"Pray for yourself, uncle. I have never attended to these things as I ought to have done. I am punished now, when I have no word of comfort or instruction for you."
"Pray!" and he drew a long sigh. "My mother died when Ned and I were boys. We soon forgot the prayers she taught us. My father's God was Mammon. He taught me early to worship at the same shrine. No, Geoffrey, no: it is too late to pray. I feel—I know that I am lost. I have no part or lot in the Saviour—no love for God, in whom I never believed until this fatal hour.
"I have injured you, Geoffrey, and am willing to make all the reparation in my power by restoring to you those rights which I have laboured so hard to set aside."
"Spare yourself, uncle, the painful relation. Let no thought on that score divert your mind from making its peace with God. Walters has returned, and the documents necessary to prove my legitimacy are in Sir Alexander's hands."
"Walters returned!" shrieked my uncle. "Both heaven and hell conspire against me. What a tale can he unfold."
"Ay, and what a sequel can I add to it," said Dinah, rising from her seat, and standing before him like one of the avenging furies. "Listen to me, Geoffrey Moncton, for it shall yet be told."
"Spare me! cruel woman, in mercy spare me. Is not your malice sufficiently gratified to see me humbled to the dust?"
"Ah! if your villainy had proved successful, and you were revelling in wealth and splendour, instead of grovelling there beneath the lash of an awakened conscience, where would be your repentance? What would then become of Geoffrey Moncton's claims to legitimacy? I trow he would remain a bastard to the end of his days."
"Geoffrey, for God's sake bid that woman hold her venomous tongue. I feel faint and sick with her upbraidings."
"He is fainting," said I, turning to Dinah. "Allow him to die in peace."