"If you resist me in this way," anger met anger now, "I will have to consult a lawyer. I mean to carry out my uncle's desires; I will not be party to any fraud where his child is concerned. I hoped that you and I might do this together for her--but if I have to do it alone I am prepared to do so. I have brought the letter I found among my mother's things--may I read it to you?" "No!" Ann Walden stared blankly at the firm face almost on a level with her own, for Marcia Lowe had risen also. "You--you cannot forgive us for the long silence? But at least do me this justice: I came when I could--as soon as possible. I was ill--oh! Miss Walden can you not understand how hard this is for me to do? Think how I must put my own mother at your mercy--my own, dear mother!" Only one thought held Ann Walden--would her visitor never go? The few moments were like agonized hours; the shock she had received had been so fearful that for a moment she was stunned, and before the true significance overwhelmed her she must be alone! "I--have nothing to forgive. You and yours, Miss Lowe, have nothing to do with me and mine--you must indeed--go! I cannot talk of--the past to you. You--have made a great mistake--a fearful mistake. My sister has--has nothing----" The stern young eyes compelled silence. "I--I wish you would let me help you--for the love you once had for Uncle Theodore," said Marcia Lowe; "you must have forgiven your sister when she told you; can you not forgive him?" "Stop! You do not know what you are talking about----" Vainly, almost roughly, the older woman strove to push the knife away that the ruthless, misunderstanding young hands were plunging deeper and deeper into the suddenly opened wound. "Oh! yes, Miss Walden, I know--here's the letter!" She held it out frankly as if it must, at least, be the tie to bind them. "I spoke perhaps too quickly, too unexpectedly; but it is as hard for me as it is for you. I thought you would know that. I could not talk of little things when this big thing lay between us. It is our--duty." Pleadingly, pitifully, the words were spoken, but they did not move the listener. Hurriedly, as if all but spent, Ann Walden panted: "I reckon it is because you are young you cannot understand how impossible it is for you and me to--be friends. You must forgive me--and you must go!" "But the money!" "What money?" Something bitterer and crueller than the money had taken the memory of that away. "Uncle Theodore's money. You see it is not mine--neither you nor I should keep it from Uncle Theodore's----" "Oh! go, go; I cannot talk to you now. I will see you again--some other day--go!"