underhand way,
for which even now she hated herself had discovered her father's
long-buried crime. But she had not alone discovered it. Another had also
gone to see that will in Somerset House; another with eyes far more
practised than hers had read those fatal words. And that other, he could
act. He would act; he would expose the guilty and dying old man, for he
was _the other trustee_.

Charlotte was very ignorant as to how the law would act with regard to
such a crime as her father's. Doubtless there would be a public trial, a
public disgrace. He would be dragged into the prisoner's dock; his old
white head would be bowed low there, and he was a dying man.

In the first shock and horror of finding that the father she had always
almost worshipped could be guilty of such a terrible crime, a great rush
of anger and almost hardness had steeled her heart against him; but now
tenderer feelings came back. Pity, sad-eyed and gentle, knocked at her
heart, and when she let in pity, love quickly resumed its throne. Yes;
whatever his crime, whatever his former life, she loved that old man.
That white-headed, broken-hearted man, so close to the grave, was her
father, and she his only child. When she spoke to Sandy Wilson to-day
she had felt no desire to save the guilty from his rightful fate. But
now her feelings were different. A great cry arose in her heart on his
behalf. Could she screen him? could she screen him from his fate? In her
agony she rose and flung herself on her knees. "My God, help me; my God,
don't forsake me; save my father. Save him, save him, save him."

She felt a little calmer after this broken prayer, and something to do
occurred to her with its instant power of tranquillizing. She would find
out the doctor whom her father consulted. She would ask Uncle Jasper.
She would make him tell her, and she would visit this man early in the
morning, and, whatever the consequence, learn the exact truth from his
lips. It would help her in her interview later on with Mr. Wilson.
Beyond this little immediate course of action, there was no light
whatever; but she felt so far calmed, that, about two o'clock, she lay
down and sleep came to her--healthy and dreamless sleep, which was sent
direct from God to put strength into the brave heart, to enable it to
suffer and endure. Many weeks before Mr. Home had said to Charlotte
Harman, "You must keep the Christ bright within you." Was His likeness
to shine henceforth through a