"Sir, I must tell you of my father, that man whom you (and I do not wonder) consider so bad—so low! When I read that will yesterday—when I saw with my own eyes what a fraud had been committed, what a great, great evil had been done, I felt in my first misery that I almost hated my father! I said to myself, 'Let him be punished!' I would have helped you then to bring him to punishment. I think you saw that?"
"I did, Miss Harman. I can see as far through a stone wall as most people. I saw that you were a bit stunned, and I thought it but fair that you should have time to calm down."
"You were kind to me. You acted as a good man and a gentleman. Then I scarcely cared what happened to my father; now I do."
"Ay, ay, young lady, natural feelings must return. I am very sorry for you."
"Mr. Wilson, I hope to make you yet more sorry. I must tell you more. When I saw you yesterday I knew that my father was ill—I knew that he was in appearance an old man, a broken down man, a very unhappy man; but since I saw you yesterday I have learned that he is a dying man—that old man against whom I hardened my heart so yesterday is going fast to judgment. The knowledge of this was kept from me, for my father so loved me, so guarded me all my life that he could not bear that even a pin's point of sorrow should rest upon me. After seeing you yesterday, and leaving you, I visited some poor people who, not knowing that the truth was hidden from me, spoke of it as a well known fact. I went away from them with my eyes opened. I only wondered they had been closed so long. I went away, and this morning I did more. I visited one of the greatest and cleverest doctors in London. This doctor my father, unknown to me, had for some time consulted. I asked him for his candid opinion on my father's case. He gave it to me. Nothing can save my father. My father must die! But he told me more; he said that the nature of his complaint was such that any shock must instantly kill him. He said without that shock he may live for months; not many months, but still for a few. Hearing this, I took the doctor still further into my confidence. I told him that a wrong had been committed—that during my father's lifetime that wrong could not be set right without his knowledge. I said that he must know something which would disgrace him. His answer was this: 'As his medical man, I forbid him to know; such a knowledge will cause certain and instant death.'"
Charlotte paused. Wilson, now deeply interested, even appalled, was gazing at her earnestly.
"I know Charlotte Home," continued Miss Harman; "and, as I said just now, I would see her now. Yes, she has needed money; she has longed for money; she has been cruelly wronged—most cruelly treated! Still, I think, if I pleaded long enough and hard enough, she would have mercy; she would not hurry that old man to so swift a judgment; she would spare him for those few, few months to which his life is now limited. It is for those months I plead. He is a dying man. I want nothing to be done during those months. Afterwards—afterwards I will promise, if necessary sign any legal paper you bring to me, that all that should have been hers shall be Charlotte Home's—I restore it all! Oh, how swiftly and how gladly! All I plead for are those few months."
Wilson was silent.
Charlotte suddenly looking at him almost lost her self-control.
"Must I go down on my knees to you, sir? I will if it is necessary. I will here—even here do so, if it is necessary."