‘Do you think I ought to have given way?’ he questioned, reddening.

‘You mistake me,’ she said quickly; and with a sudden movement she went up to him and put her hand on his shoulder.  The caress, so innocent, unpremeditated, and instinctive, ran through him like a voltaic shock.  These two were almost strangers; they had scarcely met till within the past week, Mark being seldom in Bursley.  ’You mistake me—­it is a shame of him!  I’m fearfully angry.’

‘Angry?’ he repeated, astonished.

‘Yes, angry.’  She walked to the window, and, twitching at the blind-cord, gazed into the dim street.  It was beginning to grow dark.  ‘Shall you fetch the lawyer?  I shouldn’t if I were you.  I won’t.’

‘I must fetch him,’ Mark said.

She turned round and admired him.  ’What will he do with his precious money?’ she murmured.

‘Leave it to you, probably.’

’Not he.  I wouldn’t touch it—­not now; it’s yours by rights.  Perhaps you don’t know that when I came here it was distinctly understood I wasn’t to expect anything under his will.  Besides, I have my own money ...  Oh dear!  If he wasn’t in such pain, wouldn’t I talk to him—­for the first and last time in my life!’

‘You must please not say a word to him.  I don’t really want the money.’

‘But you ought to have it.  If he takes it away from you he’s unjust.’

‘What did the doctor say this afternoon?’ asked Mark, wishing to change the subject.

’He said the crisis would come on Monday, and when it did Edward would be dead all in a minute.  He said it would be just like taking prussic acid.’

‘Not earlier than Monday?’

‘He said he thought Monday.’

’Of course I shall take no notice of what Edward said to me—­I shall call to-morrow morning—­and stay.  Perhaps he won’t mind seeing me.  And then you can tell me what happens to-night.’

‘I’m sure I shall send that lawyer man about his business,’ she threatened.

‘Look here,’ said Mark timorously as he was leaving the house, ’I’ve told you I don’t want the money—­I would give it away to some charity; but do you think I ought to pretend to yield, just to humour him, and let him die quiet and peaceful?  I shouldn’t like him to die hating——­’

‘Never—­never!’ she exclaimed.

* * * * *

‘What have you and Mark been talking about?’ asked Edward Beechinor apprehensively as Mary re-entered the bedroom.

‘Nothing,’ she replied with a grave and soothing kindliness of tone.

‘Because, miss, if you think——­’

‘You must have your medicine now, Edward.’

But before giving the patient his medicine she peeped through the curtain and watched Mark’s figure till it disappeared up the hill towards Bleakridge.  He, on his part, walked with her image always in front of him.  He thought hers was the strongest, most righteous soul he had ever encountered; it seemed as if she had a perfect passion for truth and justice.  And a week ago he had deemed her a capable girl, certainly—­but lackadaisical!