"I have no evidence of his death. Often and often, after my poor wife was
gone, I have sat alone here of a night thinking of him; thinking that he
might come in upon me at any moment; almost listening for his footstep in
the quiet of the place. But he never came. He would have found me very
soft-hearted at such times. My mind changed to him a good deal after his
mother's death. I used to think of him as he was in his boyhood, when
Marian and I had such great hopes of him, and would sit and talk of him
for hours together by this fireside. An old man left quite alone as I was
had plenty of time for such thoughts. Night after night I have fancied I
heard his step, and have looked up at that door expecting to see him open
it and come in; but he never came. He may be dead. I suppose he is dead;
or he would have come to make another attempt at getting money out of
me."

"You have never taken any measures for finding him?" inquired Gilbert.

"No. If he wanted me, he knew where I was to be found. _I_ was a fixture.
It was his business to come to me. When I saw the name of Marian Nowell
in your advertisement a week ago, I felt curious to know whether it could
be my grandchild you were looking for. I held off till this morning,
thinking it wasn't worth my while to make any inquiries about the matter;
but I couldn't get it out of my head somehow; and it ended by my
answering your advertisement. I am an old man, you see, without a
creature belonging to me; and it might be a comfort to me to meet with
some one of my own flesh and blood. The bit of money I may leave behind
me when I die won't be much; but it might as well go to my son's child as
to a stranger."

"If your son's child can be found, you will discover her to be well
worthy of your love. Yes, though she has done me a cruel wrong, I believe