not too late," I said humbly.

"Yes, too late--too late! I disown him. He is no longer son of mine."

"And you sit there in that dining-room every night, Sir John," I said,
"with all us servants gathered round, and read that half a chapter and
then say, `As we forgive them that trespass against us.' Sir John--
master--he is your own son, and I love him as if he was my own."

There wasn't a sound in that place for a minute, and then he drew his
breath in a catching way that startled me, for it was as if he was going
to have a fit. But his face was very calm and stern now, as he says to
me gently:

"You are right, old friend;"--and my heart gave quite a bound--"old
friend."

"Let's go to him and save him, master, from his sin."

"Two weak old men, Burdon, and him strong, desperate, and taken by
surprise. My good fellow, what would follow then?"

"I don't know, Sir John. I can only see one thing, and that is, that we
should have done our duty by the lad. Let's leave the rest to Him."

He drew a long deep breath.

"Yes," he says. "Come along."

We went back in the darkness to the cellar door and listened; but all
seemed very still, and I turned the key in the patent Bramah lock
without a sound. We went in, and stood there on the sawdust, with that
hot smell of burnt oil seeming to get stronger, and there was a faint
light in the inner cellar now, and a curious rustling, panting sound.
We crept forward, one on each side of the opening; and as we looked in,
my hand went down on one of the sherry bottles in the bin by my arm, and
it made a faint click, which sounded quite loud.

I forgot all about Sir John; I didn't even know that he was there, as I
stared in from the darkness at the scene before me. They--I say they,
for the whispering had taught me that there was more than one--had got
the stone up while we had been away. It had been pushed aside on to the
sawdust, and a soft yellow light shone up now out of the hole, showing
me my young master, looking so strange and staring-eyed and ghastly,
that I could hardly believe it was he. But it was, sure enough, though
dressed in rough workman's clothes, and stained and daubed with clay.

It wasn't that, though, which took my attention, but his face; and as I
looked, I thought of what had been said a little while ago in my place,
and I felt it was true, and that he was mad. He had just crept up out
of the hole, when he uttered a low groan and sank down o