Her expression was eloquent, more eloquent than he had ever seen it, for it had real feeling in it; but he put her coldly by.

“When my father’s white hairs become black again, and the story of my shame is forgotten in this never-forgetting world, then come back and I will forgive you.”

And he was passing on when another touch detained him.  He turned, this time in some impatience, only to meet the frank eyes of Sweetwater.  As he knew very little of this young man, save that he was the amateur detective who had by some folly of his own been carried off on the Hesper, and who was probably the only man saved from its wreck, he was about to greet him with some commonplace phrase of congratulation, when Sweetwater interrupted him with the following words: 

“I only wanted to say that it may be easier for you to approach your father with the revelations you are about to make if you knew that in his present frame of mind he is much more likely to be relieved by such proofs of innocence as you can give him than overwhelmed by such as show the lack of kinship between you.  For two weeks Mr. Sutherland has been bending under the belief of your personal criminality in this matter.  This was his secret, which was shared by me.”

“By you?”

“Yes, by me!  I am more closely linked to this affair than you can readily imagine.  Some day I may be able to explain myself, but not now.  Only remember what I have said about your father—­pardon me, I should perhaps say Mr. Sutherland—­and act accordingly.  Perhaps it was to tell you this that I was forced back here against my will by the strangest series of events that ever happened to a man.  But,” he added, with a sidelong look at the group of men still hovering about the coroner’s table, “I had rather think it was for some more important office still.  But this the future will show,—­the future which I seem to see lowering in the faces over there.”

And, waiting for no reply, he melted into the crowd.

Frederick passed at once to his father.

No one interrupted them during this solemn interview, but the large crowd that in the halls and on the steps of the building awaited Frederick’s reappearance showed that the public interest was still warm in a matter affecting so deeply the heart and interests of their best citizen.  When, therefore, that long-closed door finally opened and Frederick was seen escorting Mr. Sutherland on his arm, the tide of feeling which had not yet subsided since Agatha’s letters were read vented itself in one great sob of relief.  For Mr. Sutherland’s face was calmer than when they had last seen it, and his step more assured, and he leaned, or made himself lean, on Frederick’s arm, as if to impress upon all who saw them that the ties of years cannot be shaken off so easily, and that he still looked upon Frederick as his son.

But he was not contented with this dumb show, eloquent as it was.  As the crowd parted and these two imposing figures took their way down the steps to the carriage which had been sent for them, Mr. Sutherland cast one deep and long glance about him on faces he knew and on faces he did not know, on those who were near and those who were far, and raising his voice, which did not tremble as much as might have been expected, said deliberately: