? Her life was cast away upon shoals of debasement; no
sanctity of womanhood remained in her. Was not her indignation half
a mockery? She could not even defend her honesty, her honour in the
vulgarest sense of the word, without involving herself in a kind of
falsehood, which was desolation to her spirit. It had begun in her
advocacy of uprightness after her discovery of the will; it was imbuing
her whole nature, making her to her own conscience that which he had
called her--a very hypocrite.

He spoke more conciliatingly.

'Well, there's one thing, at all events, that you can't refuse to
explain. Why didn't you tell me that you had met Eldon, and what he
meant to do?'

She had not prepared herself for the question, and it went to the root
of her thoughts; none the less she replied instantly, careless how he
understood the truth.

'I kept silence because the meeting had given me pain, because it
distressed me to have to speak with Mr. Eldon at that place and at that
time, because I _knew_ how you regard him, and was afraid to mention him
to you.'

Mutimer was at a loss. If Adela had calculated her reply with the
deepest art she could not have chosen words better fitted to silence
him.

'And you have told me every word that passed between you?' he asked.

'That would be impossible. I have told you the substance of the
conversation.'

'Why did you ask him to keep the works going on my plan?'

'I can tell you no more.'

Her strength was spent. She put aside her sewing and moved towards the
door.

'Where are you going?'

'I don't feel well. I must rest.'

'Just stop a minute. I've something here I want to show you.'

She turned wearily. Mutimer took a letter from his pocket.

'Will you read that?'

She took it. It was written in a very clear, delicate hand, and ran
thus:--

'DEAR SIR,--I who address you have lain for two years on a bed from
which I shall never move till I am carried to my grave. My age is
three-and-twenty; an accident which happened to me a few days after
my twenty-first birthday left me without the use of my limbs; it often
seems to me that it would have been better if I had died, but there
is no arguing with fate, and the wise thing is to accept cheerfully
whatever befalls us. I hoped at one time to take an active part in life,
and my interest in the world's progress is as strong as ever, especially
in everything that concerns social reform. I have for some time known
your name, an