"Be a.s.sured that I have a sound reason. Pray leave us together for a few minutes. Nathan, you remain. And you, too, G.o.dfrey."

All the rest left the room, wondering at the Captain's agitation and request. Welfare, who went last, softly closed the door after him.

For a moment Major Langdon stared silently at Captain Stanbury and the lads, and it was evident that he knew all three. His face was white with pain, but it showed no trace of anger or hatred. In his eyes was a look of unutterable self-reproach and contrition.

"d.i.c.k," he whispered faintly, "this is the end."

"Yes, I fear it is," said Captain Stanbury. "G.o.d have mercy on you!

Nathan," he added, "this man is my younger brother Gerald--my brother and your uncle!"

"Your brother!" gasped Nathan, and G.o.dfrey uttered a cry of astonishment.

"It is a strange story," resumed the Captain. "Let me tell it in a few words. My father was the Earl of Ravenswood, and at Ravenswood Court, near Nottingham, in England, the three brothers of us were brought up.

Anthony, the eldest, died in 1760, and that same year I married the daughter of a retired sea-captain of Bristol. Mary Harding was the equal of any woman in the world, but my father chose to think that I had disgraced him and the family. We had a bitter quarrel, and he disowned me and cast me out. Being the oldest living son, I was then Lord Langdon, but I cared nothing for the t.i.tle. I came to Philadelphia under an a.s.sumed name, Nathan, and there you were born and my beloved wife died. Since then I have lived only for you, my boy, and that you might some day come into your inheritance, I preserved the papers relating to my marriage and your birth. They were in the packet you found under the floor of my cabin. And from the day I left England I neither saw nor heard of my brother Gerald until we met after the battle of Monmouth."

Captain Stanbury sank into a chair, covering his face with his hands, and for a moment there was deep silence. Nathan neither moved nor spoke.

It was a strange story he had just heard. So Major Langdon was his father's brother--his own uncle! The mystery was growing clear, and he shrank from what he suspected was to come.

G.o.dfrey seemed also to understand, for there was a look of fixed horror on his face.

"d.i.c.k," said Major Langdon, "it's my turn now. I can't last long, and I want to confess--"

"No, no," interrupted Captain Stanbury. "Let that rest, Gerald. It can do no good to tell it."

"But I must," persisted the dying man, in a shrill voice. "Do you think I can go to my grave with such a burden on my soul? I came here to-night to kill you, d.i.c.k, and I have been justly punished. G.o.d knows I am repentant--"

"I believe you are, Gerald."

"Thank you, d.i.c.k. Now let me speak while I can--let me tell it all. I recognized my nephew in Philadelphia, and you I discovered on the field of Monmouth. I heard you speak of the papers, and it was then I first conceived this awful crime. I wanted the t.i.tle and estates--I wanted to be Earl of Ravenswood, d.i.c.k, and you and your son stood in the way. But I hated you both because you were rebels, else I could hardly have gone so far. I had you carried off the field, and I told the Hessians to kill you--"

"I suspected that, Gerald. I saw and recognized you when you rode by me to the rear. But I was too weak to speak."

"And do you know what I did next, d.i.c.k? Do you know that I sent a band of ruffians to steal the papers--that I paid Simon Gla.s.s to kill your boy--my own nephew?"

"Yes, I know that, too. I heard it from Nathan, who was mercifully saved from death."

"And can you forgive me, d.i.c.k? I have no right to ask it, but I am truly repentant. You won't refuse a dying man?"

Captain Stanbury leaned over and took his brother's hand.

"Gerald, I do forgive you," he said. "I have no right to be a judge, and you are paying the last penalty of your sins."

A look that was almost peaceful came into Major Langdon's eyes. He gasped for breath, and feebly raised his head higher.

"I shall die happier now," he said, "as happy as any man in my circ.u.mstances can. But what are you doing here, Spencer? I can't understand it."

In a few words G.o.dfrey explained, and the Major smiled faintly. "You did right, my lad," he whispered. "I am glad that Gla.s.s is dead, and that he failed in his purpose. What a wretch I have been! I sent you along, Spencer, so that Gla.s.s would know my nephew from his resemblance to you.

It is a strange likeness, and I have often wondered at it."

He was silent for a moment, struggling with pain and weakness. When G.o.dfrey poured some brandy between his teeth his face flushed and he gained fresh strength.

"d.i.c.k," he whispered, turning to his brother, "you will go home now, won't you? I received a brief letter a month ago informing me of father's death. So you are the Earl of Ravenswood, and your son is Lord Langdon."

