"You do not now feel any doubt that Gordon's dead?"
"None at all. Your friend, Gordon of Kircudbright, was the one who embarked, or ought to have embarked, on the Morning Star, homeward bound," said Mr. Carr. And he forthwith told Lord Hartledon what the man had said.
A silence ensued. Lord Hartledon was in deep and evidently not pleasant thought; and the barrister stole a glance at him.
"Hartledon, take comfort. I am as cautious by nature as I believe it is possible for any one to be; and I am sure the man is dead, and can never rise up to trouble you."
"I have been sure of that for years," replied Hartledon quietly. "I have just said so."
"Then what is disturbing you?"
"Oh, Carr, how can you ask it?" came the rejoinder. "What is it lies on my mind day and night; is wearing me out before my time? Discovery may be avoided; but when I look at the children—at the boy especially—it would have turned some men mad," he more quietly added, passing his hand across his brow. "As long as he lives, I cannot have rest from pain. The sins of the fathers—"
"Yes, yes," interposed Mr. Carr, hastily. "Still the case is light, compared with what we once dreaded."
"Light for me, heavy for him."
Mr. Carr remained with them until the Monday: he then went back to London and work; and time glided on again. An event occurred the following winter which shall be related at once; more especially as nothing of moment took place in those intervening months needing special record.