“If things are as I fancy, we shall not have any secrets between us.  Malcolm Ross knows so much of my affairs already, that I take it he must either let matters stop where they are and go away in silence, or else he must know more.  Margaret! are you willing to let Mr. Ross see your wrist?”

She threw one swift look of appeal in his eyes; but even as she did so she seemed to make up her mind.  Without a word she raised her right hand, so that the bracelet of spreading wings which covered the wrist fell back, leaving the flesh bare.  Then an icy chill shot through me.

On her wrist was a thin red jagged line, from which seemed to hang red stains like drops of blood!

She stood there, a veritable figure of patient pride.

Oh! but she looked proud!  Through all her sweetness, all her dignity, all her high-souled negation of self which I had known, and which never seemed more marked than now—­through all the fire that seemed to shine from the dark depths of her eyes into my very soul, pride shone conspicuously.  The pride that has faith; the pride that is born of conscious purity; the pride of a veritable queen of Old Time, when to be royal was to be the first and greatest and bravest in all high things.  As we stood thus for some seconds, the deep, grave voice of her father seemed to sound a challenge in my ears: 

“What do you say now?”

My answer was not in words.  I caught Margaret’s right hand in mine as it fell, and, holding it tight, whilst with the other I pushed back the golden cincture, stooped and kissed the wrist.  As I looked up at her, but never letting go her hand, there was a look of joy on her face such as I dream of when I think of heaven.  Then I faced her father.

“You have my answer, sir!” His strong face looked gravely sweet.  He only said one word as he laid his hand on our clasped ones, whilst he bent over and kissed his daughter: 

“Good!”

We were interrupted by a knock at the door.  In answer to an impatient “Come in!” from Mr. Trelawny, Mr. Corbeck entered.  When he saw us grouped he would have drawn back; but in an instant Mr. Trelawny had sprung forth and dragged him forward.  As he shook him by both hands, he seemed a transformed man.  All the enthusiasm of his youth, of which Mr. Corbeck had told us, seemed to have come back to him in an instant.

“So you have got the lamps!” he almost shouted.  “My reasoning was right after all.  Come to the library, where we will be alone, and tell me all about it!  And while he does it, Ross,” said he, turning to me, “do you, like a good fellow, get the key from the safe deposit, so that I may have a look at the lamps!”

Then the three of them, the daughter lovingly holding her father’s arm, went into the library, whilst I hurried off to Chancery Lane.

When I returned with the key, I found them still engaged in the narrative; but Doctor Winchester, who had arrived soon after I left, was with them.  Mr. Trelawny, on hearing from Margaret of his great attention and kindness, and how he had, under much pressure to the contrary, steadfastly obeyed his written wishes, had asked him to remain and listen.  “It will interest you, perhaps,” he said, “to learn the end of the story!”