"Was he not sane when he accused you—the double-dyed perjurer?" exclaimed Captain Campbell, fiercely, "Oh, why does God permit such frightful injustice to go so long unpunished? Where slept His thunderbolts that this demon in human form was not stricken dead where he stood?"
"Guy, my dear boy, be calm," interposed Mr. Brantwell. "God is His own interpreter; and in His own good time has seen fit to save your sister. Let what is past be forgotten—'let by-gones be by-gones.'"
"But Christie has not told us yet how she was saved." said Sibyl; "all that is still involved in mystery."
Faintly, and in broken sentences, for her strength was failing fast, Christie related all that the reader already knows. To explain the presence of Bertha on the island, it was necessary, however painful it might be, to tell her story; and Guy and Sibyl listened in sorrow and amazement.
"Then my father's wife lives yet," said Sibyl, slowly.
"And now I remember, though indistinctly, like a dream, of catching a glimpse of a tall, dark, handsome Woman in the upper rooms of the old lodge, when I was a boy," said Guy, thoughtfully. "It is strange I thought so little of it at the time, for her presence there was singular. What terrible revelations time brings to light! Who would ever suppose my father could have done such a deed?"
"His child, too, may be living yet," said Mr. Brantwell. "How unfortunate that there is no clew to tell what may have been its fate."
Ere any one could reply, a bustle at the door arrested their attention; and, the next moment, Mrs. Tom entered, followed by Carl, and rushing to the bed, clasped Christie in her arms, laughing and crying hysterically.
"My own darling child! my own blessed baby! my dear, darling little Christie!" were her exclamations, between laughing, and crying, and hugging.
"Dear Aunt Tom! dear, good Aunt Tom! Oh, I am so glad, so glad to see you again!" said Christie, throwing her arms round her neck, her wan face flushing with joy.