“I reckon he’d be satisfied to be justified here,” said Dr. Cheyney, his eyes resting on Diana as she bent down and caressed Sammy. “You’ll have to make it public to be of any use to him now,” said Colonel Royall, “the other story has been in every newspaper in the State.” “I know it,” said Dr. Cheyney, “but, David, it will come home to you here. Sammy’s father is Jacob Eaton.” There was silence for a few moments, and then Colonel Royall said: “It is singular that that young man has managed to inflict so many mortifications upon his family. Poor Jinny! She was always quoting him as a pink of propriety.” “The result of a mollycoddle,” said the doctor shortly. “Now you know the facts, David, and it’s up to you. Shall I tell them?” Colonel Royall meditated. “Poor Jinny!” he said again, “she’s been so proud of him, and now--one blow on another, no wonder she’s given up. Poor Jinny!” “Father,” said Diana, “we’ve no right to consider even Cousin Jinny, only Mr. Trench.” The force of her conviction showed through her reserve. She felt that Caleb Trench had borne enough at the hands of their relatives, and that he should be the scapegoat of one of Jacob’s sins was too much. Colonel Royall raised his bowed head. “She’s right, William,” he said, pathetically resigned; “tell it to the world.” Dr. Cheyney rose. “Well, it has seemed like kicking a man who was down,” he remarked, “but, as Diana says, there is Caleb Trench.” Diana followed him out into the hall. “Dr. Cheyney,” she said, “why did no one tell me about my mother?” The old man put his hand on her shoulder. “Diana,” he said, “it was David’s wish, and we all respected it. I wish”--he paused--“I wish Letty had not come back. But she wanted to see you. Natural enough, I reckon, only she ought to have been natural in that way at first.” “It was cruel not to tell me,” said Diana, “but I will not tell him so--dear father!” The doctor looked at her thoughtfully. “You’re a good girl, Diana,” he said. They walked together to the door. “Doctor, do you believe that--that my mother is unhappy?” she asked at last. “I could not go to her: I will not leave him.” “Unhappy? No, child, not more so than others,” said the old man. “She’s got to bear her burden, Diana, that’s the law of life. Don’t you fret; she’s rich, courted, influential, I’ve known it for years.” “I don’t see how she could treat my father so!” cried the girl. “Thank God, you never will!” said the doctor with conviction. “She wants to see him,” the girl faltered, “I--you--” “I’ll tell him,” said William Cheyney. XXXI COLONEL ROYALL was sitting by the great fireplace in his library. Daylight was failing fast at the windows, and the long bough of a hemlock sweeping across the one toward the west was outlined against the whitening sky. The colonel watched it as it swayed. Once and awhile he turned and looked toward the door, his fine old hands tightening on the carved arms of his chair.