"Is his name Blunt?"

"Yes, sir."

"I thought I could not be mistaken. There is something singular that
brings him here at this time. John, is this Reginald Blunt a particular
friend of yours?"

"Why, no, sir, in fact, he was my rival for the hand of Ruth Stanhope.
But you call him Reginald; this is Sir Lionel Blunt, a colonel from
India and the south of Africa."

"Then I made a mistake. It is his cousin. Yet I knew the face; I knew
the face."

Again John wonders.

"Did a Blunt ever do you a wrong, father?"

"Yes, I have believed so these many years; have been ready to stake my
very life upon it; and yet, and yet. Heaven forgive me for what wicked
thoughts I have hugged to my heart."

These words arouse a wild hope in the mind of John Craig. Can it be
possible his father has after all these years seen light?

The idea is so wonderful that, although hope causes his heart to beat
like a trip-hammer, he remains silent. When the time comes, Craig, Sr.,
will speak; he knows this of old.