“Sign!” she repeated, “and we will see to that.”
I obeyed. She asked for the lawyer’s letter. I gave it to her, with the lines which contained the man’s vile insinuation folded down, so that only the words above were visible, which proved that I had renounced my legacy, not even knowing whether the person to be benefited was a man or a woman. She took this, with the rough draft of my own letter, and the signed renunciation—and opened the door.
“Pray come back, and tell me about it!” I pleaded.
She smiled, nodded, and went out.
Oh, what a long time passed before I heard the long-expected knock at the door! “Come in,” I cried impatiently.
Mrs. Fosdyke had deceived me. Mr. Sax had returned in her place. He closed the door. We two were alone.
He was deadly pale; his eyes, as they rested on me, had a wild startled look. With icy cold fingers he took my hand, and lifted it in silence to his lips. The sight of his agitation encouraged me—I don’t to this day know why, unless it appealed in some way to my compassion. I was bold enough to look at him. Still silent, he placed the letters on the table—and then he laid the signed paper beside them. When I saw that, I was bolder still. I spoke first.
“Surely you don’t refuse me?” I said.
He answered, “I thank you with my whole heart; I admire you more than words can say. But I can’t take it.”
“Why not?”