"You remember—how I refused—when you asked me—to take any steps toward voiding it?"
Her lips made a dumb movement of assent.
"But—at last—I took them. In the final interview I had with Melrose, he threatened me with the cancelling of his will, unless I consented—Tatham has told you—to sell him my uncle's gems. I refused. And so far as words could, he there and then stripped me of his property. It is by the mere accident of his murder at that precise moment that it has come to me. Now then—what is to be done?"
Her hand slipped further into his. For a few minutes he seemed to be absorbed in the silent reconstruction of past trains of thought, emerging with a cry—though it was under his breath:
"If I took his money now—against his will—I should feel his yoke—his hateful yoke—again, on my neck! I should be his slave still."
"You shall not take it!" she said with passion.
He smiled at her suddenly.
"It is nothing to Lydia, to be poor?"
"And free—and happy—and alive!—no, nothing!"
At that he could only draw her to him again. She herself must needs bring him back to the point.