“Yes, my son,” replied the old man. “But first let me hear that you are reconciled to my dear wife—your stepmother. Answer me truly. Is it so?”
“Father!” hesitated Chetwynd.
“Stand up, my son,” said the old man.
Chetwynd obeyed.
“Now, speak to me. Is there peace between you?”
“If you can forgive her, father, I will forgive her.”
“I have nothing to forgive. She has been the best of wives to me, and is without a fault. These are my last words.”
“Your blessing, father—your blessing!” almost shrieked Chetwynd.
The old man made an effort to raise his hands; but strength and utterance failed him, and he fell dead into his son's arms.