He had been in the East Indies, he told Virgie, engaged in the spice trade, most of the time since his flight from San Francisco. But he had never known a moment of peace since the day that he had fled with all the available funds of the bank, of which he had been the cashier, and his brother the president, for he had known well enough that the good name of the latter would have to suffer as well as his own. “At first,” he said, “I tried traveling, throwing myself into every excitement, and took my family with me. But it would not do; the fortune which I had stolen and was trying to enjoy, was like a mill-stone about my neck; the word ‘thief’ was branded upon my heart with every beat of my pulse, until, in despair, I at last located at Batavia, on the island of Java, and threw myself, heart and brain, into business. I invested the most of my ill-gotten gains where they would be safe, and began to speculate with the rest. The Bible says that ‘the wicked shall not prosper;’ but I did—if you call it prospering to have money literally pouring in upon you and be nearly distracted with an accusing conscience at the same time. The richer I grew the more wretched I became. I had heard that your father had sacrificed all that he was worth toward wiping out my iniquity; but of course I knew that it could not begin to make my defalcation good, and that people would only scoff and sneer, and say it was all pretense—doubtless we were in league and would share equally in the spoils. I knew his high sense of honor, and how sensitive he was, and I believed the blow would crush him.” “It did! it did!” cried Virgie, bursting into a passion of tears, as all the sad past came pressing upon her with this recital. “Poor child! poor child!” returned her uncle, tremulously. “But you and your father were in a state of bliss compared with me. Then there came that terrible epidemic sweeping all whom I loved in three days from the face of the earth, and bringing me, also, very near to death’s door. When it was all over, and I knew that I was to live, I felt that there remained but one thing for me to do—to come back here and make an open confession of everything, and atone, as far as I was able, for the mischief I had wrought. If I could have found Abbot I should have done this long ago. Oh, my brother, I wish you had not died!” Again he broke down, and Virgie felt herself fast melting toward him. She could not but feel that his repentance had come far too late, but he was much too wretched not to appeal to her sympathies. They talked for several hours, she telling him all that had occurred since his flight, though she touched but lightly upon her individual sorrows. But he appeared so exhausted that she finally persuaded him to retire, giving up her own room to him, she and little Virgie occupying Mina’s, while the girl slept upon a lounge in their small dining-room.