"Dead?--dead?--And he never knew that I had found him out. The thief, dead--and I--Oh, father--!" She collapsed, sobbing hysterically and screaming. The pent-up agony of the last few weeks burst forth, and she babbled and raved like a mad woman. The physician carried her shrieking from the room, and the miser was left in peace. By his bedside, his only friend, Dora, knelt and prayed silently. Trimmer stole from the room, with bowed head and tears falling--tears for the first time since childhood. The strange, hypnotic spell of his servitude was finished. He walked about aimlessly, like one wandering in a mist. As yet, he could not lay hold on the freedom that was his at last. CHAPTER XXIX A PUBLIC CONFESSION The physician and Mrs. Ripon between them managed to soothe Mrs. Swinton, and bring her back to consciousness of her surroundings; but the minutes were flying, and she dimly remembered that her husband, knowing nothing of what had passed, would go remorselessly through with his confession. She begged to be allowed to return home at once. They helped her into the automobile, and she fell back on the cushions, listlessly. The quiet of the drive revived her a little. The window was open, and the cold air fanned her hot cheeks. But, as the car reached the city streets, a despairing helplessness settled down upon her. It seemed to her that she could even hear the bell of St. Botolph's, calling the congregation to listen to the confession which her husband would surely make. On reaching the rectory, she bade the chauffeur wait, and then entered the house with faltering steps. She found Netty just ready to go out. "Where is your father, Netty?" Mrs. Swinton demanded. "Gone to the church, mother. He seems very strange." "Did he leave no message?" "No, but Mr. Barnby was here a few moments ago, and Mr. Barnby saw the police officers; and they went away, after he showed them a letter from grandfather, absolving Dick from all blame about the checks." "Did he show your father the letter?" "Yes." "What happened then?" "He crushed it in his hand, and cried 'Lies! lies! all lies!' and went out of the house, muttering and staring before him, like a man walking in his sleep." "Netty, you must take a message to your father," Mrs. Swinton directed. "You must come with me in the automobile. Then, you must take my note into the vestry, and see that he gets it at once, before service. There will be plenty of time." Her voice was hoarse with fear. She dragged off her gloves, and entered her husband's study, the scene of so many painful interviews, and yet of so many pleasant hours, during twenty-five years of married life. On a piece of sermon paper, the first that came to hand, and with trembling fingers, she scrawled a last, wild appeal, which also conveyed the information that her father was dead.