Dark night had closed in upon Beechwood, but in the sick-room a light was dimly burning, showing the white face of the invalid, who was sleeping quietly now. The crisis was passed, and weak as a little child he lay, powerless and helpless beneath the mighty weight of sorrow which had fallen upon him.
Geraldine had been sitting with him, but when she saw that it was nine, she cautiously left the room, and stealing down the stairs, joined the Judge and Mr. Thornton in the parlor. Sinking into a chair and leaning her head upon it, she did not seem to hear the hasty step in the hall; but when Hepsy’s shrill voice said, “Good evenin’, gentle folks,” she looked up, apparently surprised to see the old lady there at that hour of the night.
“Have you heard from Oliver?” she asked; and Hepsy answered:
“Not a word. I’m gettin’ awful consarned; but that ain’t what brung me here. Feelin’ lonesome-like without Clubs, thinks to me, I’ll look over the chest where I keep Hannah’s things.”
“An all-fired good way to get rid of the blues,” said the Judge, while Hepsy continued:
“Amongst the things was a box, which must have been put away unopened, for I found in it this letter concerning Mildred,” and she held up the bit of paper which, having been nicely rubbed and smoked by Geraldine, looked old and rather soiled.
“Let me see it,” said the Judge, and adjusting his spectacles, he read aloud a letter from Esther Bennett, telling Hannah Hawkins that Mildred was the child of Helen Thornton, and bidding her keep it a secret. “This confirms it,” he said. “There is no need now of your sifting the matter as we intended to do,” and he handed the half sheet to Mr. Thornton just as the sound of many feet was heard in the hall without.
Richard, Oliver, Mildred and Edith had come! The latter being fast asleep, was deposited upon the floor, with Mildred’s satchel for a pillow, and while Mildred stole off upstairs, promising her father only to look into Lawrence’s room, and not to show herself to him, Richard and Oliver advanced into the parlor.
“Clubs! Clubs!” screamed Hepsy, catching him round the neck. “Where have you been?”
Oliver did not answer, but sat watching Richard, who was gazing at his father with an expression upon his face something like what it wore when first he recognized his daughter. Every eye in the room was turned toward him, but none scanned his features so curiously as did the old Judge.