a
sense of fear. The pallor of his cheeks and the pained parting of his
lips bore witness to how little he was prepared for such a story.

'I've begun with what ought by rights to have come last,' pursued
Michael, after drawing a deep sigh. 'But it does me good to get it
told; it's been burdening me this long while. Now you must listen,
Sidney, whilst I show you why I've kept this a secret. I've no fear but
_you_'ll understand me, though most people wouldn't. It's a secret from
everybody except a lawyer in London, who does business for me; a
right-hearted man he is, in most things, and I'm glad I met with him,
but he doesn't understand me as you will; he thinks I'm making a
mistake. My son knows nothing about it; at least, it's my hope and
belief he doesn't. He told me he hadn't heard of his brother's death. I
say I hope he doesn't know; it isn't selfishness, that; I needn't tell
you. I've never for a minute thought of myself as a rich man, Sidney;
I've never thought of the money as my own, never; and if Joseph proves
himself honest, I'm ready to give up to him the share of his brother's
property that it seems to me ought to be rightly his, though the law
for some reason looks at it in a different way. I'm ready, but I must
know that he's an honest man; I must prove him first.'

The eagerness of his thought impelled him to repetitions and emphasis.
His voice fell upon a note of feebleness, and with an effort he
recovered the tone in which he had begun.

'As soon as I knew that all this wealth had fallen to me I decided at
once to come back to England. What could I do out there? I decided to
come to England, but I couldn't see farther ahead than that. I sold all
the land; I had the business done for me by that lawyer I spoke of,
that had known my son, and he recommended me to a Mr. Percival in
London. I came back, and I found little Jane, and then bit by bit I
began to understand what my duty was. It got clear in my mind; I formed
a purpose, a plan, and it's as strong in me now as ever. Let me think
again for a little, Sidney. I want to make it as plain to you as it is
to me. You'll understand me best if I go back and tell you more than I
have done yet about my life before I left England. Let me think a
while.'

He was overcome with a fear that he might not be able to convey with
sufficient force the design which had wholly possessed him. So painful
was the struggle in him between enthusiasm and a consciousness of
f