-But no! the lifted hand falls back; the easy attitude becomes
strained, fixed. He is staring now--not merely gazing out upon the
wastes of sky and sea; and Roger, following the direction of his glance,
stares also in breathless emotion at what those distances, but now so
impenetrable, are giving to the eye.

A spectre floating in the air above the promontory! The spectre of
a woman--of his wife, clad, as she had been clad that fatal night!
Outlined in supernatural light, it faces them with lifted arms showing
the ends of rope dangling from either wrist. A sight awful to any eye,
but to the man of guilty heart--

Ah! it comes--the cry for which the agonized son had been listening! An
old man's shriek, hoarse with the remorse of sleepless nights and days
of unimaginable regret and foreboding! It cuts the night. It cuts its
way into his heart. He feels his senses failing him, yet he must glance
once more at the window and see with his last conscious look--But what
is this! a change has taken place in the picture and he beholds, not
the distorted form of his father sinking back in shame and terror before
this visible image of his secret sin, but that of another weak, old man
falling to the floor behind his back! Abram! the attentive, seemingly
harmless, guardian of the household! Abram! who had never spoken a word
or given a look in any way suggestive of his having played any other
part in the hideous drama of their lives than that of the humble and
sympathetic servant!

The shock was too great, the relief too absolute for credence. He, the
listener at the grotto? He, the avenger of the family's honour? He, the
insurer of little Roger's continuance with the family at a cost the one
who loved him best would rather have died himself than pay? Yes! there
is no misdoubting this old servitor's attitude of abject appeal, or the
meaning of Homer Upjohn's joyfully uplifted countenance and outspreading
arms. The servant begs for mercy from man, and the master is giving
thanks to Heaven. Why giving thanks? Has he been the prey of cankering
doubts also? Has the father dreaded to discover that in the son which
the son has dreaded to discover in the father?

It might easily be; and as Roger recognizes this truth and the
full tragedy of their mutual lives, he drops to his knees amid the
honeysuckles.

"Violet, you are a wonder. But how did you dare?"

This from Arthur as the two rode to the train in the early morning.

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