"Philip,—if that is really your name,—I will reform, or I will die," said he, with new emotion. "I have something to hope for now. The good God, who, I believed, had deserted me years ago, has been kinder to me than I deserved."
"He is that to all of us, father."
"Where did you get this locket, young man?" asked Mr. Lamar, who evidently believed there was still a possibility that a mistake had been made.
I replied that I had found it in the chest of Matt Rockwood, who had taken me from the door in the river; and I repeated that part of my narrative which I had omitted before.
"You need not cavil, gentlemen," interposed my father. "I am satisfied. I can distinguish the features of my lost son. If you knew my wife, you can see that he resembles her. Look at the portrait, and then look at him."
"I have seen Mrs. Farringford, but I do not exactly remember her looks," added Mr. Lamar.
"Matt Rockwood is dead; but there is a living witness who saw the child he found only a day or two after it was picked up," I continued.
"Who is he?"
"Kit Cruncher; he is at the settlement now, and has known me for eleven years. Mr. Gracewood, whom I expect in St. Louis soon, has known me for six years, and has heard Matt Rockwood tell the story of finding the child."
"If I am satisfied, no one else need complain," said my father. "There are no estates, no property, nor a dollar left, to which any claim is to be established. I am a beggar and a wretch, and an inheritance of shame and misery is all I have for him."