One of the 28th | Page 6

heard the guns, mother, and I expect there has been a victory. I
hope not."
"Why do you hope not, Ralph?"
"Why, of course, mother, I don't want the French to be beaten--not
regularly beaten, till I am old enough to have a share in it. Just fancy
what a nuisance it would be if peace was made just as I get my
commission."
"There will be plenty of time for you, Ralph," his mother said smiling.
"Peace has been patched up once or twice, but it never lasts long; and
after fighting for the last twenty years it is hardly probable that the
world is going to grow peaceful all at once. But there, it is time for you
to be off; it only wants ten minutes to nine and you will have to run fast
all the way to be in time."
When Mrs. Conway was alone she took up the letter, and turned it over
several times before opening it.
What could Herbert Penfold have written about after all these years?
Mrs. Conway was but thirty-six years old now, and was still a pretty
woman, and a sudden thought sent a flush of color to her face. "Never!"
she said decidedly. "After the way in which he treated me he cannot
suppose that now--" and then she stopped. "I know I did love him once,
dearly, and it nearly broke my heart; but that was years and years ago.
Well, let us see what he says for himself," and she broke open the letter.
She glanced through it quickly, and then read it again more carefully.
She was very pale now, and her lips trembled as she laid down the
letter.
"So," she said to herself in a low tone, "it is to him after all I owe all
this," and she looked round her pretty room; "and I never once really
suspected it. I am glad now," she went on after a pause, "that I did not;
for, of course, it would have been impossible to have taken it, and how
different the last twelve years of my life would have been. Poor Herbert!

And so he really suffered too, and he has thought of me all this time."
For fully half an hour she sat without moving, her thoughts busy with
the past, then she again took up the letter and reread it several times. Its
contents were as follows:
"Dear Mrs. Conway: You will be doubtless surprised at seeing my
handwriting, and your first impulse will naturally be to put this letter
into the fire. I am not writing to ask you to forgive my conduct in the
old days. I am but too well aware how completely I have forfeited all
right to your esteem or consideration. Believe me that I have suffered
for my fault, and that my life has been a ruined one. I attempt to make
no excuses. I am conscious that while others were to blame I was most
of all, and that it is to my own weakness of will and lack of energy that
the breach between us was due. However, all this is of the past and can
now interest you but little. You have had your own sorrows and trials,
at which, believe me, I sincerely grieved. And now to my object in
writing to you. Although still comparatively a young man, I have not
many years to live. When last in London I consulted two of the first
physicians, and they agreed that, as I had already suspected, I was
suffering from heart disease, or rather, perhaps, from an enfeebled state
of my heart, which may at any moment cease to do its work.
"Naturally then, I have turned my thoughts as to whom I should leave
my property. My sisters are amply provided for. I have no other near
relatives, and therefore consider myself free to leave it as I choose. I
have long fixed my thoughts upon the daughter of a dear friend, the
rector of Bilston; she is now thirteen years old, and half my property is
left her. I have left the other half to your son. The whole subject to an
annuity to yourself; which you will not, I trust, refuse to accept. I have
never thought of any woman but you, and I hope that you will not
allow your just resentment against me to deprive me of the poor
satisfaction of making what atonement lies in my power for the cruel
wrong I formerly did you.
"Were I strong and in health I can well imagine that you would
indignantly refuse to receive any benefits from my hands, but knowing
your kindness of heart, I feel sure that you will not sadden the last days

of a doomed man