t as from father, and not myself appear in it. I did not do it
that way, I know; I could not; I did not get the money till yesterday
and--and"--the assurance faded away pathetically--"that was too late."

Rawson-Clew looked down, and for the first time noticed her mourning
dress, and realising what it meant, remembered that convention
demanded that a man, whose claim depends on another's death, should
not push it as soon as the funeral is over. However he did not go
away, the pathos of Julia's voice kept him.

"Late or early would have made little difference," he said; "it is
just the same now as if it had been early. Do you think I should not
have known who sent the money at whatever time and in whatever
circumstances it was paid? Do you think I know two people who would
pay a debt, which can hardly be said to exist, in such a way?"

But Julia was not comforted. "It is too late," she re-repeated; "too
late for any satisfaction. I thought I would prove that we were honest
and honourable by paying it; I wanted to show father--that I--that our
standard was the same as yours, and I have not."

"No," he answered, "you have not and you never will; your standard is
not the same as mine; mine is the honour of an accepted convention,
and yours is the honour of a personal truth, a personal experience,
the honour of the soul."

But she shook her head. "It is not really," she said; "and father--"

"As to your father," he interrupted gently, "do you not think that
sometimes the potter's thumb slips in the making of a vessel?"

She looked up with a feeling of gratitude. "Yes," she said; "yes, that
is it, if only we could realise it--poor father. It was partly our
fault, too, mother's, all of ours--and he is dead now."

"I know. Let him rest in peace; we are concerned no more with his
doings or misdoings; our concern, yours and mine is with the living."

She did not answer; a piece of wood had fallen from the fire and lay
blazing and spluttering on the hearth; she stooped to pick it up and
he watched her.

"I know I have no business here now," he said. "Had I known of his
death before, I would not have come to-day; I would have waited, but
since I have come--Julia--"

She was standing straight now, the wood safely back in the fire; he
put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to him. "Julia, you and
I have always dealt openly, without regarding appearances, let us deal
so now--since I have come. Won't you let me give