“I’ll do so at once,” said Wilse. “I am determined to expose Sowers if it costs me my life,” added he with a malicious look. “I said he resolved upon another plan; or at least I intended to say so. His other plan was to steal their first child. He made that plan when Mrs. Beverly’s child was about two years of age. Well, I hired myself to him to help him carry out his plan. One year was spent in trying to steal the child. Sowers was married then, for he got married about a year after Mrs. Beverly did. At the end of one year of treacherous maneuvering, on a summer evening, I with Sowers went along the road near where Mrs. Beverly lived. We saw on the left-hand side of the road Mrs. Beverly’s nurse. The nurse had little Willie by the hand. She went through a gate that led into a woods nearby. As soon as she was lost from sight in the wood, I said: ‘Now is your time, Sowers.’

“‘It is, by Jove, Wilse,’ said Sowers to me. I always went by the name of Wilse Reed when with Sowers. We turned and went after the nurse. Sowers had a drug in his pocket that he was going to give the child to put him to sleep until we could get away with it. Away up in the woods we saw the girl sitting near a large tree talking to the little boy. We crept along slowly until we got to the tree. Sowers had a large stick in his hand. As soon as he got within striking distance of the girl, he raised the club and dealt her a stunning blow on the head. He then turned his attention to the child. The child screamed and hollowed^[1] so that I advised Sowers to administer the drug at once. He administered it. The drug, if administered rightly, would keep the child asleep twelve hours.^[2] Well, he had about eight doses. He made a mistake and gave the child all of them. The child at once fell fast asleep. Sowers laid the child near the nurse, and as the nurse was beginning to stir we went away as quick as possible. We wandered around. Sowers went to his house and got a shot-gun. We then went over to Mrs. Beverly’s and persuaded him [Mr. Beverly] to go out hunting. He went with us.

“We took care to go in the direction of the girl, or at least where we left her. We were not afraid of being recognized, for the girl didn’t see us when we first saw her. Mr. Beverly was the first to see his child. He called us. We came and was greatly surprised (?) to find the nurse and child both laying senseless. Sowers even shed a few tears.”

Wilse hesitated, for he was out of breath. “Must I go on?” inquired he of Sowers.

“Yes, tell all now for you have already exposed my treachery,” said Sowers. “No, I will tell the rest myself,” continued Sowers, driven to desperation. He advanced to the middle of the room, directly in front of the centre table, if it has a front. Anyway, he was in front of the majority of the “audience.”

He looked as solemn as a preacher when about to take his text. He glanced around the room to see if there was one pitying eye gazing at him. Alas, there was none unless it was his wife and daughter. Must he look at them? Yes, he would look, though he dreaded to do so, for fear they too had dismissed all feeling of pity—from their minds—for him. He looked at his wife. Did she look like she pitied him? Yes. For if she did not, why those silent tears? He glanced at his daughter. Ah yes, she pitied him and loved him too. Well, he concluded, he would begin.

“I have been a bad, bad man in my younger days,” began Sowers, as if he were going to make a speech. “My indiscretion in my young days has caused me a whole lifetime of sin. Yes, I shed tears, but they were tears of joy. I was so glad I had at last avenged myself on Mrs. Beverly. Mr. Beverly, with Wilse and myself, went to the house. The nurse had recovered consciousness and she went to the house with us. She could not tell who did the dastardly, treacherous deed.

“The doctor was sent for. He said he could do no good, so the child was given up for dead. Preparations were made for the burial, which was to take place on Sunday, this being Friday. Sunday came. The child was buried. That evening—or night, rather—about twelve o’clock, Wilse and myself went to the grave where the child was buried, dug open the grave, and took the child out. Someone must have been watching us, for just as we were starting from the graveyard, after replacing the coffin and fitting the grave just as it was, someone stepped up and said: ‘Gentlemen what are you doing here this tim—’ A blow [to the] side [of] the head silenced the gentleman. He must have been the sexton^[3] or he would not have been there at that time of night. I don’t know whether he was ever found, or what became of him—.”

“But you shall know!” spoke Pat as he snatched off his coat, hat, wig, and other {disguise}ses. “You shall know what became {of him, for} I am he. I am the person that {. . .} by Wilse Reed, alias, Fred Lambert. I was sexton of that graveyard at that time. Look at me and see for yourself who I am.” As the apparent Son of Erin said this, he took off the last part of clothing that disguised him, and stood tall and towering in their midst as David Kent! Everyone in the room was mute with wonder. Mr. Beverly recognized Kent before he had taken off all his disguise. He arose, and taking Kent by the hand, he said:

“I am surprised at you, Mr. Kent. You are playing quite an interesting piece.”

“I am indeed!” said Kent.

“Why, Mr. Kent, are you the Irishman that visited my office two or three times?” inquired Dr. Maltby.

“I am the identical Pat,” answered Kent. “Here is a card with my full name on it,” added he, producing a card on which his name was written in full.

