Love is a
strange power. I do not deny that I have fought against it, but--but
why should I conceal? I love Silver with all my soul, she seems to
have grown into my very being.'
It was frankly and strongly uttered; the good side of Jarvis Waring
came uppermost for the moment.
Old Fog leaned forward and grasped his hand. 'I know you do,' he said.
'I know something of men, and I have watched you closely, Waring. It
is for this love that I forgive--I mean that I am glad and thankful
for it, very thankful.'
'And you have reason to be,' said the younger man, withdrawing into
his pride again. 'As my wife, Silver will have a home, a circle of
friends, which--But you could not understand; let it pass. And now,
tell me all you know of her.'
The tone was a command, and the speaker leaned back in his chair with
the air of an owner as he relighted his pipe.
But Fog did not shrink. 'Will you have the whole story?' he asked
humbly.
'As well now as ever, I suppose, but be as brief as possible,' said
the young man in a lordly manner. Had he not just conferred an
enormous favor, an alliance which might be called the gift of a
prince, on this dull old backwoodsman?
'Forty years ago or thereabouts,' began Fog in a low voice, 'a crime
was committed in New York City.
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