"You see before you, Squire Haynes, a man whose silence has been
your safeguard for the last twelve years. His lips are now
unsealed. James Travers, tell us what you know of the trust
reposed in this man by my father,"
"No, no," said the squire hurriedly. "It--it is enough. I will
make restitution."
"You have done wisely," said Richard Waring. (We must give him
his true name.) "When will you be ready to meet me upon this
business?"
"To-morrow," muttered the squire.
He left the house with the air of one who has been crushed by a
sudden blow.
The pride of the haughty had been laid low, and retribution, long
deferred, had come at last.
Numerous and hearty were the congratulations which Mr. Morton--I
mean Mr. Waring--received upon his new accession of property.
"I do not care so much for that," he said, "but my father's word
has been vindicated. My mind is now at peace."
There was more than one happy heart at the farm that night. Mr.
Waring had accomplished the great object of his life; and as for
Frank and his mother, they felt that the black cloud which had
menaced their happiness had been removed, and henceforth there
seemed prosperous days in store.
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