anything else in
the world's market! But you are not of the world--you never were--and
now--now--the world will take you! The world leaves nothing alone that
has any gold upon it!"

She listened quietly to his passionate outburst. She was deadly pale,
and she pressed Charlie close against her bosom,--the little dog, she
thought half vaguely, would love her just as well whether she was rich
or poor.

"How can the world take me, Angus?" she said--"Am I not yours?--all
yours!--and what has the world to do with me? Do not speak in such a
strange way--you hurt me----"

"I know I hurt you!" he said, stopping in his restless walk and facing
her--"And I know I should always hurt you--now! If David Helmsley had
never crossed our path, how happy we might have been----"

She raised her hand reproachfully.

"Do not blame the poor old man, even in a thought, Angus!" she
said--"His dream--his last hope was that we two might be happy! He
brought us together,--and I am sure, quite sure, that he hoped we would
do good in the world with the money he has left us----"

"Us!" interrupted Angus, meaningly.

"Yes,--surely us! For am I not to be one with you? Oh Angus, be patient,
be gentle! Think kindly of him who meant so much kindness to those whom
he loved in his last days!" She smothered a rising sob, and went on
entreatingly--"He has forgotten no one who was friendly to
him--and--and--Angus--remember!--remember in that paper I have shown to
you--that list of bequests, which he has entrusted me to pay, he has
left me to you, Angus!--me--with all I possess----"

She broke off, startled by the sorrow in his eyes.

"It is a legacy I cannot accept!" he said, hoarsely, his voice trembling
with suppressed emotion--"I cannot take it--even though you, the most
precious part of it, are the dearest thing to me in the world! I cannot!
This horrible money has parted us, Mary! More than that, it has robbed
me of my energy for work--I cannot work without you--and I must give you
up! Even if I could curb my pride and sink my independence, and take
money which I have not earned, I should never be great as a
writer--never be famous. For the need of patience and grit would be
gone--I should have nothing to work for--no object in view--no goal to
attain. Don't you see how it is with me? And so--as things have turned
out--I must leave Weircombe at once--I must fight this business through
by myself----"

"Angus!" and putting Charlie gently down,