ldn't."

The wife looked him over, and said, very slowly:

"Made--you--promise? Edward, what do you tell me that for?"

"Mary, do you think I would lie?"

She was troubled and silent for a moment, then she laid her hand within
his and said:

"No . . . no. We have wandered far enough from our bearings--God spare
us that! In all your life you have never uttered a lie. But now--now
that the foundations of things seem to be crumbling from under us,
we--we--" She lost her voice for a moment, then said, brokenly, "Lead us
not into temptation. . . I think you made the promise, Edward. Let it
rest so. Let us keep away from that ground. Now--that is all gone by;
let us he happy again; it is no time for clouds."

Edward found it something of an effort to comply, for his mind kept
wandering--trying to remember what the service was that he had done
Goodson.

The couple lay awake the most of the night, Mary happy and busy, Edward
busy, but not so happy. Mary was planning what she would do with the
money. Edward was trying to recall that service. At first his
conscience was sore on account of the lie he had told Mary--if it was a
lie. After much reflection--suppose it _was_ a lie? What then? Was it
such a great matter? Aren't we always _acting_ lies? Then why not tell
them? Look at Mary--look what she had done. While he was hurrying off
on his honest errand, what was she doing? Lamenting because the papers
hadn't been destroyed and the money kept. Is theft better than lying?

_That_ point lost its sting--the lie dropped into the background and left
comfort behind it. The next point came to the front: _had_ he rendered
that service? Well, here was Goodson's own evidence as reported in
Stephenson's letter; there could be no better evidence than that--it was
even _proof_ that he had rendered it. Of course. So that point was
settled. . . No, not quite. He recalled with a wince that this unknown
Mr. Stephenson was just a trifle unsure as to whether the performer of it
was Richards or some other--and, oh dear, he had put Richards on his
honour! He must himself decide whither that money must go--and Mr.
Stephenson was not doubting that if he was the wrong man he would go
honourably and find the right one. Oh, it was odious to put a man in
such a situation--ah, why couldn't Stephenson have left out that doubt?
What did he want to intrude that for?

Further reflection. How did it happen that _Richards's_