It was a
grievous sight for a man of any feeling to witness.
"Father," said Marion, in a low, broken voice, advancing a little
toward the poor old dupe, "I want your forgiveness."
"Ah, hypocrite! for what? Are you going to give me back my gold?"
"No, father, but for the deception that I have been practicing on
you for two years--"
"I knew it! I knew it!" shouted the old man, with a radiant
countenance. "She has concealed my fourteen thousand dollars all
this time, and now comes to restore them. I will forgive her.
Where are they, Marion?"
"Father--it must come out. You never made any gold. It was I who
saved up thirty-five dollars, and I used to slip them into your
crucible when your back was turned--and I did it only because I saw
that you were dying of disappointment. It was wrong, I know--but,
father, I meant well. You'll forgive me, won't you?" And the poor
girl advanced a step toward the alchemist.
He grew deathly pale, and staggered as if about to fall. The next
instant, though, he recovered himself, and burst into a horrible
sardonic laugh. Then he said, in tones full of the bitterest
irony: "A conspiracy, is it? Well done, doctor! You think to
reconcile me with this wretched girl by trumping up this story that
I have been for two years a dupe of her filial piety.
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