line of that face stood out boldly to Chester.  How often, in his boyhood days he had pictured to himself what his father was like—­and here he was before him.  In those days he had nursed a hatred against that unknown sire, but now there was no more of that.  If only,—­Chester kneeled by the side of the minister’s chair, letting the old man cling to his hand.  He looked without wavering into the drawn face and said: 

“Are you my father?”

The man’s hand dropped as if lifeless, but Chester picked it up again, holding it close.

“Tell me,” he repeated, “are you my father?”

“Yes,” came slowly and with effort, as tremblingly the father put his hands first on Chester’s shoulders as he kneeled before him, then raised them to his head, asking, “Do—­you—­hate—­me?  Don’t—­” That seemed to be all he was able to articulate.

“No, no; I do not hate you; for are you not—­are you not my father!”

“Yes.”

The son put his arms around his father’s neck and kissed him.  The father patted contentedly the head of the young man, as a parent fondly caresses a child.  They were in that position when Lucy tapped lightly on the door, opened it, and came in.

CHAPTER XVI.

Chester got away from Lucy and Uncle Gilbert that morning, without betraying his father’s secret, which had now also become his own.  If his father had kept the secret so long, it was evidently for a purpose; he would try not to be the first to reveal it.  He kissed Lucy somewhat hurriedly, she thought, as he left.

The sooner he got away the fewer of his strange actions he would have to explain.  He did not look back when he walked away for fear that Lucy would be watching him from window or door.

He went back to his own lodgings rather more by instinct than by thought.  He slipped into his room, looked aimlessly about, then went out again.  He must be alone, yet not confined within walls.  The park was not far away, but he walked by it also, on, on.  This London is limitless, he thought.  One could never escape it by walking.  He met other men some hurrying as if stern duty called, others sauntering as if they had no purpose in life but quiet contemplation.  He met women, and if he could have read through their weary eyes their life’s story, he would not perhaps, have thought his own was the most cruel.  A little boy was gathering dust from the pavement, and Chester was reminded of that other little fellow’s structure which the carriage wheels had demolished.  Well, he was under the wheel of fate himself.  He had heard of this wheel, but never had he been under it until now!

Chester found himself a street or two from the mission office.  He would call and perhaps have a talk with Elder Malby.  Why had he not thought of that sooner?  He quickened his steps, and in a few minutes he was ringing the bell.  He heard it tingle within, but no one responded.  He rang again, and this time steps were heard coming up from the basement.  The housekeeper opened the door.