"I must see him--just for a minute. I'll not engage him in any extended conversation."

"That you cannot do as he can hardly speak. His trouble affects him in that way."

"Let me see him just for a moment--alone, please. Is he awake?"

"Oh yes; he's not that bad. Go in a moment, then, but be careful."

Chester passed in where the minister sat in an arm chair, propped up with pillows, signs of Lucy's tender care. As Chester entered, the man smiled and reached out his hand. The resentment in the young man's heart vanished, when he saw the yearning in the suffering man's face. Yet he stood for some time rooted to the spot, looking at the man who was no doubt his father. Every line of that face stood out boldly to Chester.

How often, in his boyhood days he had pictured to himself what his father was like--and here he was before him. In those days he had nursed a hatred against that unknown sire, but now there was no more of that.

If only,--Chester kneeled by the side of the minister's chair, letting the old man cling to his hand. He looked without wavering into the drawn face and said:

"Are you my father?"

The man's hand dropped as if lifeless, but Chester picked it up again, holding it close.

"Tell me," he repeated, "are you my father?"

"Yes," came slowly and with effort, as tremblingly the father put his hands first on Chester's shoulders as he kneeled before him, then raised them to his head, asking, "Do--you--hate--me? Don't--" That seemed to be all he was able to articulate.

"No, no; I do not hate you; for are you not--are you not my father!"

"Yes."

The son put his arms around his father's neck and kissed him. The father patted contentedly the head of the young man, as a parent fondly caresses a child. They were in that position when Lucy tapped lightly on the door, opened it, and came in.

CHAPTER XVI.

Chester got away from Lucy and Uncle Gilbert that morning, without betraying his father's secret, which had now also become his own. If his father had kept the secret so long, it was evidently for a purpose; he would try not to be the first to reveal it. He kissed Lucy somewhat hurriedly, she thought, as he left.

The sooner he got away the fewer of his strange actions he would have to explain. He did not look back when he walked away for fear that Lucy would be watching him from window or door.

He went back to his own lodgings rather more by instinct than by thought. He slipped into his room, looked aimlessly about, then went out again. He must be alone, yet not confined within walls. The park was not far away, but he walked by it also, on, on. This London is limitless, he thought. One could never escape it by walking. He met other men some hurrying as if stern duty called, others sauntering as if they had no purpose in life but quiet contemplation. He met women, and if he could have read through their weary eyes their life's story, he would not perhaps, have thought his own was the most cruel. A little boy was gathering dust from the pavement, and Chester was reminded of that other little fellow's structure which the carriage wheels had demolished.

Well, he was under the wheel of fate himself. He had heard of this wheel, but never had he been under it until now!

Chester found himself a street or two from the mission office. He would call and perhaps have a talk with Elder Malby. Why had he not thought of that sooner? He quickened his steps, and in a few minutes he was ringing the bell. He heard it tingle within, but no one responded. He rang again, and this time steps were heard coming up from the basement. The housekeeper opened the door.

"Good morning," she greeted him with a smile.

"Good morning, is Elder Malby in?"

"No; none of the elders are in. They are out tracting, I think--but won't you come in?"

"No, thank you, I wanted to see Elder Malby."

"Well, _he_ might be back at any time--come in and rest. You look tired."

"Well--I believe I will."

He followed the motherly housekeeper into the office parlor, where she bade him be seated. She excused herself as her work could not be neglected--Would he be interested in the London papers, or the latest _Deseret News_. She pointed to the table where these papers lay, then went about her work.

Chester looked listlessly at the papers, but did not attempt to read.

Presently, the housekeeper came back.

"I'm having a bite to eat down in the dining room. Come and keep me company. The Elders don't eat till later, but I must have something in the middle of the day."

Chester went with her into the cool, restful room below, and partook with her of the simple meal. Not having had breakfast, he ate with relish. Besides, there was a spirit of peace about the place. His aching heart found some comfort in the talk of the good woman.

Shortly afterwards, Elder Malby arrived, and he saw in a moment that something was the matter with his young friend.

"How are the folks," he asked, "Lucy and her father?"

"He is not well," Chester replied.

"That's too bad. And you are worried?"

"Yes; but not altogether over that. There is something else, Brother Malby. I'll have to tell you about it. Will we be uninterrupted here?"

"Come with me," said the elder and he took him into his own room up a flight of stairs. "Now, then, what can I do to help you?"

"You will pardon me, I know; but somehow, I was led to tell you my story on ship-board, and you're the only one I can talk to now." Then Chester told the elder what he had learned. When he had finished, the elder's face was very grave.

"What ought I to do?" asked Chester; "what can I do?"

The other shook his head. "This is a strange story," he said; "but there can be no doubt that you are his son. You look like him. I noticed it on ship-board, but of course said nothing about it. But you _do_ look like him."

"Do I?"

"Yes; but why he encouraged you to make love to your sister--that is beyond me--I--I don't know what to say."

"Oh, what _can_ I do?"

There was a pause. Then the elder as if weighing well every word, said:

"My boy, you can pray."

"No; I can't even do that. I haven't said my prayers since this thing came to me. What can I pray about? What can I ask of God?"

"Listen. It is easy to pray when everything is going along nicely, and we are getting everything we ask for; but when we seem to be up against hard fate; when despair is in our hearts and the Lord appears to have deserted us, then it is not so easy; but then is when we need most to pray."

"Yes, yes, brother, true enough; but what's the use?"

"Look here, once before, in your life, you felt as you do now; and you told me yourself that not until you said both in your heart and to God 'Thy will be done' did you get peace. Try it again, brother. There is no darkness but the Light of Christ can penetrate, there is no seeming evil but the Lord can turn to your good. What did Job say of the Lord?"

"I don't know."