purpose of his life was all at once, through this strange agent, accomplished; that a wrong was righted, and that his dead father and he, his son, were set free from an odious if nearly forgotten injustice. He had hard work to master his strong exultation and joy; but he did. This was no place for it. The officials were standing regarding them both, as in duty bound, attentive, if discreet, listeners.
"Thank you," he said; "I—I thank you for this, with all my heart." He could not find more words except in the way of questions. Jennison seemed not to expect more from him, and did most of the talking himself. He must also have realized that this act of simple justice he had done was one thing, the hand aiding in it another. His frankness was appreciated; himself, its instrumentality, was despised. They exchanged a few more sentences, however, and Philip managed to repeat his thanks for his rights, and for a rascal's not being more a knave than he was! Jennison bowed coldly.
The officers accosted them: "Our time is up. Please get ready for the train, sir."
Touchtone turned to go.
