"You must have heard that this tower once belonged to another?"
The son started.
"I have."
"I betrayed my friend. He perished, not by my hands, but by my fault; and from that moment deep remorse has filled my bosom: but of that no more. A sense of justice induces me to act decisively. Reginald Grahame had a son."
Roderick rose from his seat, but made no reply.
"It is of him I would speak. Circumstances have induced me to believe that the leader of the caterans who pursued me so long—who harried my lands, and injured my crops—was that son. His feelings towards me must be deadly; but I forgive him. It is but natural that he should hate the destroyer of his father. Would that he knew the pangs I have suffered—the anguish I have felt!"
"And is this true? Was your remorse so great? Have you repented of this cruel act?"
"Deeply—deeply, my son; but what avails it?"
"Much; for contrition——" And he paused.
"Proceed."