“Indeed, sir, you may rely on the fullest and most substantial acknowledgment for the service you have rendered.  My purse shall be entirely at your disposal,” responded Emily, warmly and innocently.

“Money, Miss Dumont, would not have tempted me to make the sacrifice of health and comfort which this exertion has required of me.  I have done all my humble talents would permit from a higher motive.  I look for my reward in the consciousness of having done my duty.”

“I trust, Mr. Maxwell, you will receive the great reward which is sure to follow every noble and true action.”

Emily was sadly perplexed to understand this new and singular phenomenon.

“The act itself is its own reward,” said Maxwell, with an attempt to counterfeit humility, which was very awkward, but which deceived Emily, agitated as she was by hopes and fears.

“But, as I said,” continued he, “I would not have done this for every client, and I trust you will pardon me when I say the only reward I look forward to is your smile of approval.”

“I certainly cannot but approve of the motives which have actuated you, and your actions perhaps I could better appreciate if my knowledge of them was more extensive,” responded Emily, disappointed and displeased, as her suspicions were reawakened.

But a faint smile rested upon her beautiful features, as if to soften, the reproof she had administered, and to conceal her rising emotions.  She felt that Maxwell could assist her, but she feared every moment that some allusion to the prohibited subject would compel her to banish him from her presence.

“A smile from you were an ample reward for all my trouble and exertion,” said Maxwell, deceived by the smile of Emily.  “To be as sincere as your generous nature demands, I cannot conquer the love I have before expressed.  I—­”

“Excuse me, sir,” indignantly interrupted Emily, “I must retire.”

“Nay, nay, Miss Dumont!  I meant no offence.  Hear me but for a moment!”

“Not another instant, sir!  You have deceived me.”

“Upon my honor, I have not.  I possess the evidence by which your birthright and possessions may be restored.”

“No more!  I had rather die in poverty, with the stain clinging to me, than owe the restoration of my rights to you.  You have taken advantage of my unprotected condition to impose upon me.”

“You wrong me, Miss Dumont; as, if you will remain but a moment, I will prove to you,” said Maxwell, pleading like an injured man.

Maxwell’s peculiar tone and penitent air made Emily pause, and perhaps think she had spoken too hastily.  All the wrong of which she could accuse him was, that he loved her.  She felt that this was not a crime.  The remembrance of wrongs she knew he had inflicted upon others, perhaps weak and unprotected like herself, nerved her resolution, and to a word of love from him she could not listen.  She wished to conciliate him, if possible, but not at the expense of her self-respect.