"You have ruined my life," he answered, "and left me a heritage of shame and evil."
"I know it— God help me— I know it; but won't— you— forgive me, my son? I— want to— call you— that— just once." He pressed his hand closer.
Could he forgive him? Could he forget all that he had suffered and would yet suffer on this man's account? Then the words and the manner of old Eliphalet came to him, and he said, in a softened voice, "I forgive you, father." He hesitated long over the name.
"Thank God for— for— the name— an'— forgiveness." He carried his son's hand to his lips, "I sha' n't be— alive— long— now,— an' my— death— will set— people to talkin'. They will— bring— up the— past. I— don't want you— to— stay an' have— to bear— it. I don't want to— bring any more on— you than I have— already. Go— away, as— soon as I am dead."
"I cannot leave my friends to bear my burdens."
"They will not speak— of them— as they— will speak of— you, my— poor— boy. You— are— old— Tom Brent's—
