erely repeat his words."

She rang the bell, sweeping across the room in her haughtiest manner, and
drawing herself up to her full height. The summons was answered
instantly.

"Show this gentleman to the door."

"Madam, I will convey the result of this interview to Mr. Ormsby."

The old man bowed himself out with a dignity that was more real than
hers, and it had, as well, a touch of contempt in it.

The moment the door closed behind him, Mrs. Swinton dropped into a chair,
white and haggard, gasping for breath, with her heart beating great
hammer-strokes that sent the blood to her brain. The room whirled around,
the windows danced before her eyes, she clutched the back of a chair to
prevent herself from fainting.

"God help me!" she cried. "There was no other way. The disgrace, the
exposure, the scandal would be awful. I should be cut by everybody--my
husband pointed at in the streets and denounced as a partner in my
guilt--for he has shared the money. It was to pay his debts as well, to
save Dick and the whole household from ruin--for Netty's sake, too--how
could Harry Bent marry a bankrupt clergyman's daughter? But it wasn't
really my doing, it was his, his! He's no father at all. He's a miser, a
beast of prey, a murderer of souls! From my birth, he's hated and cheated
me. He has checked every good impulse, and made me regard his money as
something to be got by trickery and misrepresentation and lies. And, now,
I have lied on paper, and they suspect poor, dead Dick, who was the soul
of honor. Oh, Dick, Dick! But they can't do anything to you, Dick--you're
dead. Better to accuse you than ruin all of us. Your father couldn't hold
up his head again, or preach a sermon from the pulpit. We should be
beggars. I couldn't live that kind of a life. I should die. I have only
one child now, and she must be my care. I've not been a proper mother to
her, I fear, but I'll make up for it--yes, I'll make up for it. If I
spoiled her life now, she would never forgive me--never! She is like me:
she must have the good things of life, the things that need money. And,
after all, it was my own money I took. It was no theft at all. It's only
the wretched law that gives a miser the power to crush his own child for
scrawling a few words on a piece of paper."

Then came the worst danger of all. How was she to explain to her
husband--how make him see her point of view--how face his condemnation of
her guilty act, and secure his consent to