th as to his case."

"The exact truth?" said the doctor. "Does your father know you have come
here, Miss--Miss Harman?"

"He does not, Sir George. My father is a widower, and I am his only
child. He has endeavored to keep this thing from me, and hitherto has
partially succeeded. Yesterday, through another source, I learned that
he is very seriously ill. I have come to you to know the truth. You will
tell it to me, will you not?"

"I certainly _can_ tell it to you."

"And you will?"

"Well, the fact is, Miss Harman, he is anxious that you should not know.
I am scarcely prepared to fathom your strength of character. Any shock
will be of serious consequence to him. How can I tell how you will act
when you know all?"

"You are preparing me for the worst now, Sir George. I solemnly promise
you in no way to use my knowledge so as to give my father the slightest
shock."

"I believe you," answered the doctor. "A brave woman can do wonders.
Women are unselfish; they can hide their own feelings to comfort and
succor another. Miss Harman, I am sorry for you, I have bad news for
you."

"I know it, Sir George. My father is very ill."

"Your father is as seriously ill as a man can be to be alive; in short,
he is--dying."

"Is there no hope?"

"None."

"Must he die soon?" asked Charlotte, after a brief pause.

"That depends. His malady is of such a nature that any sudden shock, any
sudden grief will probably kill him instantly. If his mind is kept
perfectly calm, and all shocks are kept from him, he may live for many
months."

"Oh! terrible!" cried Charlotte.

She covered her face. When she raised it at last it looked quite haggard
and old.

"Sir George," she said, "I do not doubt that in your position as a
doctor you have come across some secrets. I am going to confide in you,
to confide in you to a certain measure."

"Your confidence shall be sacred, my dear young lady."

"Yesterday, Sir George, I learned something, something which concerns my
father. It concerns him most nearly and most painfully. It relates to an
old and buried wrong. This wrong relates to others; it relates to those
now living most nearly and most painfully."

"Is it a money matter?" asked the doctor.

"It is a money matter. My father alone can set it right. I mean that
during his lifetime it cannot possibly in any way be set right without
his knowledge. Almost all my life, he has kept this thing a secret from
me and--and--from the wo