you--"

"I am your son."

"You--why, I--saw you--"

"You saw me in Cincinnati at the door of a beer-garden." He felt as if
he had struck the man before him with a lash.

"Did--you--go in?"

"No: I went to your temperance meeting."

The elder Brent did not hear the ill-concealed bitterness in his son's
voice. "Thank God," he said. "You heard--my--story, an'--it leaves
me--less--to tell. Something--made me speak--to you that--night. Come
nearer. Will--you--shake hands with--me?"

Fred reached over and took the clammy hand in his own.

"I have--had--a pore life," the now fast weakening man went on; "an' I
have--done wrong--by--you, but I--have--repented. Will you forgive me?"

Something came up into Brent's heart and burned there like a flame.

"You have ruined my life," he answered, "and left me a heritage of
shame and evil."

"I know it--God help me--I know it; but won't--you--forgive me, my son?
I--want to--call you--that--just once." He pressed his hand closer.

Could he forgive him? Could he forget all that he had suffered and would
yet suffer on this man's account? Then the words and the manner of old
Eliphalet came to him, and he said, in a softened voice, "I forgive you,
father." He hesitated long over the name.

"Thank God for--for--the name--an'--forgiveness." He carried his son's
hand to his lips, "I sha' n't be--alive--long--now,--an' my--death--will
set--people--to talkin'. They will--bring--up the--past. I--don't want
you--to--stay an' have--to bear--it. I don't want to--bring any more
on--you than I have--already. Go--away, as--soon as I am dead."

"I cannot leave my friends to bear my burdens."

"They will not speak--of them--as they--will speak of--you,
my--poor--boy. You--are--old--Tom Brent's--son. I--wish I
could take--my name--an' all--it means--along--with--me.
But--promise--me--you--will--go. Promise--"

"I will go if you so wish it."

"Thank--you. An'--now--good-bye. I--can't talk--any--more. I don't
dare--to advise--you--after--all--you--know--of me; but do--right--do
right."

The hand relaxed and the eyelids closed. Brent thought that he was dead,
and prompted by some impulse, bent down and kissed his father's
brow,--his father, after all. A smile flitted over the pale face, but
the eyes did not open. But he did not die then. Fred called Mrs. Hodges
and left her with his father while he sat with Eliphalet. It was not
until the next morning, when the air was full of sunlight,