"You would do that for me—a thief?" gasped Mrs. Medhurst, starting up from her pillows, and gazing with amazement at the girl before her.
"Yes, yes—indeed I would—I offer it freely: don't doubt me. You have all been sweet and good to me—do you think I forget? If there is a secret to be kept at Oaklands, remember I am a member of this household now—you welcomed me into your home—and the mystery can remain always unsolved by the outside world, so far as I am concerned."
There was silence in the room for a few minutes; Margaret still knelt by Mrs. Medhurst's couch, gently chafing her hands, while the other cried quietly with an abandonment of grief difficult to overcome.
Presently Margaret rose and gently released the cold hands she held, and turned to leave the room.
Mr. Medhurst's voice arrested her footsteps. As she reached the door, he took one stride towards her, and held out his hand: "We can never, never thank you sufficiently for your generous attitude of mind, Miss Woodford. I don't understand why you spare us?"
"Mr. Medhurst, the reason is, we are all answerable to the same Master," she answered gently, as she accepted his hand.
"What master?" he answered, looking puzzled.
"One Who gave us this command for all time and all ages, 'Bear ye one another's burdens and so fulfil the law of Christ,'" she replied.
"And that is your religion?" he interrogated.
"It is an order of the King of kings sent to me by His servant, and I love to try and obey it—because——"