“I wonder what that paper contains,” and Lois motioned to the desk.  “It, no doubt, will explain everything.  I wish your father would hurry back.”

“Here he is now,” Margaret replied.  “He wasn’t long with Dr. Turnsell.”

“I am afraid that I shall have to leave you young ladies for a while,” Mr. Westcote informed them as soon as he had closed the door behind him.  “My lawyer wants me to go with him.  It is too bad as I wished to read that paper to you.”

“Why cannot we read it ourselves?” Margaret asked.  “You surely will not keep us in suspense any longer.”

“Why, certainly,” was the reply.  “That will do just as well.  Strange that I never thought of that.  Suppose you read it, Miss Sinclair,” and he handed the manuscript to her.  “I shall come back as soon as I can, so you had better wait here until I return unless I am too late.”

“Hurry up, Lois,” Margaret urged, when they were once more alone.  “I can’t wait another minute.”

Lois was nothing loath, and in a clear, well-modulated voice she began: 

“I, Simon Dockett, feeling keenly the weight of years, and knowing that my days on earth are but few, desire to unburden my soul and make amends as far as possible for a grievous wrong I have committed.  That wrong can never be fully rectified in this world.  If money could do it, then it would flow like water; if a troubled conscience and a wearied and a burdened soul could atone for what I have done, then surely I have made atonement enough.  They greatly err who say that a man can sin and yet have peace of mind.  I tell you it is hell; yes, hell here, and hell in the world to come.

“I have heaped up riches in my life, enough to satisfy the most avaricious.  But at what cost have I acquired them, and of what comfort are they to me now?  I am old, lonely, and menials serve me because of my money.  How much better are my so-called friends?  They fawn upon me with their lips, but deceit is in their hearts.  They laugh at me behind my back, and joke about ‘Old Dockett’ and his money.  In all the world there is none who loves me, but many who hate me.  One especially there is who desires my death, thinking that he will get my money.  That is part of what my riches have cost me, though not all.

“I have a brother, and when we were young our hearts were as one.  He was gentle and thoughtful, while I was rough and impetuous.  My one object was to make money for self, his, to assist others.  Once I loved him as my own soul.  But gold got into my heart and changed everything.  I became a machine, nay, more, a brutal thinking machine, with gold as the one object in life.

“All natural affections died in me, and I think I would have betrayed my parents for gold, but thank God they were beyond my power.  My only brother, Henry, however, was not, and him I betrayed, deceived and ruined.  All that he had became mine, and I considered it shrewd business.  He left England and I was glad that he was out of my sight.  I have never seen him since, but I have kept track of him.