Her hand slipped further into his.  For a few minutes he seemed to be absorbed in the silent reconstruction of past trains of thought, emerging with a cry—­though it was under his breath: 

“If I took his money now—­against his will—­I should feel his yoke—­his hateful yoke—­again, on my neck!  I should be his slave still.”

“You shall not take it!” she said with passion.

He smiled at her suddenly.

“It is nothing to Lydia, to be poor?”

“And free—­and happy—­and alive!—­no, nothing!”

At that he could only draw her to him again.  She herself must needs bring him back to the point.

“You have decided?”

“I could of course refuse the succession.  That would throw the whole property into Chancery; the personalty would go to the mother and daughter, the real estate to whatever legal heirs could be discovered.  There are same distant cousins of Lady Tatham, I believe.  However—­that did not attract me at all.”

He rose from his seat beside her, and stood looking down upon her.

“You’ll realize?—­you’ll understand?—­that it seems to me just—­and desirable—­that I should have some voice in the distribution of this money, this and land, rather than leave it all to the action of a court.  Everything—­as things are—­is legally mine.  The personalty is immense; there are about thirty thousand acres of land, here and elsewhere; and the collections can’t be worth much less than half a million.  I decline to own them; but I intend to settle what becomes of them!  Nash and others say they will dispute the will.  They won’t.  There is no case.  As to the personalty and the land—­well, well, you’ll see!  As to the collections—­I mean to make them, if I can, of some use to the community.  And in that effort”—­he spoke slowly—­“I want you to help me!”

Their eyes met; hers full of tears.  She tried to speak, and could not.  He came to kneel down by her and took her in his arms.

“Did you think I had sold myself to the devil last time I was here?”

“I was so harsh!—­forgive ...” she said brokenly.

“No.  You called things by their right names.”

There was silence till he murmured: 

“Isn’t it strange?  I had quite given up prayer—­till these last weeks.  To pray for any definite physical or material thing would seem to me now—­as it always has done—­absurd.  But to reach out—­to the Power beyond our weakness!”

He paused a moment and resumed: 

“Boden did that for me.  He came to me—­at the worst.  He never preached to me.  He has his black times—­like the rest of us.  But something upholds him—­and—­oh! so strangely—­I don’t think he knew—­through him—­I too laid hold.  But for that—­I might have put an end to myself—­more than once—­these last weeks.”

She clung to him—­whispering: 

“Neither of us—­can ever suffer—­again—­without the other—­to help.”