"I feel that I have no right at all to come to you, Father, and trouble you with my private matters; but perhaps your kindness will lead you to excuse me on the ground that there is no one else to whom I can go. I have not many friends, and among them there is not one person whose judgment in this case would not have an interested bias. Besides, I should like to know what is the moral view of it—the really right thing to do,—and you, if you will, can tell me that."
"I can give you the view which would be presented to a Catholic," said Father Byrne; "but you will not recognize anything binding in that."
"I shall be bound by whatever you tell me is right," she answered, simply. "I do not seek your advice without meaning to be guided by it, else there would be no excuse for coming to you. I beg you to speak as frankly as if you were addressing a Catholic."
"Tell me, then," he said, "exactly the point on which you are in doubt."
She told him briefly, but with great clearness; and he listened attentively to all that she had to say before uttering a word. Then when she paused he replied, with the air of one who is accustomed to give prompt decisions:—
"From what you tell me I think there can be no question but that you are clearly entitled to retain a part of the fortune. Since it was the desire of the testator that, under the circumstances of the supposed death of his son, you should have all of it, we must believe that even had he known his son to be living he would not have failed to leave you a legacy. It would be entirely just and right, therefore, that you should retain a part, while it is also right that you should resign the bulk of the estate to its natural heir."
Helen directed a triumphant glance toward Marion, which said, "You see how entirely Father Byrne is of my opinion!" but Marion did not perceive it. She was looking down with rather a disappointed air.
"I should prefer to give it all up," she said—"to keep nothing."
Father Byrne spread out his hands with a gesture very familiar to those who knew him well. "There is nothing to prevent that," he observed. "It would not be wrong; but, if you will permit me to say so, it would be foolish. Why should you wish to defeat entirely the kind intentions of the dead man in your behalf?"
"I can hardly explain," she answered, "without going into personal details, which would not interest you. About the manner in which I received this money, my conscience is clear enough; for I did nothing to induce Mr. Singleton to make such a will, and no one was more surprised by it than I. But—before that—" she hesitated, paused, then with an effort went on: "Everything might have been different if I had acted differently at an earlier period. I made a very deliberate and mercenary choice then. It led to this disposition of Mr. Singleton's fortune; and now I feel that there is retribution, punishment, whatever you like to call it, in the circumstances that are taking it away from me. That makes me reluctant to keep any of it. I should feel as if I were still being paid for—what I lost. I express myself obscurely, but I hope that you understand me."