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. Although
your step-mother has, through her own act, no legal claim upon you, far
be it from me to indicate your attitude towards her. Enough that YOU are
independent." He turned, and, opening a drawer in his secretaire, took
out a bank-book, and placed it in the hands of the wondering boy.

"It was HIS wish, Clarence, that even after his death you should never
have to prove your kinship to claim your rights. Taking advantage of
the boyish deposit you had left with Mr. Carden at the bank, with his
connivance and in your name he added to it, month by month and year by
year; Mr. Carden cheerfully accepting the trust and management of the
fund. The seed thus sown has produced a thousandfold, Clarence, beyond
all expectations. You are not only free, my son, but of yourself and in
whatever name you choose--your own master."

"I shall keep my father's name," said the boy simply.

"Amen!" said Father Sobriente.

Here closes the chronicle of Clarence Brant's boyhood. How he sustained
his name and independence in after years, and who, of those already
mentioned in these pages, helped him to make or mar it, may be a matter
for future record.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Waif of the Plains, by Bret Harte

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WAIF OF THE PLAINS ***

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