“His name?”
“I care not to speak of it,” said the judge, with a shudder.
“It matters not; I am that man.”
“You! impossible, and yet——” and Judge Hale turned the hue of a corpse.
“It is not impossible, Andrew Hale. We were boys together, and devoted friends; we married sisters, and became brothers-in-law; you became a famous lawyer, and I a minister, until I at last, as you expressed it, fell from grace, and, taking the life of a fellow being, was sent to prison for life. My wife having died, I left you in full control of my large property, and the guardian of my son, and for some years all went on well.
“You met with financial embarrassments just at the time I escaped from prison, and was reported killed by the guard as I reached the river. I was not touched by his bullet. A man in convict’s dress being found some time after, floating in the water, was said to be me, and so was buried. Believing me dead, you used the property of my son to squander in speculation, and, to escape his just anger, you fled with your child. Do you doubt my identity now, Andrew Hale?”
“You are certainly Mathew Kingsland,” said the judge, in a hoarse tone.
“I certainly am. And Kent King, the Gambler Guide, as men call him, is my son Kenton, and the first cousin of your daughter Mary.”
“The power he held over me, and which forced me to say Mary should be his wife, was because he held my secret,” groaned the judge.