"Certainly," said Lyon, with perfect gravity. He knelt down by the fireplace and gathered the white handfuls up and laid them upon the coals. When the last little envelope had curled up into filmy ash, he rose. She was standing erect before the fire, with a vitality and radiance in every line of her figure that made her like a different being. "Truly, women are beyond all understanding," thought Lyon, as he waited for her next word.
"Thank you," she said, and the simple phrase on her lips seemed like a pæan of thanksgiving. "Now,--one thing more. You know everything,--you are the only one who does. Will you tell Mr. Lawrence about these letters? He has always been a good friend, and--I should like to have him know!"
"I am sure he will be glad to learn that you will be free from further annoyance and anxiety," he said, cheerfully. "But as for my telling him,--suppose instead, I arrange for you to see him yourself to-morrow. It could be done without any publicity, you know, and it would be a godsend to him to have a visit from you. You can't imagine how stupid it is to be in prison. A visit from anyone would be a welcome diversion!"
She looked thoughtful and abstracted.
"To-morrow?" she hesitated. "I don't know. I may not be at home to-morrow."
"Well,--the day after, if you must postpone it."
"I'll send you word," she said, after a moment. He thought a shadow had crossed her face, but it might only have been a shadow of thought. When he again reached for his hat, she put out both hands impulsively.
"However things turn out,--other things," she said, somewhat incoherently, "I shall never, never forget what you have done for me. You have given me back myself."
Lyon smiled to himself as he left her. How long would she keep possession of that gift, if Lawrence were only free?