“Do you remember what De Bergerac said of us the first time we met at his dinner-table?” asked Mr. Jerningham. “I remember his saying something about a resemblance between you and me.” “A notion which you repudiated.” “I think it was you who first repudiated the idea,” said Eustace, with a faint smile. “It is quite possible. I have been insanely jealous of you. But that is over now. Do you know by what right I have watched by this bed? Do you know why I persuaded your uncle to leave you, that I might watch alone?” “I can imagine no reason.” “The right which I claimed was the right of a father. Yes, Eustace, it was on your father’s knees your head rested as we brought you home from death. It is your father who has watched you day and night through this weary illness.” “Oh, God!” cried Eustace, with a stifled groan. “Is this true?” “As true as that you and I are here, face to face.” “Do you know that I have sworn to hate you? For the man who broke my mother’s heart I can never have any feeling but abhorrence. Your kindness to me I reject and repudiate. We are natural enemies, and have been from the hour in which I first learned the meaning of shame.” “I have heard you plead the cause of Christianity. Is this Christianlike, Eustace?” “It is natural.” “And you say that Christianity is something higher than nature. Prove it now to me, who have been something of a Pagan. Let me discover the superiority of your creed to my vague Pantheism. Look at me! I, your father, who have never knelt to mortal man, and but too seldom to God, I kneel by your bed, and ask, in abject humility, to be forgiven. I know that I cannot bring back the injured dead. I know that I cannot atone for the past. But if that gentle spirit has found a quiet haven whence she can look back to those she loved on earth, I _know_ it would console her to see me forgiven. Judge me as if your mother stood by your side.” “She would forgive you,” murmured Eustace; “God created her to suffer and pardon.” “And will you refuse the pardon she would have granted? You forgave me just now, when our hands were clasped in friendship. Do you think you can recall that forgiveness? The words have been spoken. I have the ancient belief in the power of spoken words. Eustace, am I to kneel in vain to my only son?” The young man covered his face with his hands. He had sworn to hate this man, his arch-enemy, and the enemy had taken base advantage of his weakness, and had stolen his affection. This pale, worn face, worn with the weary night-watches of the past six weeks, was not the face of a foe. His mother--yes, she would have forgiven, and her wrongs were greater than his. And if, from the Heaven her penitence had won, she looked back to earth, it would grieve that gentle spirit to see disunion here. There was a long pause, and then the son extended his hand to his father. “For my mother’s wrongs I have hated you,” he said: “for her sake I forgive you.”