“But I cannot see it in the dark.” “By holding it close to the window you can get the ray from the lamp on it There! here it is, I think.” Mrs. Fox took the portrait to the front of the room, and parting the curtains a little, held it for Sydney to look at. “Yes, it is very like,” he said. “This picture must have been taken when Mr. Darley was quite young.” “He sat for it before he was married. But where is this boy?” “Living at a little town out in New Jersey. He wants to find his father.” “How comes it he isn’t dead?” the old lady wanted to know. Sydney told the story of Miles Harding as he had heard it from Rex. “Do you know why he was compelled to give up the child?” he added. “Poverty, I suppose. You know he was very sick once, and he lost everything. That was what unsettled his reason. But to think he should have given out that the child was dead!” “Did you ever hear him speak of the Morriseys?” “No, I never heard the name before. But I should like to see this boy. Does he know that his father is living?” “No, not yet; you see I did not hear of it until tonight. But I must not stay longer. My brothers are waiting for me in the carriage. We must arrange what we are going to do.” “I don’t know what to say. The boy ought to have his rights. Can’t we fix it all quietly some way? I don’t think you meant to do wrong.” “Yes, I did. I did everything with my eyes open. I ought to suffer for it. The only trouble is that those I love will suffer with me. But don’t you think the restoration of fortune will bring back Mr. Darley’s mind?” “I don’t know. I can’t tell about that. He is very queer.” “Do you have a doctor for him?” “Oh, no. I’d be afraid they’d want to take him away. I expect I’m selfish about it. But bring the boy here. He is old enough. We can talk it over with him, and maybe his father will recognize him.” “I can come any time, then?” said Sydney. “Yes, now I know who you are.” “Good night, then. I shall see you soon again. I feel better than when I came.” Sydney rose and walked to the door without assistance. As soon as the boys saw him they hurried out to help him into the carriage. Within three minutes they were driving towards home and a church clock near by chimed one—for half past twelve. “Boys,” began Sydney, “I have something to tell you. I was not glad before that I was not your own brother. I am glad of it now, because—I am a criminal.” There was a pause. No one spoke. There was no sound but the rattle of the wheels. It was too dark to see the expression on the faces of the twins. Rex was leaning partly forward, one hand gripping Roy’s knee. He could think of nothing save the night Mr. Keeler had spent with them and the horror they had had of him before they found out that it was his brother whose picture was in that book. CHAPTER XXXI THE CONFESSION TO THE BOYS The carriage had gone two squares before the silence in it was broken. Then Roy spoke.