learned there had been a baby born, and that had gone too. The squire
was like a madman, blaming himself for his son's death, and a-raving to
think what must Master Herbert have thought of him, when he never
answered his letters. I had a terrible time with him, and then he set
to work to find the child; but, as I told you, we never did find it, or
hear a word of it from that time to this, and the squire has never held
up his head. He will be pretty well out of his mind with joy."

"I am very glad to hear what you say, John," Mrs. Walsham said. "I
could hardly fancy the squire, who always has borne such a name for
kindness, being so hard that he would not listen to his dying son's
entreaties."

"No, ma'am. The squire was hard for a bit. Master Herbert's marriage
was a sad disappointment to him. He had made up his mind he was going
to do so well, and to cut such a figure in the world; but he would have
come round. Lord bless you, he only meant to hold out for a bit. When
he was ill at Athens, he was talking all the time about forgiving his
son, and I could see how hard it had been to him to keep separated from
him. On the voyage home he fidgeted ever so at the delay, and I knew
that the first thing he did, when he got back, would be to write to
Master Herbert and tell him to bring his wife down to the Hall. There's
not a hard corner in the squire's heart.

"I thank the good God for the news you have told me, ma'am; it's the
best I ever heard in all my life."

Mrs. Walsham now told him how the child had been brought up, and then
the sergeant himself, who was waiting in the next room, was brought in;
and to him John Petersham related the story of the squire's illness,