Abner Pickett started homeward in a daze. His son’s terrible charge against him came upon him like a stroke of lightning, and left him blinded and bewildered. “I killed her?” he murmured to himself. “I killed her? I that loved her so; that would ’a’ cut off my right hand for her any day? What does he mean? What Satan’s falsehood is it he has given me?” In the gray of the next morning Charlie Pickett came up the path to his old home. The door was unlocked. He opened it and entered. In the sitting-room, with his head resting on his hand, his face gray in the early morning light, he found his father. He crossed the room and stood before him. “Father,” he said, “I lied to you yesterday. I was unjust and unfilial. I have no excuse to make except that I was moved by uncontrollable anger. I do not know that you ever said a word in the presence of my wife that could in any way hurt her feelings. I do not know that you ever caused her a single pain, a single regret, a single sorrow. I do know that you were more than kind to her, that you did for her everything that loving thought or willing hands could do, and that your grief at her death was scarcely less than my own. I owe you this apology. I make it now. For this offence I ask your forgiveness. May I have it?” The old man looked up at him impassively. “No.” “But, father, it is the only lie I ever told you, and I am sorry for it from the bottom of my heart.” “One lie is enough.” “But I am going now. I may never see you again. It is terrible for father and son to be thus estranged. What can I do to redeem myself in your eyes?” “Nothing.” “May I come sometime to see you?” “No.” Charlie turned toward the door, then, a thought striking him suddenly, he turned back again. “And Dannie, father?” “Leave him with Martha.” “Thank you! Good-by!” The old man did not again respond. He still sat with his forehead in his hands, motionless, passionless, like granite. Charlie left the room, closing the door behind him, and went upstairs. In the hall he met Aunt Martha. “It’s all over, Auntie,” he said. “I’m going.” The good woman had been weeping. “I knew you had had it out with each other, Charlie.” “Yes, I’m not to return. I’m going to kiss Dannie good-by. Father says I shall leave him with you. Will you take him, Auntie?” “Alice gave him to me to take care of when she died, and I’ll keep him till you want him, Charlie. But you’ll soon be coming back?” “I’m afraid not, Auntie. I can’t tell you about it. You know father. I was thoughtless and cruel. He is firm and unforgiving. But you’ll know where I am. When you want me send for me, and I’ll come.”