Both books had been carefully studied, as was evident from the marks and marginal notes they contained. Jack understood at once the secret of David Brent's refusal to see the priest, and his dying, as his wife said, without the sacraments, yet as peaceful and calm as a babe. He felt, as he looked at the books written out with so much care by a hand evidently unused to holding a pen, like one who comes unexpectedly on the writing of a dear friend long dead; and he vowed that as long as he lived, David Brent's children should never want anything that he could do for them. He trimmed the shaded lamp and sat down to read, but even the interest of his new discovery could not divert his attention from the sick man. Was he really Sir John Brydges's long-lost son? And if so, what was to be done to restore him to his parents? Could he be persuaded to return to his father's house? That would be best for all. "But if he will not, the knight must come to him," Jack said to himself. "I must bring the father and son face to face, and then I am sure all will be well. I remember what the knight said on the terrace at Holford the day I went to speak with Master Fleming. Oh, how I wish he were here. But there is no use in speculating. I must wait and see how matters will turn out." Jack once more addressed himself to his book, and read till he was aroused by the voice of the invalid. He rose and went to the bedside. Paul had been sleeping quietly for some time, but he now began to talk, though without opening his eyes; and Jack perceived that he was wandering, between sleeping and waking. He held his breath not to lose a word. "Mother, mother," murmured the sick man. "Mother, I am not dead. I need no masses, even if they were worth anything. Only take me home, and lay me on my own bed, and let my father sit by me as he used to do in old times. Father will forgive me for disgracing him when he knows I am sorry for what I have done. 'While he was yet a great way off, his father saw him.' Master Firth bade me return to my father and seek his forgiveness. But a heretic!" Jack started and drew nearer to the bedside. "A heretic!" repeated Paul. And then looking up, and seeing Jack bending over him, he added eagerly, but yet with a certain wildness which showed his mind was still wandering—"You have seen my father of late. Do you think he would receive and forgive me if he knew that I had heard the Lutherans preach—that I was of the new religion?" "I am sure he would—quite sure," said Jack. "Some men say he is a favorer of the new religion himself." "But my mother—what would she say? She is a proud and devout lady, you know." "She is your mother," said Jack briefly, as though that were enough. "But if she should refuse me when she knows the truth, if she should turn her back upon me after all, it would go near to break my heart. And you know I must needs speak the truth. 'He that loveth father or mother more than Me, is not worthy of Me.'"