"Gordon—you—you—have—heard?" she whispered, in low, broken tones.
"Yes—I have heard, and understood, Lucille," he answered slowly.
In a flash the woman's whole demeanour changed; with a cry almost like that of a tortured animal, she sank down at Margaret's feet.
"Oh—I've broken—my promise. I couldn't help it—— I—I—-was so tempted," she moaned. "It was—so—lovely—I just wanted to have it—to look at sometimes—— Gordon—Gordon, forgive me!—it shall—be the last time—I promise——"
"Get up," he answered sternly, giving her his hand—and, helping her to rise, he led her to a couch, where she buried her head in the cushions, smothering the sobs which shook her frame.
"Miss Woodford, you now know the tragedy of our lives," he said bitterly. "We place ourselves in your hands; we have no right to ask your mercy. Perhaps you would—like—to—send for the police," he added slowly.
"Send for—the police? What for?" gasped Margaret.
"To arrest me," he answered.
"But—why—you? It has nothing to do with you, Mr. Medhurst!" she replied, in amazement.
"I shall give myself up, and admit the theft to whoever may offer an arrest," he answered.