call together his own flock and
make open confession of his sin, and say farewell to the priesthood.
Then--chaos--poverty--new work, with Dick's help--but work with clean
hands.

The way was clear enough now--while Mary was away out of the house--while
her voice no longer rang in his ears and the soft rustle of her skirts
had died away. But, when she came back with her pale face and care-lined
eyes, her soft voice and caressing hand, pleading, pathetic, seeking
protection from the horrible contact of a jail, would he be able to hold
out?

His face was strained with mental agony, and his fingers worked
convulsively on one another. He spread his arms upon the table and bowed
his head as though racked with physical pain. The clarion voice of duty
was calling; but, when the woman's cry, "I am your wife, John, your very
own--you and I are one--you cannot betray me!" next broke on his ear,
would he be strong then? If he could bear the punishment with her, and
stand in the dock by her side, it would be better than suffering alone,
tortured by the thought of the hours of misery to be endured by a
gently-nurtured woman in a cruel prison. Perhaps, they would take him,
too, for his share in the fraud. Dick was right when he said a man could
more easily bear the hardship of prison than could a woman. If it had
been possible, he would gladly have borne his wife's burden.

As usual, he did nothing. He put off the evil hour, and waited for Ormsby
to act.

CHAPTER XXVI

MRS. SWINTON HEARS THE TRUTH

The junior clerk of Messrs Jevons & Jevons carried Mrs. Swinton's card to
the senior partner, a hoary-headed old man, well stricken in years. When
the card was scrutinized, he could not recall the personality of Mrs.
Swinton. He sent for his confidential clerk, who was also at a
disadvantage, yet they both seemed to remember having heard the name
before.

At last, however, the client was ushered in, and Mr. Jevons hoped that
his eyes would repair the lapse of his memory. A pale, dark-eyed, slender
woman, wrapped in furs, entered.

"You don't remember me, Mr. Jevons?"

"Ah! now I hear your voice, I remember. You are the daughter of Mr.
Herresford."

"You were once my mother's lawyer, Mr. Jevons," said Mrs. Swinton,
plunging at once into business.

"I had that honor. Won't you sit down?"

"It is twenty-five years ago--more than that."

"Yes. You have married since then."

"I married Mr. Swinton, the rector of St. B