'This darkness and the rain are no troubles to me; but just listen one moment. You know that I have told you what I have no other human being. One secret more I must commit to you--that young man who is now at your house is my son.' 'David Cross your son, Margaret?' 'It is God's truth, and all I want of you is, whenever you think it best, to let him know what I have told you. I am now on my way to the city. I shall seek a place of service, and when I find a resting-place, if there is any such spot for me on earth, I shall let you know. But one thing I must beg of you--Cross has treated me like a brute, and I came very near taking his life to-night; but for David's sake, spare him--don't reveal the terrible tale you heard to-night. Promise me, now, won't you'--and Margaret fell upon her knees and clasped the arms of the widow--'promise me, you will not reveal it without in some way you are obliged to do it?' 'Why, Margaret, my mind is so disturbed by all these scenes, that I cannot think of things as I should like to before making any promise; but you know I love David, and would be as careful of injuring him, as my own child.' 'That is enough; but oh, do just put your hand upon my head, and say one prayer over me. I shall go lighter on my way, for I have but a heavy heart, and a weary road lies before me.' 'May God bless you, my child, for Jesus Christ's sake, and make a way for you to some place where you will be in peace; and may you yet have some comfort before you die.' 'Amen!' said Margaret; and seizing the hand of the widow, which had rested on her shoulder, she kissed it again and again, and then departed. CHAPTER XXIII. Mr. Cross was in no enviable state of mind as he hastened along in the darkness, after leaving the hut of Margaret. The disappointment he had suffered in finding that Ned Saunders was dead; the terrible fright he had endured while standing with the rifle at his breast; the mortification of begging his life at the hand of one he had so long triumphed over; and above all, the knowledge that his secret was abroad--all operated with maddening power, and worked up a tempest within, that raged and tossed until he was bewildered by its fury. He passed his own dwelling without stopping, but hurried on, directing his steps to the north, through a by-path amidst the towering pines. After some miles of rapid walking, he reached the edge of the barrens, or rather that part of them that had been cleared and in some measure cultivated. He here descried the twinkle of lights from a small settlement. To one of these, a little separated from the rest, he soon came, and knocked with some violence at the door. 'Come in.' Cross tried the latch, but finding it fastened, repeated the knocks in a way that showed he was in earnest to be let in. 'Come in, I say--but stop, may be the door is fastened. Who are you?' 'Open the door, will you? it's me.' 'Aha--that I will;' and the bolt was withdrawn quickly.