"Mrs. Ransom, I must."
The hope which had held her up, the life which had returned to body and spirit since this prospect of a possible future had dawned upon her, faded from glance and smile.
"Then good-by, Roger, we shall never have those happy days together of which we have often dreamt. I may stay with you a week, a month, a year, but the horror of a great fear will be over us, and never, never can we know joy."
She threw herself into her husband's arms; she clung to him.
"One moment," she cried, "one moment of perfect happiness before the shadow falls. Oh, how I must love you, Roger, to say such words, to think such thoughts, with the body of the brother I loved so deeply once, lying there dead before us, killed by his own hand."
Ransom softly drew her aside where her eyes could not fall upon the bed.
Harper stopped still where he was, the picture of gloom and uncertainty.
"It must be settled now," said Ransom. "As we leave this room, our relations must remain."
"I cannot but think your fears all folly," muttered Harper. "Yet the responsibility you force upon me is terrible. If it were not for that will! How can I present it to the Surrogate when I know the testator is still alive?"
"You need not. I will do that," said Ransom.