Yet he, too, left me without a word, and when I would have followed him--" But the boy broke down, and buried his face in his hands.
"No, no," said Father Sobriente, with eager persistence, "that was his foolish pride to spare you the knowledge of your kinship with one so feared, and part of the blind and mistaken penance he had laid upon himself.

For even at that moment of your boyish indignation, he never was so fond of you as then.

Yes, my poor boy, this man, to whom God led your wandering feet at Deadman's Gulch; the man who brought you here, and by some secret hold--I know not what--on Don Juan's past, persuaded him to assume to be your relation; this man Flynn, this Jackson Brant the gambler, this Hamilton Brant the outlaw--WAS YOUR FATHER! Ah, yes! Weep on, my son; each tear of love and forgiveness from thee hath vicarious power to wash away his sin." With a single sweep of his protecting hand he drew Clarence towards his breast, until the boy slowly sank upon his knees at his feet.

Then, lifting his eyes towards the ceiling, he said softly in an older tongue, "And THOU, too, unhappy and perturbed spirit, rest!" * * * * * It was nearly dawn when the good Padre wiped the last tears from Clarence's clearer eyes.

"And now, my son," he said, with a gentle smile, as he rose to his feet, "let us not forget the living.