and without even time to leave an intelligible message; but I
was told that her last words were: `Cuthbert, darling--cruel unjust
suspicion--innocent;' and that as the last word escaped her lips she
passed away."

At this point of his narrative my father's voice suddenly broke, and
with a wail of uncontrollable anguish and an exclamation of "Heaven,
have mercy upon me and heal my broken heart!" he flung his arms out upon
the cabin table, laid his head upon them, and sobbed aloud.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE FOUNDERING OF THE "DOLPHIN."

I allowed the first paroxysm of my father's grief to wear itself out
unchecked and uninterrupted; but when he had somewhat recovered his
calmness I laid my hand upon his shoulder and said:

"Father, listen to me. You have told me your whole story; I have
listened to every word of it most attentively; and, though I admit that
it is a singular enough history, you have not yet mentioned one single
circumstance directly inculpating my mother. For my part I believe she
was innocent of the duplicity you charged her with, and that she only
spoke the truth when she asserted that her conduct admitted of a simple
and easy explanation."

"Do you really believe that, Leo, on your honour as a gentleman?"
demanded my father eagerly.

"I believe it, sir, as implicitly as I do the fact of my own existence."

"Well," said my father, sighing heavily, "there have been times when I
have felt almost disposed to do so too; what a blessed relief it would
be to me if I could believe it altogether! It is these distracting
doubts which are wearing both my life and my reason away, and it was
those same doubts which prevented my enjoying your company when you were
a child, and almost succeeded in destroying my natural affection for
you; it was those doubts which caused me to neglect you as I did when
you were most in need of a parent's love and care; and it was these same
doubts again which--forgive me for saying it, Leo--caused me almost to
rejoice when I first contemplated the possibility of your being killed
in the mutiny."

"Well," said I, "that is a strange confession for a father to make to
his own son--a strange feeling for a parent to entertain toward his own
offspring. How do you account for it, sir?"

"I will tell you, Leo," said my father. "Sit down, my son, and do not
look at me so coldly; if you had passed through as many years of mental
anguish as I have endured, you would wonder, n