come to me--and I shall use it. So long as Melrose lives his wife and
daughter can get nothing out of him, whether I am there or not. His
obstinacy is immovable, as Lady Tatham has found, and when he dies, their
interests will be safe with me."

Lydia had grown very pale. The man before her seemed to her Faversham,
yet not Faversham. Some other personality, compounded of all those ugly,
sophistic things that lurk in every human character, seemed to be
wrestling with, obscuring the real man.

"And the years till this stage comes to an end?" she asked
him. "When every day you have to do what you feel to be
wrong?--to obey--to be at the beck and call of such a man as Mr.
Melrose?--hateful--cruel--tyrannical!--when you must silence all
that is generous and noble--"

Her voice failed her.

Faversham's lips tightened. They remained looking at each other. Then
Faversham rose suddenly. He stooped over her. She heard his voice, hoarse
and broken in her ears:

"Lydia--I love you!--I _love you_--with all my heart!--and all my
strength! Don't, for God's sake, let us make believe with each other!
And--I believe," he added, after a moment, in a lower tone, "I
believe--that you love me!"

His attitude, his manner were masterful--violent. She trembled under it.
He tried to take her hand.

"Speak to me!" he said, peremptorily. "Oh, my darling--speak to me! I
only ask you to trust to me--to be guided by me--"

She withdrew her hand. He could see her heart fluttering under the soft
curves of the breast.

"I can't--I can't!"

The words were said with anguish. She covered her face with her hands.

"Because I won't do what you wish? What is it you wish?"

They had come to the deciding moment.

She looked up, recovering self-control, her heart rushing to her lips.

"Give it up!" she said, stretching out her hands to him, her head thrown
back, all her delicate beauty one prayer. "Don't touch this money! It is
stained--it is corrupt. You lose your honour in taking it--and honour--is
life. What does money matter? The great things that make one happy have
nothing to do with money. They can be had for so little! And if one loses
them--honour and self-respect--and a clear conscience--how can _money_
make up! If I were to marry you--and we had to live on Mr. Melrose's
money--everything in life would be poisoned for me. I should always see
the faces--of those dead people--whom I loved. I should hear their
voices--accusing. We shoul