“I’m your son.  Hank did as I told him.  It’s all right.  I’ve had a fever—­he’s going to fall, Hank!”

They eased him down into his leather-covered chair.

“I see it now,” the old man muttered.  “Yes, I can see it.  Come here.”

The young man leaned over and put his arms about his father’s neck.  “I will go into the store with you when I get just a little stronger—­I will do anything you want me to.  I’ve had an awful time—­awful—­but it’s all right now.  Hank found me in New Orleans, scrubbing a floor; but it’s all right now.”

“I’ll get him some brandy,” said DeGolyer.

“No,” Witherspoon objected, “I’ll be myself in a minute.  Never was so shocked in my life.  Who ever heard of such a thing?  Of course you couldn’t soften it.  Let me look at you, my son.  How do I know what to believe?  No, there’s no mistake now.”

He got up, and holding the young man’s hands, stood looking at him. 
“Who’s that?” he asked.

They heard voices.  Mrs. Witherspoon and Ellen were coming down the hall.  DeGolyer stepped hastily to the door.

“Oh, what are you doing here?” Ellen cried.  “I saw somebody—­Miss Miller.  She didn’t say so, but I know that she wants me to kiss you for her, and I will.”

“Ellen!” Witherspoon exclaimed, and just then she saw that a stranger was present.

“Excuse me,” she said.

DeGolyer took her by the hand, and as Mrs. Witherspoon came up he held out his other hand to her.  He led them both to the threshold of the library, gently drew them into the room, and quickly stepping out, closed the door and hastened upstairs.

As he entered his room he thought that he heard a cry, and he listened, but naught save a throbbing silence came from below.  He sat down, put his arms on the table, and his head lay an aching weight upon his arms.  After a time he got up, and taking his traveling-bag from a closet, began to pack it.  There was his old pipe, still with a ribbon tied about the stem.  He waited a long time and then went down-stairs.  The library door was closed, and gently he rapped upon it.  Witherspoon’s voice bade him enter.

Mrs. Witherspoon was sitting on a sofa; young Henry was on his knees, and his head was in her lap.  Witherspoon and Ellen were standing near.

“He is like my father’s people,” the mother said, fondly stroking his hair.  “All the Springers were light.”  She looked at DeGolyer, and her eyes were soft, but for him they no longer held the glow of a mother’s love.  DeGolyer put down his bag near the door.

“Mr. Witherspoon, I hardly know what to say.  I came to this house as a lie, but I shall leave it as a truth.  I”—­

“Hank!” young Henry cried, getting up, “you ain’t going away.  You are going to stay here.”

He ran to DeGolyer, seized his hand, and leading him to Ellen, said:  “I have caught you a prince.  Take him.”  And DeGolyer, smiling sadly, replied, “I love her as a brother.”  She held out her hands to him.  “I could never think of you as anything else,” she said.