e of her
eyes, and the sensitive mouth so ready to break into a smile, was the
same he had seen when, on that terrible evening so many years ago, he
had craved her help to escape from his dreaded punishment. "I will help
you, even to dying for you and yours," she had said. He remembered
vividly how mournfully the girlish fervor of her manner had impressed
him. Even now he had no one else to help him; this woman's little hand
alone could reach him in the gulf where he lay; only the simple, pitiful
wisdom of her faithful heart could find a way for him out of this misery
of his into some place of safety and peace. He was willing to follow
wherever she might guide him.

"I can see only one duty before us," she said, when the service was
over, and they stood together before one of the monuments in the Abbey;
"I think Mr. Clifford ought to know."

"What will he do, Phebe?" asked Jean Merle. "God knows if I had only
myself to think of I would go into a convict-prison as thankfully as if
it was the gate of heaven. It would be as the gate of heaven to me if I
could pay the penalty of my crime. But there are Felicita and my
children; and the greater shock and shame to them of my conviction now."

"Yet if Mr. Clifford demanded the penalty it must even now be paid,"
answered Phebe; "but he will not. One reason why he ought to know is
that he mourns over you still, day and night, as if he had been the
chief cause of your death. He reproaches himself with his implacability
both towards you and his son. But even if the old resentment should
awaken, it is right you should run the risk. Why need it be known to any
one but us two that Felicita knew you were still alive?"

"If we could save her and the children I should be satisfied," said Jean
Merle.

"It would kill her to know you were here," answered Phebe, looking round
her with a terrified glance, as if she expected to see Felicita; "she is
not strong, and a sudden agitation and distress might cause her death
instantly. No, she must never know. And I am not afraid of Mr. Clifford;
he will forgive you with all his heart; and he will be made glad in his
old age. I will go down with you this evening. There is a train at four
o'clock, and we shall reach Riversborough at eight. Be at the station to
meet me."

"You know," said Jean Merle, "that the lapse of years does not free one
from trial and conviction? Mr. Clifford can give me into the hands of
the police at once; and to-night