"I want neither the t.i.tle nor the estates," exclaimed Captain Stanbury, almost fiercely. "I am a true American, Gerald, and after what I have seen of this bitter war I wish no more to do with England. And yet, for my son's sake--"

"I, too, am a true American, father," interrupted Nathan, his eyes flashing with excitement. "Do you think I would go and live in England?--that I would take t.i.tle or fortune from King George, our bitterest foe? Never, father, never! My blood boils when I think of Wyoming! Let us stay here and fight for our rights, like true patriots.

I am glad those papers are lost, and I hope they will never be found."

"n.o.bly said, my boy!" cried Captain Stanbury, in a voice that shook with emotion. "I would not have had you choose otherwise--"

At that instant a commotion arose outside--loud voices mingled with the neighing and clatter of horses. The front door opened, and a strangely familiar sound brought the hot blood to Nathan's cheeks. Then footsteps crossed the hall, and into the room strode Barnabas Otter.

The scene that followed can be better imagined than told. With a grin of pleasure Barnabas shook hands with his friends, thereby convincing them that he was not a ghost. Nathan was half-laughing, half-crying, as he embraced the old man, and looked almost incredulously into his rugged face. Major Langdon watched the scene curiously; his glazing eyes and leaden hue told that the end was very near.

"It's me, sure enough," cried Barnabas, when the first greetings were over. "Here's your papers, Captain," producing the packet from his boot.

Captain Stanbury shrugged his shoulders as he took them, and Nathan did not try to hide his disappointment.

"So they aren't any account after all, lad," said Barnabas, in a sympathetic tone. "It's hard luck! You see I've been made acquainted with the whole story."

"What do you mean?" asked Nathan.

"You'll know soon," Barnabas replied. "Wait till I tell you how I escaped death--it's not a long yarn. You may remember that the Carson House stands on the Susquehanna half a mile below the Kittochtinny Falls. It seems that after Braddock's defeat the family dug a secret pa.s.sage from the cellar of the house to the river, so's they might escape by water in case of an Indian attack. Well, Gla.s.s an' I were sucked under the bushes into the secret mouth of that pa.s.sage. We were both unconscious at the time, an' when I come to after a bit I didn't know where I was. I hollered three or four times, an' down come Carson an' his son with lanterns. Simon Gla.s.s was stone dead, an' I reckon they buried him the next day. I pushed right up to Fort Hunter, learned from Corporal Dubbs where you lads were gone, an' then struck for Harris's Ferry. There I run across Noah Waxpenny--"

"So the sergeant didn't catch him?" interrupted Nathan.

"No, lad. We came on together to Philadelphia, and then across the Jersies here. Waxpenny is out yonder now, washin' off the dust of travel. He's a queer chap, but--"

Just then Mr. Waxpenny himself entered the room, looking as fresh and clean as though he had just stepped off ship.

"I am informed that Major Gerald Langdon is here," he said, rubbing his lean fingers. "Also Captain Richard Stanbury and his son. I have the honor to represent the firm of Sharswood & Feeman, solicitors, Lincoln's Inn, London. They sent me to this country in the interests of their late estimable client, the Earl of Ravenswood--"

"Your errand is already known," the Major interrupted, faintly. "My minutes are numbered, and what you have to tell no longer concerns me.

But there stands the new Earl of Ravenswood, and his son, Lord Langdon."

"Sir, these gentlemen have no claim to the t.i.tles," said Mr. Waxpenny.

"No claim?" demanded the Major. Nathan and his father looked surprised, and Barnabas nodded at them meaningly.

"I said no claim," repeated Mr. Waxpenny. "The Earl had--a third and elder son, Anthony--"

"He died years ago," gasped Major Langdon.

"Exactly, sir; but he left a wife and son behind him."

Having made this announcement Mr. Waxpenny paused a moment to enjoy its thrilling effect. "Anthony Langdon was a wild and dissipated young man,"

he continued. "Under an a.s.sumed name he was married in London in the year 1759. In the following year, after a son had been born to him, he tired of his family, deserted them, and came home. A week later he was stabbed in a drunken brawl in Nottingham. Before he died he confessed his marriage to his father, who chose, for reasons that may be understood, to keep the secret locked in his own bosom."

Mr. Waxpenny stopped to stroke his chin. "The deserted wife," he resumed, "was a proud and high-spirited woman. Feeling satisfied that her husband had tired of her, she emigrated to America with her father and her son, where the Earl kept track of them for a time. They were worthy and upright people, and the knowledge of this fact doubtless prompted him to make confession and rest.i.tution on his deathbed. By the terms of his will, which was entrusted to my employers, one-half of the estate is divided equally between his sons Gerald and Richard. The other half goes to Anthony's son, who is the rightful Earl of Ravenswood."