'Miss Shepperson, the day has come when I am able to discharge my debt to you. You will not misunderstand that expression—I speak of my debt in money. What I owe to you—what we all owe to you—in another and a higher sense, can never be repaid. That moral debt must still go on, and be acknowledged by the unfailing gratitude of a lifetime.'
'Of a lifetime,' repeated Mrs. Rymer, sweetly murmuring, and casting towards her friend an eloquent glance.
'Here, however,' resumed her husband, 'is the pecuniary account. Will you do me the kindness, Miss Shepperson, to glance it over and see if you find it correct?'
Miss Shepperson took the paper, which was covered with a very neat array of figures. It was the same calculation which she herself had so often made, but with interest on the money due to her correctly computed. The weekly sum of fifteen shillings for board and lodging had been deducted, throughout the whole time, from the rent due to her as landlady. Mr. Rymer stood her debtor for not quite thirty pounds.
'It's quite correct,' said Miss Shepperson, handing back the paper with a pleased smile.
Mr. Rymer turned to his wife.
'And what do you say, dear? Do you think it correct?'
Mrs. Rymer shook her head.
'No,' she answered gently, 'indeed I do not.'
Miss Shepperson was startled. She looked from one to the other, and saw on their faces only the kindliest expression.