Part 8 (1/2)

The next morning, as he was leaving the room to go out to his work, his father called him back. ”Charlie,” he said, ”I am expecting a sister of mine to-night, and I want you to go to the train and meet her; she would get the letter you posted last night this morning, and will have time to get here by the half-past eight train to-night.” He paused for a moment.

Why did not Charlie undeceive him about the letter _at once_? He made up his mind to tell him, but put it off until his father had finished all he had to say.

”I have not seen my sister for years,” said John Heedman; ”she is the only relative I have living, but some misunderstanding rose up between us after my mother's death--at least, she took offence, and I do not know the reason even now. I wrote several times, but she did not answer.

That letter you posted last night was to her; she will come, I know, when she hears that I am so near death. There must be something to explain away, and I am anxious for a reconciliation before I die; indeed, it is the only earthly wish I have left.” He said this so earnestly, and with such an anxious, longing expression in his eyes, that Charlie was obliged to turn away; he could not bear it.

How _could_ he tell him that she had not got the letter? If only he had confessed his neglect the same night, before he knew the contents of the letter, it would not have been half so bad.

”You had better go now, my boy,” said his father, kindly, ”or you'll be late at work.”

Charlie went. I need not tell you that he had a miserable day.

At night his father called him into his room and gave him as careful a description of his sister as he could to guide him in knowing her.

Charlie dressed and went to the station, and walked up and down the platform until the train came in, gazed at the people, and walked home again. It seemed as if he could not help it; instead of recovering himself after the first false step, he had gone on sinking deeper and deeper into sin and deception; he seemed powerless to help himself.

”Hasn't she come?” exclaimed his mother, seeing he was alone. ”Oh dear, what will your father do? he has been almost living upon the expectation of seeing her these last few hours; he has watched the door ever since you went out. I'm afraid the disappointment will throw him back sadly.”

Charlie could not trust himself to speak, but turned into the sick room.

His father was propped up with pillows, and looked eagerly to the door when Charlie entered; he still waited in expectation until Mrs. Heedman came in and closed the door. ”Where is she?” he asked; ”where is Jane?”

”She has not come,” said Mrs. Heedman, gently; ”perhaps to-morrow morning will bring her.--You posted that letter in time, Charlie?” she asked.

”Yes, mother,” Charlie answered, in desperation, and in a very low voice.