“David Patterson Kent,” read the doctor. “You are a keen man, Mr. Kent. I didn’t once dream it was you who told me so much about my sister and Miss Baker.”

“I am the man,” said Kent. “But let’s to business. I told Sowers he should know, and he shall. I soon recovered from the faint, but said nothing to anybody about this grave-robbery. I was satisfied that the child was still alive, so I abided my time. Now, Mr. Lambert, I want you to finish the story. Mr. Sowers, you may sit down. Proceed, Fred, proceed at once.”

“I’ll tell no more unless you take those blasted handcuffs off,” said Wilse.

“Well, I’ll take them off if you’ll behave and tell the story as it goes,” assented Kent as he loosened the “bracelets.”

“Now I’ll tell all I know,” said Wilse. “I’ll condemn myself as well. I took the child and, as I hadn’t been long married, I took it to my wife’s house—my second wife, Miss Baker—Kate’s mother was my first wife. Well, when I got married the second time, I told my wife that I had two children, a girl and boy of mine, that I intended bringing home. She consented, so I took little Willie and Kate to my new home. Two weeks after I took them there, I got into a difficulty about someone being murdered, and one month from [that] date, I was in the Massachusetts State’s Prison for life. I stayed there two years and then made my escape. I had been a jail-bird once before. That caused me to marry Miss Baker as ‘Matthew Barton.’ To tell the truth, I committed murder both times.

“I escape[d] prison and changed my name to what Sowers always knew me by, ‘Wilse Reed.’ I took Willie, for I was determined to raise him—I took him and came to Berryville, for my wife said she would not live with me, but she consented to take care of my daughter Kate. To make a long story short, Mrs. Beverly, there is your son, the son you buried a good few years ago,” concluded Wilse, indicating William. “I have raised him to be a gentleman. If you want further proofs of his identity, you must compel Mr. Sowers to take you to his private office. He has all the necessary proofs there.”

“I want proof,” said Mrs. Beverly. Then, turning to her husband, she said: “Oh John, what bliss, what bliss we will have if this is really our son! Mr. Sowers, I demand entrance to your private office at once!”

“Driven to desperation, I will show you all that is in there! Follow me,” said Sowers as he left the room and proceeded to his private office, there to disclose a secret he had kept from his family for years and years. Every person in the parlor followed Sowers to his office.

Kent kept an eye on Wilse Reed, and Kate. William was hoping against hope that Mr. and Mrs. Beverly were his parents.

Poor Mattie! She could not help shedding tears because of her father’s treachery. Herbert did all he could to soothe her.

“If your father was to die on the gallows a disgraced felon, it would not change me,” said Herbert soothingly, as he walked by Mattie’s side in the rear of the other persons that were following Sowers’ footsteps.

“I would love you all the same, my dear, my love, my own,” added Herbert Byronically.^[4]

“I believe you would, dear Bertie,” asserted Mattie. “But I hate to see Father humbled so. I did not believe him to be such a wicked man. Oh Bertie! If I hadn’t your steadfast love to uphold me and encourag[e] me, I would not be able to stand this.”

“Bear up, dear Mattie. Bear up. Don’t be discouraged. Your father will be forgiven,” soothed Herbert. “We will all move to New England soon, where it will not be known, so your father nor you, my dear, will not be disgraced. Oh! Darling, how I long for the time to come when I can call you really mine. Then I will shield you from all harm, or lose my life in the attempt!”

This conversation was carried on in such a low tone that no one heard Herbert’s words but the one he intended should hear them.

Sowers reached his office, opened the door, and walked in. He trembled all over as if he had the palsy.

“Oh, if this life of mine was ended I would be glad!” said he to himself. “Ah no, I would have no peace in the grave. I have been too sinful!”

He inserted the key in the lock in the desk. He hesitated. “Must I open it?” The thought came to him involuntarily. The office was near the front door of the house. Kate was near the door and would have bounded out to try to escape, but her curiosity was excited greatly. She wanted to see what was in that private office. She was not thinking of the death she was to meet.

No! She was not thinking! She did not even dream of the terrible death she was doomed to meet, or she would have been preparing to meet it, or to do something to avoid meeting it, if such a thing were possible. She had fixed her mind on a place of refuge. We will follow her when she goes. For the present, we must pay strict attention to Sowers.

Sowers stood for some time, debating as to whether he should open the desk or not. It was hard to let everyone present see proofs—such damnable proofs of his treachery in former as well as latter years. “Mr. Sowers, are you going to open the desk or not?” It was Mrs. Beverly who spoke. She was tired [of] waiting to see the proofs of William’s identity.

“I will open it!” said Sowers, and with that he unlocked the door of the desk and, putting his hand in one of the pigeon holes, he drew out a bundle of something. On top of the bundle lay a nice wreath. It might have been a funeral wreath or it might have been a bridal wreath. We shall see.

“Here are the necessary proofs,” said Sowers, displaying the contents of the bundle after untying it. “All necessary proofs are here.”