"As a matter of fact, the money is at this moment left to Major Dundas; but I intend to alter my will in Gerald's favour. At first I thought to punish him by leaving him nothing. But I soon found out my mistake. As a poor man, obliged to work for his living, Gerald Arkel would stand a fair chance of happiness. As a rich one and his own master, he stands none. And so I have determined to offer him at one and the same time his ruin and his salvation. Now do you begin to understand?" Still Miriam knew not what to say. The whole scheme was to her so fantastic and so abominable, and at the same time so extraordinary, that its genesis seemed hardly human. It was impossible to believe the man was sane. She decided she could have nothing to do with it. "I am afraid," she said coldly, "that so far as I am concerned your scheme is quite impossible. Indeed, I can understand your wishing to salve your conscience in the face of so abominable a design as you contemplate for the ruin of this young man's life; and God knows I would willingly save him if I could. But much as I am interested in him, much as I--I feel, that is I think--oh, I don't know what to say," she broke off in despair. "I must return to Jabez, Mr. Barton. Let me pass out of this life of yours. I will go out of it--I refuse to do your dirty work!" "And so you call it dirty work to save a human soul?" "I must go back to Jabez, I say." "That is to poverty, to disgrace, and--to crime!" "To poverty, yes. But not to crime, no, nor to disgrace. I will leave to-morrow, Mr. Barton." "You shall not." "I must--I will. I do not fear you now. No, I defy you!" "Take care, young lady; you had better not defy me." "And why not?" She winced, though she spoke haughtily enough. With a sudden pounce the man seized her wrist and bent so close to her that his lips almost touched her ear. So low, too, did he speak, that she could with difficulty hear what he said. But enough she heard to make her colour come and go; and when he had finished, the beads of perspiration stood out upon her forehead. "Who told you?" she gasped. "Who told you?" "The man who left me just now. He tells me all I wish to know." "What is his name?" "He has no name--for you. Call him 'The Shadow,' if you will. It will serve as well as any other name. Now, do you go or stay?" She leaned against the writing-table, breathing heavily. For more than a minute she stood thus, battling with herself. Then slowly she turned and looked at him. "I will stay," she said. Then she fell helplessly into a chair and sobbed bitterly. Barton looked at her with a sneer. He went to the side-board for a decanter and a glass. As in a dream she was conscious of his holding wine to her lips, and as in a dream she drank it, and heard him speak to her. "Remember," he said, "on your implicit obedience depends the future. Thwart me, and----"