“She has known very little about it,” Mr. Chamberlayne answered, while his jutting eyebrows twitched nervously as he turned away.  “Your mother, my dear boy, is one of those particularly angelic characters from whose presence even the thought of evil is banished.  You have only to look into her face to discern how pure and spotless she has kept her soul.  My old friend Jonathan was very devoted to her.  She represented, indeed, the spiritual influence in his life, and there was no one on earth whose respect or affection he valued so highly.  It was his consideration for her alone that prevented him from making a most unfortunate marriage.”

“The girl died insane, didn’t she?”

“It was a distressing—­a most distressing case; but we must remember, in rendering our verdict, that if Janet Merryweather had upheld the principles of her sex, it would never have happened.”

“We’ll rest it there, then—­but what of her daughter?  The child could hardly have been accessory before the fact, I suppose?”

An expression of suffering patience came into the old gentleman’s face, and he averted his gaze as he had done before the looming countenance of Kesiah.

“Your uncle rarely spoke to me of her,” he answered, “but I have reason to know that her existence was a constant source of distress to him.  He was most anxious both to protect your mother and to provide generously for the future of Janet’s daughter.

“Yet I understand that there was no mention of her in his will.”

“This omission was entirely on your mother’s account.  The considerable property—­representing a third of his entire estate—­which was left in trust to me for a secret purpose, will go, of course, to the girl.  In the last ten years this property has practically doubled in value, and Molly will take possession of the income from it when she reaches her twenty-first birthday.  The one condition is that at Reuben’s death she shall live with your aunt.”

“Ah,” said Jonathan, “I begin to see.”

“At the time, of course, he believed that your mother would survive him only a few months, and his efforts to shield her from any painful discoveries extended even after his death.  His wish was that the girl should be well educated and prepared for any change in her circumstances—­but unfortunately she has proved to be rather a wilful young person, and it has been impossible entirely to fulfil his intentions with regard to her.  Ah, he wasn’t wise always, poor Jonathan, but I never doubted that he meant well at bottom, however things may have appeared.  His anxiety in the case of your mother was very beautiful, and if his plans seem to have miscarried, we must lay the blame after all, on the quality of his judgment, not of his heart.”

“And the girl will be twenty-one next April, I am told?”

“Her birthday is the seventeenth, exactly ten years from the date of Jonathan’s death.”