"Isabel," he cried, "God knows I have little right to question you; but there is something in the manner of your request that alarms me. Can you doubt that I am your friend,—next to your husband your best and truest friend, perhaps?—forget every word that I have ever said to you, and believe only what I say to-night—to-night, when all my better feelings are aroused by the sight of you. Believe that I am your friend, Isabel, and for pity's sake trust me. Who is this person who wants money of you? Is it your step-mother? if so, my cheque-book is at her disposal."
"No," faltered the Doctor's Wife, "it is not for my step-mother, but——"
"But it is for some member of your family?"
"Yes," she answered, drawing a long breath; "but, oh, pray do not ask me any more questions. You said just now that you would grant me the favour I asked without question or comment. Ah, if you knew how painful it was to me to come here!"
"Indeed! I am sorry that it was so painful to you to trust me."
"Ah, if you knew——" Isabel murmured in a low voice, speaking to herself rather than to Roland.
Mr. Lansdell took a little bunch of keys from his pocket, and went across the room to an iron safe, cunningly fashioned after the presentment of an antique ebony cabinet. He opened the ponderous door, and took a little cash-box from one of the shelves.
"My steward brought me a bundle of notes yesterday. Will you take what you want?" he asked, handing the open box to Isabel.
"I would rather you gave me the money; I do not want more than fifty pounds."
Roland counted five ten-pound notes and handed them to Isabel. She rose and stood for a few moments, hesitating as if she had something more to say,—something almost as embarrassing in its nature as the money-question had been.