But the lawyer felt that it was his duty to act, and to act in the interests of his client, whatever vaguely-hideous doubts might arise in his own breast. Nothing but his conviction of Henry Dunbar's guilt could justify him in deserting his client. He was not convinced; he was only horror-stricken by the first whisper of doubt.
"Mr. Dunbar declines to see you," he said to Margaret; "and I do not really see what good could possibly arise out of an interview between you. In the meantime, if you are in any way distressed—and you must most likely need assistance at such a time as this—he is quite ready to help you: and he is also ready to give you permanent help if you require it."
He opened Henry Dunbar's purse as he spoke, but the girl rose and looked at him with icy disdain in her fixed white face.
"I would sooner crawl from door to door, begging my bread of the hardest strangers in this cruel world—I would sooner die from the lingering agonies of starvation—than I would accept help from Henry Dunbar. No power on earth will ever induce me to take a sixpence from that man's hand."
"Why not?"
"You know why not. I can see that knowledge in your face. Tell Mr. Dunbar that I will wait at the door of this house till he comes out to speak to me. I will wait until I drop down dead."
Arthur Lovell went back to his client, and told him what the girl said.
Mr. Dunbar was walking up and down the room, with his head bent moodily upon his breast.
"By heavens!" he cried, angrily, "I will have this girl removed by the police, if——"
He stopped abruptly, and his head sank once more upon his breast.