d think and speak more
coherently, although the wonder of it all was overpowering.

"It seems as if the hand of the Lord was in it," he declared.

"It is," agreed Zoeth, with absolute conviction. "See how it worked out
accordin' to His promise. The wicked flourished for a time, but God sent
the punishment in due season, didn't He? Can't you see the poor feller's
agonizin' in every line of that letter?"

"POOR feller! Good Lord above, Zoeth Hamilton, you ain't pityin' HIM,
are you? You ain't sorry for him--YOU?"

Zoeth nodded. "I wan't at first," he said. "At first the whole thing,
comin' on me out of a clear sky as you might say, knocked me flat. The
doctor, when he came, said he thought I must have had a sudden shock. I
did; that was it, that letter. But later on, when I was gettin' better
and could think again, and when I was alone and had the chance and could
read the letter again, I began to--to--well, not forgive him for what he
done--I don't suppose I can ever do that"

"I should say not! Damn him!"

"Hush, Shadrach; he's dead."

"So he is. I forgot. Then he's damned, I guess, without any orders from
me."

"He was damned here on earth, Shadrach. All his life--the last part of
it, anyhow--must have been a torment. He must have idolized that boy
of his. He says so in the letter, but it's plain on every line of the
writin' without his sayin' it. And can't you just imagine him as the boy
grew up and they loved each other more and more, tremblin' and scared
every minute for fear that somehow or other his son'll learn that the
father he loves and respects is a--a thief--and--and worse? Seems to me
I can imagine it. And then all at once the boy comes to him and says he
wants to marry--Oh, my soul! Shadrach, think of it!--he wants to marry
your girl and mine--Marcellus's stepdaughter. Why, it must have driven
him nigh crazy. And then they quarrel, and the boy, the only bein' on
earth he's livin' for, goes off and leaves him. And he knows he's
comin' here--to us--and that some time or other he's sartin to learn
everything. No wonder he wrote that letter. No wonder--"

The Captain interrupted.

"Writin' you, of all people!" he said. "Writin' you and beggin' you not
to let Mary-'Gusta marry his son: and for what? To save the boy from
somethin' bad? No! For all he knew, Mary-'Gusta might be what she
is, the best and finest girl on earth. What he was beggin' for was
himself--that his son shouldn't know what HE was,