All manner of discomforting thoughts assailed him as he waited--thoughts that almost made his resolution waver. Suppose discovery, by some devilish chance, already had come on this very day? Supposing Tommy was too late, and the virtue gone out of his own desire to be himself the one to end the suspense? It would be the final blow if Tommy, in being himself the assassin of his own career, could not thereby save his own soul! Tommy wandered restlessly about the house, going from room to room. He saw his mother's photograph on the library table, and visualized the long and lonely days of the poor old man in this home without a wife, in this house without a son, with no companion save the consciousness of his loneliness and of his deeds--a great love paid for in the fear and the horror of discovery. “Poor dad!” said Tommy, aloud, and went into his father's bedroom. On the bureau was another photograph of Tommy's mother. And then the long, gray history of the old man unrolled itself even more vividly before the boy's soul, until his throat lumped achingly and the tears came into his eyes. He could not speak; he dared not think. So he passed his hand over his father's pillow instinctively, caressingly, smoothed it and patted it mechanically. “Poor dad! Poor dad!” he muttered to the ghost of his father that was in the room with him. He must not speak brutally to his father. He would wait until after supper. Then in the library, very quietly, with his arm about the old bent shoulders, he would say: “Dad, why did you do it a second time? Let us go about it calmly and undo it, so that we may both feel better.” It would be easier than he had feared. It was not so difficult to be square, once you have made up your mind. Tommy felt a great sense of relief. He heard the front door open and close, and he hastened from the library. From the top of the stairs he shouted: “Hello, dad! Here I am!” He saw his father start violently and look up, and then he remembered he had not telegraphed. He ran down the stairs with right hand outstretched. He saw the look of alarm in Mr. Leigh's eyes change to fear, and then to something worse. “What--what--” gasped the old man. “Oh, I wanted to see you,” said Tommy, and shook his father's icy-cold hand violently. “Has the company--Have you--lost your position?” “No.” “Then why are you here?” The old man's voice still betrayed apprehension, but on his face was a stem frown. “I'll tell you--after supper.” “No, no; I must know at once! What is it, Thomas?” He walked into the old-fashioned front parlor and confronted his son. Tommy saw the old man who was his father, took in the pale face and the tightly compressed lips. It was a signed confession. His heart sank, but it came back, buoyed on the ocean of love and pity and tenderness that filled his soul.