"And all the money came from my father?"
"Yes; I have carried a great deal to her myself."
Robert Montague continued to ask questions till the buggy stopped before the door of the cottage in Camden. Mrs. Taylor wept, and the boy wept, as they met. He wished that the truth had not been revealed to him. Mr. Barkesdale went to the hotel, and Robert spent the evening with Mrs. Taylor. Ezekiel was at home, and sober. He was permitted to know where the money which had perplexed him so much came from; and, as the son of Colonel Montague, he regarded Robert with respect and deference.
Mrs. Taylor and Robert took the steamer for Belfast the next morning, with Mr. Barkesdale. The boy was dressed in his black suit, and looked like another person. Colonel Montague's carriage was waiting for them when the steamer arrived. As Robert entered the elegant mansion, now "the house of mourning," he could hardly control his violent emotion. Mr. Barkesdale conducted him and Mrs. Taylor to the library, where the colonel was alone. As they entered, he walked towards his son, grasped him by the hand, and turning away his face, wept bitterly. Robert could not help weeping in sympathy.
"You know now that you are my son," said he, when he was able to speak.
"Mr. Barkesdale told me all about it."
"You are my son, and I am proud of you; but I have been a coward, Robert," added the colonel, with anguish. "I have wronged my father, who lies dead in the house; and I have wronged you, my son."
"No, sir; you haven't wronged me," protested Robert.
"I have kept you out of your birthright for sixteen years."