not concern her. His
innocence with regard to the bank-notes alone mattered. And she had
been genuinely convinced of it. A few moments before he kissed her for
the first time, she had been genuinely convinced of it. And after the
betrothal her conviction became permanent. She tried to scorn now the
passion which had blinded her. Mrs. Maldon, at any rate, must have
known that he was connected with the disappearance of the notes. In
the light of Louis' confession Rachel could see all that Mrs. Maldon
was implying in that last conversation between them.

So that she might win him she had been ready to throttle every doubt
of his honesty. But now the indubitable fact that he was a thief
seemed utterly monstrous and insupportable. And, moreover, his crime
was exceptionally cruel. Was it conceivable that he could so lightly
cause so much distress of spirit to a woman so aged, defenceless, and
kind? According to the doctor, the shock of the robbery had not been
the originating cause of Mrs. Maldon's death; but it might have been;
quite possibly it had hastened death.... Louis was not merely a thief;
he was a dastardly thief.

But even that in her eyes did not touch the full height of his
offence. The vilest quality in him was his capacity to seem innocent.
She could recall the exact tone in which he had exclaimed: "Would
you believe that old Batch practically accused me of stealing the
old lady's money?... Don't you think it's a shame?" The recollection
filled her with frigid anger. Her resentment of the long lie which he
had lived in her presence since their betrothal was tremendous in its
calm acrimony. A man who could behave as he had behaved would stop at
nothing, would be capable of all.

She contrasted his conduct with the grim candour of Julian Maldon,
whom she now admired. It was strange and dreadful that both the
cousins should be thieves; the prevalence of thieves in that family
gave her a shudder. But she could not judge Julian Maldon severely.
He did not appear to her as a real thief. He had committed merely an
indiscretion. It was his atonement that made her admire him. Though
she hated confessions, though she had burnt his exasperating document,
she nevertheless liked the manner of his atonement. Whereas she
contemned Louis for having confessed.

"He thought he was dying and so he confessed!" she reflected with
asperity. "He hadn't even the pluck to go through with what he had
begun.... Ah! If I had committ