“Yes, I suppose I am,” he answered.  “And I am ready to suffer the penalty.  The only excuse I have to offer is the fact that what I did, I did not for myself, but for those I love, who have done so much for me.  And now it is not joy, but misery, I shall bring them.”

“You are repentant, though,” murmured the old lady softly.  “It is not as if you were hardened and only gave up when some one else found it out and forced you to.  There is hope for you in that.  But how much money is there?”

“Nearly half a million.  But some of it has been used, put into a house, which of course will be given up to Mr. Darley.”

“Then you will take him away from me?” It was almost a wail with which the old lady said this.

“No, you can come with him, of course.”

“No.  It will be his taking care of me then, and that will be so different.  Oh, why did you come to disturb us?” She seemed quite forgetful for the time of the presence of any one else in the room, of her own caution to Sydney to speak quietly.  Suddenly she appeared to recollect this latter necessity.

She ceased the half moaning she had begun and clutched Sydney’s arm tightly.

“I suppose,” she whispered, “that it would not be right to ask you to keep this money?”

“I can’t keep it,” Sydney replied.  “I have suffered enough from it already.”

“But how can you give it to a man who is not in his right mind?  He thinks he is a wealthy man.  I have given him a quantity of gilt paper to play with.  He is like a child, you know.  The possession of real money will not make him any happier.”

“But there is the son,” suggested Sydney.

“I told you he was dead.”

“I am not so sure of that.  I think I have seen him.  Would he not be about seventeen now?”

“Yes, and you have seen him?”

It was with difficulty the old lady kept her tones within bounds.

“But you cannot be sure it is the same,” she went on.

“No.  I cannot be certain, but I am pretty sure.”

“Perhaps he looks like his father.  Wait, I think I can find a picture of him in the dark.”

“But I cannot see it in the dark.”

“By holding it close to the window you can get the ray from the lamp on it There! here it is, I think.”

Mrs. Fox took the portrait to the front of the room, and parting the curtains a little, held it for Sydney to look at.

“Yes, it is very like,” he said.  “This picture must have been taken when Mr. Darley was quite young.”

“He sat for it before he was married.  But where is this boy?”

“Living at a little town out in New Jersey.  He wants to find his father.”

“How comes it he isn’t dead?” the old lady wanted to know.

Sydney told the story of Miles Harding as he had heard it from Rex.

“Do you know why he was compelled to give up the child?” he added.