So much for myself, which will explain a good deal that followed in the interview which I have now to relate. Theodora had wished to save me by herself, explaining all to her father; but I would not allow this, and at length she yielded. However, things fell out differently from both our intentions: he learned it first from his daughter Penelope. The moment I entered his study I was certain Mr. Johnston knew. Let no sinner, however healed, deceive himself that his wound will never smart again. He is not instantly made a new man of, whole and sound: he must grow gradually, even through many a returning pang, into health and cure. If anyone thinks I could stand in the presence of that old man without an anguish sharp as death, which made me for the moment wish I had never been born, he is mistaken. But alleviations came. The first was to see the old man sitting there alive and well, though evidently fully aware of the truth, and having been so for some time, for his countenance was composed, his tea was placed beside him on the table, and there was an open Bible before him, in which he had been reading. His voice, too, had nothing unnatural or alarming in it, as, without looking at me, he bade the maid-servant "give Doctor Urquhart a chair and say, if anyone interrupted, that we were particularly engaged." So the door was shut upon us, leaving us face to face. But it was not long before he raised his eyes to him. It is enough, once in a lifetime, to have borne such a look. "Mr. Johnston,"--but he shut his ears. "Do not speak," he said; "what you have come to tell me I know already. My daughter told me this morning. And I have been trying ever since to find out what my church says to the shedder of blood; what she would teach a father to say to the murderer of his child. My Harry, my only son! And you murdered him!" Let the words which followed be sacred. If in some degree they were unjust, and overstepped the truth, let me not dare to murmur. I believe the curses he heaped upon me in his own words and those of the Holy Book, will not come, for its other and diviner words, which his daughter taught me, stand as a shield between me and him. I repeated them to myself in my silence, and so I was able to endure. When he paused and commanded me to speak, I answered only a few words, namely, that I was here to offer my life for his son's life; that he might do with me what he would. "Which means, that I should give you up to justice, have you tried, condemned, executed. You, Doctor Urquhart, whom the world thinks so well of. I might live to see you hanged." His eyes glared, his whole frame was convulsed. I entreated him to calm himself, for his own health's sake, and the sake of his children. "Yes, I will. Old as I am, this shall not kill me. I will live to exact retribution. My boy, my poor murdered Harry--murdered--murdered." He kept repeating and dwelling on the word, till at length I said:--