The doubts about his father's innocence which
had been dissipated by his visit to the Merchant's Table, that
father's own language and manner had now revived--had even
confirmed, though he dared not yet acknowledge so much to
himself. It was terrible enough to be obliged to admit that the
result of his morning's search was, after all, not
conclusive--that the mystery was, in very truth, not yet cleared
up. The violence of his father's last words of distrust; the
extraordinary and indescribable changes in his father's manner
while uttering them--what did these things mean? Guilt or
innocence? Again, was it any longer reasonable to doubt the
death-bed confession made by his grandfather? Was it not, on the
contrary, far more probable that the old man's denial in the
morning of his own words at night had been made under the
influence of a panic terror, when his moral consciousness was
bewildered, and his intellectual faculties were sinking? The
longer Gabriel thought of these questions, the less
competent--possibly also the less willing--he felt to answer
them. Should he seek advice from others wiser than he? No; not
while the thousandth part of a chance remained that his father
was innocent.
This thought was still in his mind, when he found himself once
more in sight of his home. He was still hesitating near the door,
when he saw it opened cautiously.
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