"You remember, Pulaski," the invalid began, "that once when you were ill, you would not permit me to see you. I was so ignorant that I was angry; yes, and bitter; my vanity was wounded. And I was ignorant and bitter for many years. I never knew until eighteen months ago why I was not permitted to see you. I knew it one day, after I had been ill a long time. I looked in the mirror and saw my wasted face and hollow eyes. I knew then, and if I had known at first, Pulaski, everything would have been so different. I have come all this terrible journey to ask you to take my daughter and care for her. It is my last wish that you should be her guardian and protector. Is she in the room? Can she hear what I am about to say?" "No, Margaret," replied Pulaski Tomlin, in a voice that was tremulous and husky. "She is downstairs; I have just seen her." "Well, she has no father according to my way of thinking," Margaret Bridalbin went on. "Her father is a deserter from the Confederate army. She doesn't know that; I tried to tell her, but my heart failed me. Neither does she know that I have been divorced from him. These things you can tell her when the occasion arises. If I had told her, it would have been like accusing myself. I was responsible--I felt it and feel it--and I simply could not tell her." "I shall try to carry out your wishes, Margaret," said Pulaski Tomlin; "I have seen your daughter, as Fanny suggested, and she has no objection to the arrangement. I shall do all that you desire. She shall be to me a most sacred charge." "If you knew how happy you are making me, Pulaski--Oh, I am grateful--grateful!" "There should be no talk of gratitude between you and me, Margaret." At a signal from Pulaski Tomlin, Judge Odom cleared his throat, and read the document that he had drawn up, and his strong, business-like voice went far toward relieving the strain that had been put on those who heard the conversation between the dying woman and the man who had formerly been her lover. Everything was arranged as she desired, every wish she expressed had been carried out; and then, as if there was nothing else to be done, the poor lady closed her eyes with a sigh, and opened them no more in this world. It seemed that nothing had sustained her but the hope of placing her daughter in charge of Pulaski Tomlin. CHAPTER SEVEN _Silas Tomlin Goes A-Calling_