“You look happy!” I said.

“And I am happy, Bawn, although I shall miss Joan.  But she is at rest with God, and before she died she told me something which set my heart at rest.”

“Ah, I am glad of that,” I said.

She leant forward and took my hands in hers, making me turn round so as to face her.

“Bawn,” she said, “there is nothing worth having in the world but love, nothing but love, nothing but love.  I tell it to you, although some people would think that love had wrecked my life.  But I have loved greatly, and I have been loved greatly, and I would not change places with any of your wives and mothers of families.”

“Yes, I know,” I said.

“And if you do, Bawn, why don’t you save yourself from this marriage?  The money doesn’t tempt you, nor Richard Dawson’s coarse comeliness.  Why don’t you save yourself, child?”

I shook my head helplessly.

“If it were anything in which money could help I would sell all I have rather than see you marry without love.”

“Money has nothing to do with it.  And—­it is too late to do anything.”

“It would never be too late so long as you were not his wife.  They are deceived.  Luke L’Estrange was the truest and most candid soul alive.  Yet what a web of lies has grown up about him.  Shall I tell you, Bawn, what Joan told me before she died?”

“If it eases you.”

“I have to share it with some one, and I can trust you not to think hardly of my poor Joan.”

I wondered what was coming, but I had not long to wait.  My godmother looked at me again, straight into my eyes, as though she would see to the depths of my soul.

“I have forgiven her, poor dear soul, with all my heart,” she said.  “If I thought you could judge her hardly I would not tell you; but I think you will not judge her hardly.  You see, she loved Luke.  He had a way with women.  She was always delicate and sickly, and he was sorry for her.  He used to sit by her and talk to her.  She loved him and she thought that he loved her, or would love her if I were out of the way.  I had everything, she thought—­health and wealth and the world before me, and Luke’s love.  She thought it unfair that I should have so much.  No wonder she wanted Luke for herself.”

Again her eyes looked into mine, asking a question.  Whatever she saw satisfied her, for she went on again with dreamy tenderness—­

“I see you can pity her, Bawn.  Child, how do you know it if you never loved?  He came to this house when he was flying from justice, as he thought, expecting to find me and found her instead.  He gave her such messages for me as might make any woman proud.  He would release me, but he knew I was too great-hearted to accept the release; he had killed Jasper Tuite in the struggle when he tried to save Irene Cardew from him.  He had seen Jasper Tuite strike poor Irene when he was trying to drag her from her carriage to ride with him on his horse.