Preceded by the doctor, he once more found his way through the velvet-hushed corridors to the softly lighted bedroom, where lay the woman who had absorbed his every thought.  Her eyes, as they met his, were bright with anxiety, and her glance at the doctor was almost resentful.  But it was not part of the physician’s plan to interfere with any confidence that might relieve the patient’s mind.  With a casual nod to Mrs. Marteen, he called to the nurse and led her from the room, his finger rapidly tapping the sick-room chart, as if medical directions were first in his mind.

Left alone, Gard approached the bed, and in answer to the unspoken question in her eyes, fumbled in his pocket and brought forth the thin packets of letters and the folded yellow cheques.  One by one he laid them where her hands could touch them.  He dared not look at her.  He felt that her newly awakened soul was staring from her eyes at the mute evidence of a degrading past.

A moment passed in silence that seemed a year of pain; then, without a sob, without a sigh, she slowly handed him a bundle of papers, withholding them only a moment as she verified the count; then, with a slight movement she indicated the fireplace.  He crossed to it and placed the papers on the coals, where they flared a moment, casting wavering shadows about the silent room, and died to black wisps.  Again and again he made the short journey from the bed to the grate; each time she verified the contents of the envelopes before delivering them to his hand.

Last of all the two yellow cheques crisped to ashes.  He stood looking down upon them as they dropped and collapsed into cinders, and from their ashes rose the phoenix of happiness.  A glow of joyful relief lighted his spirit.  There, in those dead ashes, lay a dead past—­a past that might have been the black future, but was now relinquished forever, voluntarily—­gone—­gone!  He realized a supreme moment, a turning point.  Fate looked him in the eyes.

He turned, and saw a face transfigured.  There was a light in Mrs. Marteen’s eyes that matched the glow in his own heart.  Very reverently he raised her hand and kissed it; two sudden tears fell hot upon her cheeks and her lips quivered.

He had never seen her show emotion, and it went to his heart.  He saw her gaze at her hands with dilating eyes, and divined before she spoke the question she whispered: 

“Who killed Victor Mahr?”

He bent above her gravely.  “His wife.  The wife he had cruelly wronged—­his wife, who escaped at last from an asylum.  She is quite mad—­now.  She is in our hands, and to-night, at eleven o’clock, the district attorney will be at my house to see her and have the evidence laid before him—­to save Teddy,” he added quickly.

She looked at him wildly.  “His wife—­the wife that I—­”

He took her hand quickly.  He feared to hear the words that he knew she was about to say.