"And you will let it wreck two lives?"

I saw the spasm of pain which crossed her face. She must yield; a moment more, and I should know the secret!

"To-morrow—give me till to-morrow!" she cried. "Perhaps you're right—I must think—I cannot decide now—instantly. There are so many things to consider—the dead as well as the living."

"Very well," I agreed. "I will call to-morrow morning——"

"At eleven—not before."

"To-morrow at eleven, then. And I hope you'll decide, Mrs. Lawrence, to help me all you can. The living come before the dead."

She bowed without replying, and seeing how deadly white she was, I checked the words which rose to my lips and let myself out into the hall.

The maid was standing just outside the door. I wondered how much she had heard of what had passed within.

"One moment," I said, as she started for the stairway, and I stepped again into Miss Lawrence's room.

It had grown too dark there to see anything distinctly, for this room was not flooded, as her mother's had been, by the last rays of the sun, but in a moment I switched on the light. The maid stared from the threshold, her face dark with anger, but not daring to interfere.

"This is the dressing-table, isn't it?" I asked, walking toward it.

"Yes, sir," she answered sullenly.

"It was here you found the letter?"

"Yes, sir."

"You persist in that farce?" I demanded, wheeling round upon her.

She did not answer, only stared back without flinching. I realised that here was a will not easily overcome.

"Very well," I said quietly at last, "I shall get along, then, in spite of you," and I returned to my inspection of the room.

There was a writing-desk in one corner, with pens, ink, and paper. I picked up a sheet of paper and looked at it; I dipped a pen in the ink and wrote a few words upon it; then I blotted it, folded it, and placed it in my pocket.

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