She did not want to rouse speculation at the bank by being recognized as the sister of Cornelius. When the major returned, she asked him to be her messenger to her uncle and tell him that she had come from her father, asking him to inquire where it would be convenient for them to meet. The major undertook the commission at once, and went without asking a question.

Early in the afternoon her uncle came, and behaved to her very kindly. He was chiefly a man of business and, thus, made no particular attempt to show sympathy for the trouble she and her parents were in. Yet sympathy was revealed unconsciously by his manner. He was careful to avoid any remark on the conduct or character of the youth. When she had at last given him her father’s check, with the request that he would himself fill it in with the amount Cornelius had stolen, and he with a slight deprecatory smile and shrug had taken it, she ventured to ask what he was going to do with regard to her brother.

“When I take this check,” answered her uncle, “it indicates that I treat the matter as a debt paid discharged, and I leave him entirely in your father’s hands. He must do as he sees fit. I am sorry for you all, and for you, especially, that you should have had to take an active part in the business. I wish your father could have come.”

“I am glad he could not come,” said Hester, “for he is so angry with Cornelius that he would probably have insisted that you prosecute him. You never saw such indignation as my father’s at any wrong done by one man to another—not to say by one like Cornelius to one like you, Uncle, who have always been so kind to him. It is a terrible blow to him!”

She broke down and wept bitter tears—the first she had shed since learning the news. She wept not only for her family, but for Cornelius as well. How was ever such a child of the darkness to come to love the light? How was one who cared so little for righteousness, one who, in all probability, would only excuse or even justify his crime—if indeed he would trouble himself to do so much—how was one like him to be brought to contrition and rectitude? If the thing were passed over and he was not brought to open shame, he would hold his head as high as ever. And then how would even what regenerative power that might lie in the shame ever be brought to bear upon him?