"I knew something of this," he said quietly. "Now I understand all. You need tell me no more." "Is Mr. Renshaw still living--is it _really_ true that he is still alive?" she said looking up anxiously. "Quite true." "Thank God. Oh! God be thanked for that!" "It is not too late." "Only too late for him to know and seek forgiveness." "You mean your father?" The girl bowed her head. Then she burst out vehemently: "It must not be softened down. I know, I feel, the horror, the wickedness of what was done. I must accept the shame, the punishment. The sins of the fathers must be visited on the children. It is the law of nature and the law of God! I want to make atonement; yet nothing can undo the past, the cruelty and wickedness of all those years of suffering and imprisonment." "Renshaw will not harbour revengeful or vindictive feelings, I am sure of that," Linton answered soothingly. "He is a man of noble character, and a Christian gentleman." "And it was he, a man like that, whom my father...." she paused, biting her trembling lips. "Oh it is horrible, horrible!" "But he repented, he was sorry--the will proves it," said Linton. "Yes, it is written there, a public confession, the dying declaration of his sorrow and his shame. There shall be no concealment. He did not wish it at the last. The truth must be made known to all the world." "If Renshaw wishes it. But I do not think he will." "Where is he now--is he ill, is he safe?" "He is recovering, getting back his strength, in a monastery in Herm, one of the smaller Channel Islands. Arrangements are being made for his return to England at the right moment." She stood up, interested and excited. "Yes, yes?" "A society has been formed--the members call themselves the Friends of the Phoenix. My uncle and General Hartwell are at the head of it. The aim is to restore Renshaw to power. He is the only man who can save the country in the present crisis." "And you are helping--you are one of them?" He nodded. "I am to bring him back to England in the _Bladud_ if I have your permission." "Don't lose an hour," she cried, "don't lose an hour!" "Not a moment, when the time is ripe. I am waiting orders. They will reach me here." "If only my father could have known of this before he died." She sighed and looked at him wistfully, then said appealingly: "You will come upstairs?" Linton bowed his head and followed her. Upstairs in the room from which the President had looked out on the lights of Bath for the last time the sheeted figure lay upon the bed. They paused for a moment side by side. Then Linton gazed for the last time on the cold and rigid face of Nicholas Jardine.