Cherry, her cold fingers still holding the place in the book she had been reading, went blindly to the fireplace.

“What?” she said, in the merest breath.  “What?”

“Because,” Peter said, following her, a sort of heady madness making him only conscious of that need to hear from her own lips that she knew, “because I didn’t answer that question honestly!”

It mattered not what he said, or what he was trying to express; both were enveloped in the flame of their new relationship; surprise and terror were eclipsing even the strange joy of their discovery.

“I must go home—­I must go back to Mart to-morrow!” Cherry said, in a whispered undertone, as if half to herself.  “I must go home to Mart to-morrow!  I—­let’s not—­let’s not talk!” she broke off in quick interruption, as he would have spoken.  “Let’s—­I’d rather not!  I—­where is my book?  What was I doing?  Peter—­Peter—­”

“Just a minute!” Peter protested, thickly.  “Cherry—­I want to speak to you—­will you wait a minute?”

She was halfway to the door; now she paused, and looked back at him with frightened eyes.  Peter did not speak at once; there was a moment of absolute silence.

CHAPTER XIV

And in that moment Alix came in.  She had said good-night half an hour before; she was in her wrapper, and her hair fell over one shoulder in a rumpled braid.  Cherry, sick with fright, faced her in a sort of horror, unable to realize, at the moment, that there was nothing betraying in her attitude or Peter’s, and nothing in her sister’s unsuspicious soul to give significance to what she saw in any case.  Peter, more quickly recovering self-control, went toward his wife.

Alix saw neither clearly, her eyes were full of tears, and she had a paper in her hand.

“Pete!” she said.  “Cherry!  Look at this!  Look at this!”

She held the paper out to them, but it was rather at her that they looked, as all three gathered near the hearth again.

“I happened to finish my novel,” Alix said, “and I reached for Dad’s old Bible—­it’s been there on the shelf near my bed ever since I was married, and I’ve even read it, too!  But look what was in it—­there all this time!”

“What is it?” Cherry asked, as Peter, in a sudden and violent revulsion of feeling, took the paper and bent toward the lamp to read it.

“By George!” he said, suddenly, his eyes still running over the half-sheet.  “By George, this is wonderful!”

“It’s Uncle Vincent’s receipt to Dad for that three thousand that is making all the trouble!” Alix exulted to the still bewildered Cherry.  “It’s been there all this time—­and Cherry,” she added, in a voice rich with love and memory, “That’s what he meant by saying it was in Matthew, don’t you remember?  Doesn’t it mean that, Pete?  Isn’t it perfectly clear?”

“It means only about fifty thousand for you and Cherry,” Peter answered.  “Yes sir, by George—­it’s perfectly clear!  He paid it back—­every cent of it, and got his receipt!  H’m—­this puts rather a crimp in Little’s plans—­I’ll see him to-morrow.  This calls off his suit—­”