He could hardly believe that he held in his hand a thing of
such momentous importance. He had nerved himself for a great fight, but
he had not known what he should say, how he should act, and
then--amazing fact--a few minutes after he came into the room, and
without his having even asked for it, the will was put into his hands!
Nothing had been said of conditions or compromise; she only asked the
amazing question why he had not come for it _before_!

"You were right," she mused, "right to leave me alone. I wonder, do you
remember the words that have haunted me this summer?--Browning's words
about the guilty man in the duel:

'Let him live his life out,
Life will try his nerves.'

It has tried my nerves unbearably; I could not go on, I have not the
strength. I might have had a glorious time if I had been a little
stronger. As it is, it's not worth while."

It is impossible to convey the heavy dreariness of outlook conveyed by
her voice and manner. There seemed no higher moral quality in it all.

"Half a dozen times I have nearly sent for you. But"--she did not
shudder now, or make the restless movements he had noticed when he first
came in: Molly had regained the stillness which follows after
storms--"as soon as you are gone I shall be longing to have it back
again. Men have done worse things than I have for thirty thousand a
year! It won't be easy to be a pauper; I think it would be easier to
kill myself."

She was silent again, and Mark could not find one word that he was not
afraid to say--one word that might not quench the smoking flax.

"I had to give it to you without waiting to talk of the future, or I
might not have given it at all. But I should be glad if the case could
be so arranged that my mother's name and my own should not be dragged in
the mud. It is only an appeal for mercy--nothing else." Her voice
trembled almost into silence.

"I think that is all safe," said Mark. "I think if you will leave it all
in my hands I can get better conditions for you than you suppose now.
They will be only too glad."

"But I gave it to you without conditions." Her manner for the moment was
that of a child seeking reassurance.

"Thank God! you did," he cried, with an irrepressible burst of sympathy.

"It's not much for a thief to have done, is it? But now I should like to
do it all properly. Tell me; ought I to come away from here to-day, and
give everything I have here to Lady Rose? If I ought, I will