"I'll turn bad again. Listen. I love that man. Not as a girl loves her lover—not as a wife cares for her husband. He is married, and I should not be ashamed to tell his wife how I love him. I glory in my love; he saved me. Father, I wasn't coming home at all that night. He saved me; you can understand how I feel for him. My life wouldn't be a great deal to give up for him. There has been mischief done to him, that I am sure. Now tell me the truth; then I'll know how to act. Oh, father, you're the dearest and the kindest. Tell me the truth and you won't repent it."
"No, Essie, child, I don't suppose I shall repent. Sit there. You know too much, you may as well know all. Mr. Wyndham's life was insured."
"Yes?"
"Heavily, mark you, heavily."
"Yes." She covered her face with her hands. "Let me think. Say, father"—she flung her hands into her lap—"was this done on purpose?"
"Ay, child, ay; and a better man never lived. Ay, it was done on purpose."
"He was meant not to come back?"
"That's it, Essie, my dear. That's it."
"I see; yes, I see. Was the insurance money paid?"
"Every farthing of it, child. A large sum paid in full."