She looked at him expectantly. Her voice and her manner had had a background of constraint, and David vaguely felt that her meaning was not in her words, but was lurking behind them.
"Yes?" he said, wonderingly.
The constraint was more marked as she continued, with an effort: "Perhaps you might get—five thousand dollars for it."
"Yes?" he said, his wonderment rising.
The constraint and effort were even greater as she replied: "Well, that would do so much toward clearing your name!"
Her meaning leaped forth from its lurking place. For a moment he was completely stupefied.... She wanted him to repay the stolen money to St. Christopher's!
He felt her eyes upon him, waiting. "Yes—it would help," he said, mechanically.
They turned back. She saw he was far away. She did not speak. First came to him the absurdity of his trying to repay with his present earnings—fifty years of utmost saving. But he pressed down the bitter laugh that rose. She was right; if he was ever to clear his name he must refund the money to the Mission. Perhaps the book would repay it; perhaps years and years of work would be required. But repay it he must. There was no other way.
He looked up as they paused again before her house. "Yes—I will repay," he said.
She reached out her hand. Its grasp was warm, tight.