of daughters. And something tells me you will be happy when I am gone. I
hope so, I pray so; and now, Hannah, send for Burton. I shall not be
here in the morning, and I must see him once more, and send for Mr.
Sanford, too. I must see him before I die. Burton and the minister, no
one else; not even the boy Grey; he must not come, for, Hannah, I am
going to tell!"

"What, father?" Hannah gasped, and he replied:

"I am going at last to confess the whole to my son and the clergyman. I
must do it. I shall die easier."

"But, father," Hannah cried, in alarm, "reflect a moment. What possible
good can it do to tell Mr. Sanford, or even Burton? It would only give
him unnecessary pain. You have kept it so long, why not let the grave
bury your secret?"

"Because I cannot," the old man answered, "I must tell Burton. I have
always intended to do it at the last, so that he might know what you
have borne. Perhaps he may be kinder, gentler with you. Burton stands
well with men; high in the world, but he is not like you; he would never
have done what you have, and I want him to know that there is a
sacrifice which ennobles one more than all the honors of the world, and
I want Mr. Sanford to know why I could not go forward and ratify my
baptismal vows, as he has so often urged me to do, thinking me obstinate
in my refusal; and I wish to hear him say that he believes I am
forgiven; that Christ will receive me, even me, a--Oh, Hannah, I can not
say that word. I cannot give myself that name. I never have, you know.
It was so sudden, so without forethought, and, could I live my life over
again, I think I should tell at once, and not bury the secret as I did.