"A nephew," the priest went on, "whom he had loved like his own
child. He told me that if this nephew ever traced him to his
burial-place, and asked about him, I was free in that case to
disclose all I knew. 'I should like my little Charley to know the
truth,' he said. 'In spite of the difference in our ages, Charley
and I were playmates years ago.' "
My heart beat faster, and I felt a choking sensation at the
throat the moment I heard the priest unconsciously mention my
Christian name in mentioning the dying man's last words.
As soon as I could steady my voice and feel certain of my
self-possession, I communicated my family name to the cure, and
asked him if that was not part of the secret that he had been
requested to preserve.
He started back several steps, and clasped his hands amazedly.
"Can it be?" he said, in low tones, gazing at me earnestly, with
something like dread in his face.
I gave him my passport, and looked away toward the grave. The
tears came into my eyes as the recollections of past days crowded
back on me. Hardly knowing what I did, I knelt down by the grave,
and smoothed the grass over it with my hand. Oh, Uncle George,
why not have told your secret to your old playmate? Why leave him
to find you _here?_
The priest raised me gently, and begged me to go with him into
his own house.
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