dside. His mother held out her
hand to him, and he took it, leaning against the bedside. "Has Mr.
Prendergast left you?" she asked.

He told her that Mr. Prendergast had left him, and gone to his own
room for the night. "And have you been with him all the evening?" she
asked. She had no special motive in so asking, but both the father
and the son shuddered at the question. "Yes," said Herbert; "I have
been with him, and now I have come to wish my father good night; and
you too, mother, if you intend to remain here." But Lady Fitzgerald
got up, telling Herbert that she would leave him with Sir Thomas; and
before either of them could hinder her from departing, the father and
the son were alone together.

Sir Thomas, when the door closed, looked furtively up into his son's
face. Might it be that he could read there how much had been already
told, or how much still remained to be disclosed? That Herbert was
to learn it all that evening, he knew; but it might be that Mr.
Prendergast had failed to perform his task. Sir Thomas in his heart
trusted that he had failed. He looked up furtively into Herbert's
face, but at the moment there was nothing there that he could read.
There was nothing there but black misery; and every face round him
for many days past had worn that aspect.

For a minute or two Herbert said nothing, for he had not made up his
mind whether or no he would that night disturb his father's rest.
But he could not speak in his ordinary voice, or bid his father
good-night as though nothing special to him had happened. "Father,"
said he, after a short pause, "father, I know it all now."

"My boy, my poor boy, my unfortunate boy!"

"Father," said Herbert, "do not be unhappy about me, I can bear it."
And then he thought again of his bride--his bride as she was to have
been; but nevertheless he repeated his last words, "I can bear it,
father!"

"I have meant it for the best, Herbert," said the poor man, pleading
to his child.

"I know that; all of us well know that. But what Mr. Prendergast says
is true; it is better that it should be known. That man would have
killed you had you kept it longer to yourself."

Sir Thomas hid his face upon the pillow as the remembrance of what he
had endured in those meetings came upon him. The blow that had told
heaviest was that visit from the son, and the threats which the man
had made still rung in his ears--"When that youngster was born Lady
F. was Mrs. M., wasn't she? .