those things which are considered essential to the worldly man’s happiness, goes out. After the child is taken, I have no desire to live as a wealthy man, as a man of society, as a man of means. Life to me is reduced to the smallest possible modicum of interest. When I went to Queensland, I went there because I wished to secure money for the child. I did bitter wrong, and God is punishing me, but I sinned for her sake.... I now repent of my sin, and repentance means——”
“What?” she asked, looking at him with round, dilated eyes.
“Restitution,” he replied; “all the restitution that lies in my power.”
“You—you terrify me,” said Mrs. Ogilvie; “what are you talking about? Restitution! What have you to give back?”
“Listen, and I will explain. You knew, Mildred—oh, yes, you knew it well enough—that I went to Australia on no honorable mission. You did not care to inquire, you hid yourself behind a veil of pretended ignorance; but you knew—yes, you did, and you dare not deny it—that I went to Queensland to commit a crime. It would implicate others if I were to explain things more fully. I will not implicate others, I will stand alone now, in this bitter moment when the fruit of my sin is brought home to me. I will bear the responsibility of my own sin. I will not drag anybody else down in my fall, but it is sufficient for you to know, Mildred, that the Lombard Deeps Mine as a speculation is worthless.”
“Worthless!” she cried, “impossible!”