Isaac repeated the facts again, and then went into details. He concluded by showing Richard's last letter. "Poor Dicky! Poor Dicky!" cried the justice, melted to compassion. "Yes, as you say, Isaac, Cyril is in a happier place than this--gone to his rest. And Dick--Dick sent him there in cruelty. I think I'll go in if you'll give me your arm."
Wonderingly Isaac obeyed. Never had the strong, upright Justice Thornycroft sought or needed support from any one. The news must have shaken him terribly. Isaac went with him across the fields, and saw him shut himself in his room.
"Have you been telling him?" whispered Mary Anne.
"Yes."
"And how has he borne it? Why did he lean upon you in coming in?"
"He seemed to bear it exceedingly well. But it must have had a far deeper effect upon him than I thought, or he would not have asked for my arm."
Mary Anne Thornycroft sighed. A little pain, more or less, seemed to her as nothing.
On the following morning Mr. Thornycroft sent for his son. Isaac found him seated before his portable desk; some papers upon it. The crisis of affairs had prompted the justice to disclose certain facts to his children, that otherwise never might have been disclosed. Richard Thornycroft was not his own son, though he had been treated as such. Isaac listened in utter amazement. Of all the strange things that had lately fallen upon them, this appeared to him to be the strangest.
"I have been writing to Richard," said Mr. Thornycroft, taking up some closely-written pages. "You can read it; it will save me going over the details to you."
Isaac took the letter, and read it through. But his senses were confused, and it was not very clear to him.