rld. For three and twenty years it has lain in a
grave. If he is told now, and the wrong cannot be repaired without his
knowledge, it will come on him as a--disgrace. The question I ask of you
is this: can he bear the disgrace?"

"And my answer to you, Miss Harman, is, that in his state of health the
knowledge you speak of will instantly kill him."

"Then--then--God help me! what am I to do? Can the wrong never be
righted?"

"My dear young lady, I am sincerely sorry for you. I cannot enter into
the moral question, I can only state a fact. As your father's physician
I forbid you to tell him."

"You forbid me to tell him?" said Charlotte. She got up and pulled down
her veil. "Thank you," she said, holding out her hand. "I have that to
go on--as my father's physician you forbid him to know?"

"I forbid it absolutely. Such a knowledge would cause instant death."

CHAPTER XXXIX

PUZZLED.

The old Australian Alexander Wilson, had left his niece, Charlotte Home,
after his first interview with her, in a very disturbed state of mind.
More disturbed indeed was he than by the news of his sister's death. He
was a rich man now, having been successful in the land of his
banishment, and having returned to his native land the possessor of a
moderate fortune. He had never married, and he meant to live with Daisy
and share his wealth with her. But in these day-dreams he had only
thought of his money as giving some added comforts to his rich little
sister, enabling her to have a house in London for the season, and,
while living in the country, to add more horses to her establishment and
more conservatories to build and tend. His money should add to her
luxuries and, consequently, to her comforts. He had never heard of this
unforgotten sister for three and twenty years, the strange dislike to
write home having grown upon him as time went on but though he knew
nothing about her, he many a time in his own wild and solitary life
pictured her as he saw her last. Daisy never grew old to him. Death and
Daisy were not connected. Daisy in his imagination was always young,
always girlish always fresh and beautiful. He saw her as he saw her last
in her beautiful country home standing by her rich husband's side,
looking more like his daughter than his wife. No, Sandy never dreamed
that Daisy would or could die, but in thinking of her he believed her to
be a widow. That husband, so old, when he went away, must be dead.

On his arriv