"Will you forgive me? Can you ever forgive me?" the Earl repeated feebly.
"Freely—fully," said Kenneth, as he remembered the words with which he had that morning concluded his prayer, "'As we forgive them which trespass against us.'"
"I do not even know your name," said the Earl, piteously.
"Kenneth, my lord."
"Don't call me that," he said, impatiently. "I loved your mother, Kenneth."
"Tell me about her, father."
"Her name was Mirabel. She was the only one I ever really loved; her father's name was De Sainte Croix. He was of Huguenot descent, and was chaplain in Hyères when I was there. We were married at Hyères. Kenneth, I have written a statement, which will be quite sufficient, should I die, to put you in your right place. My lawyer was here yesterday. I made him read it through, and I signed it in his presence. The marriage certificate is with it, so there can be no difficulty about that."
"Thank you, father, for doing all this."
"Don't thank me," he said; "it's justice—common justice. It's what ought to have been done long ago. I can never make up to you for what is past. Who saw that letter, Kenneth?"
"What letter?"