"If you can trust yourself. If you can only keep calm. Then, I will bring him—this very afternoon. I will go to him. You shall tell him briefly that he is like your son—that is all—your son which was lost, you know. And, remember, there will not be the least show of affection from him. Let Sir Humphrey—Sir Humphrey he must be—leave you as he came—a changeling—with no suspicion of the fact."
[CHAPTER THE LAST.]
FORGIVENESS.
Alice lay patiently. It was done, then. Her punishment was ended; she was to see her son for once—only for once.
"My dear," she said, "my dream will come true. I shall see my son—to call him my son—for once—only for once. And then? But there will be nothing left."
Dick came bursting in. "I've drawn up the case, and I've got the advertisements ready. If by this time to-morrow the doctor makes no sign, I shall act. Here's the case."
He drew out a document in foolscap, tied with red tape—a most imposing document. "And here are the letters—
"'Sir,—I beg to inform you that the funeral of your father, the late John Anthony Woodroffe, who died yesterday, Tuesday, October 15th, will take place from that institution at twelve o'clock on Friday. Your half-brother, Mr. Richard Woodroffe, has ordered me to convey to you this information.'
"I hope he'll like that," said Dick, rubbing his hands. "And here is the second letter—