Searching for something or some one to lean upon, his thought turned to Miss Evelina.  Surely, now, he might go to her.  If comfort was to be had, of any sort, he could find it there.  At any rate, they were bound, much as his father had been bound to her before, by the logic of events.

He went uphill, scarcely knowing how he made his way.  Miss Evelina, veiled, as usual, opened the door for him.  Ralph stumbled across the threshold, crying out: 

“My father is dead!  He died by his own hand!”

“Yes,” returned Miss Evelina, quietly.  “I have heard.  I am sorry—­for you.”

“You need not be,” flashed Ralph, quickly.  “It is for us, my father and I, to be sorry for you—­to make amends, if any amends can be made by the living or the dead.”

Miss Evelina started.  He knew, then?  And it had not been necessary for her to draw out the sheathed dagger which only yesterday she had held in her hand.  The glittering vengeance had gone home, through no direct agency of hers.

“Miss Evelina!” cried the boy.  “I have come to ask you to forgive my father!”

A silence fell between them, as cold and forbidding as Death itself.  After an interval which seemed an hour, Miss Evelina spoke.

“He never asked,” she said.  Her tone was icy, repellent.

“I know,” answered Ralph, despairingly, “but I, his son, ask it.  Anthony Dexter’s son asks you to forgive Anthony Dexter—­not to let him go to his grave unforgiven.”

“He never asked,” said Miss Evelina again, stubbornly.

“His need is all the greater for that,” pleaded the boy, “and mine.  Have you thought of my need of it?  My name meant ‘right’ until my father changed its meaning.  Don’t you see that unless you forgive my father, I can never hold up my head again?”

What the Piper had said to Evelina came back to her now, eloquent with appeal;

The word is not made right.  I’m thinking ’t is wrong end to, as many things in this world are until we move and look at them from another way.  It’s giving for, that’s all.  When you have put self so wholly aside that you can he sorry for him because he has wronged you, why, then you have forgiven.

She moved about restlessly.  It seemed to her that she could never be sorry for Anthony Dexter because he had wronged her; that she could never grow out of the hurt of her own wrong.

“Come with me,” said Ralph, choking.  “I know it’s a hard thing I ask of you.  God knows I haven’t forgiven him myself, but I know I’ve got to, and you’ll have to, too.  Miss Evelina, you’ve got to forgive him, or I never can bear my disgrace.”

She let him lead her out of the house.  On the long way to Anthony Dexter’s, no word passed between them.  Only the sound of their footfalls, and Ralph’s long, choking breaths, half sobs, broke the silence.

At the gate, the usual knot of curious people had gathered.  They were wondering, in undertones, how one so skilful as Doctor Dexter had happened to take an overdose of laudanum, but they stood by, respectfully, to make way for Ralph and the mysterious, veiled woman in black.  The audible whispers followed them up to the very door:  “Who is she?  What had she to do with him?”