lm that the woman would never speak of
her own accord. There were strange sidelights on the feelings which the
young Italian had inspired in an unlikely breast; a mother could have
done no more to shield him. On the night of the acquittal, for example,
when he was slowly recovering in her house, it had since come to the
writer's knowledge that this woman had turned Mrs. Minchin from her door
with a lying statement as to his whereabouts. This he mentioned to
confirm his declaration that he always meant to tell the truth to
Rachel, that it was his first resolve in the early stages of his
recovery, long before he knew of her arrest and trial, and that this
woman was aware of that resolve as of all else. But he doubted whether
she could be made to speak, though he hoped that for his sake she would.
And Langholm grinned with set teeth as he turned back to this passage:
he would be diabolically safe.

It was only an evil thought. He did not admit it as a temptation. Yet
how it stuck, and how it grew!

There was the fire, as though lit on purpose; in a minute the written
evidence could be destroyed for ever; and there was no other kind. Dead
men tell no tales, and live men only those that suit them!

It all fitted in so marvellously. To a villain it would have been less a
temptation than a veritable gift of his ends. Langholm almost wished he
were a villain.

There was Steel. Something remained for explanation there, but there
really was a case against him. The villain would let that case come on;
the would-be villain did so in his own ready fancy, and the end of it
was a world without Steel but not without his wife; only, she would be
Steel's wife no more.

And this brought Langholm to his senses. "Idiot!" he said, and went out
to his wet paths and ruined roses. But the ugly impossible idea dogged
him even there.

"If Steel had been guilty--but he isn't, I tell you--no, but if he had
been, just for argument, would she ever have looked--hush!--idiot and
egotist!--No, but _would_ she? And could you have made her happy if she
had?--Ah, that's another thing ... I wonder!--It is worth wondering
about; you know you have failed before. Yes, yes, yes; do you think I
forget it? No, but I must remind you. Are you the type to make women
happy, women with anything in them, women with nerves? Are you not
moody, morbid, uneven, full of yourself?--No, of my work. It comes to
the same thing for the woman. Could you have made her happy