“I'm not satisfied though,” cried he, at last growing heated--“I'm not going to have shareholders coming down upon me, and be hunted from London and from my profession, just because Major Harper”-- “I would rather not hear of Major Harper, or any one else, to-night. Once more--will you oblige me by leaving?” Her thorough self-possession, her air of command--controlled the man in spite of himself. He moved away, bidding her a civil good-night. “Good-night, Mr. Grimes; I will light you to the door.” “Ugh!” He gave a grunt--seemed inclined to hesitate--looked up at Mrs. Harper, and--obeyed. Agatha came slowly back through the hall, feeling all stunned and stupified. She sat down, smoothed her hair back with her hands, heaved one or two weary sighs, and tried to think what had happened to her. “So, I am no heiress. I have lost all my money, and am quite poor. He knows it--knew it a long time ago, and did not tell me. Why did he not tell me, I wonder?” Here was a pause. For a moment she felt inclined to doubt the fact itself; truthful people have little suspicion of chicanery or falsehood, and when she came to think, innumerable circumstances confirmed Grime's statement. Yes, it must be true. This, then, was Nathanael's secret. Why had he kept it from her. “As if he thought I cared for money! As if”--and a choking filled her throat--“as if I would have minded being ever so poor did he only love me!” The thought burst out naturally, like water forcing its way through muddy reeds--showing how, deep down, there lay the living spring. “Now, let me consider. He must have had some strong reason for keeping this secret. It cost him much; he said so. But I never heeded that. How I wearied him about not taking the house; how angry I was at his acceptance of the stewardship. And it was for me he wished to toil--for me, and for our daily bread! Yet he would not tell me. And all the while he must have had numberless cares and anxieties without, and his own wife blindly tormenting him at home. Last of all I called him _mercenary_. And what did he answer? Nothing! Not one reproach--not one word of anger. Yet still--he kept his secret Why?” Here she paused again. All was mystery. “It might have been through tenderness--to save me pain. Yet no--for he could not but see how his silence stung me. Then since he kept not this secret for love of me--and I am hardly worth such loving--it must have been from some motive, perhaps higher than love--some bond of honour which he could not break. Did he not say something to that effect once? Let me think.” Again she sat down, and so far as her excited feelings would allow, tried to recall the story of their acquaintance, courtship, marriage--a six-month's tale--how brief, yet how full. Amidst its confusion, amidst all the variations of her own feelings, stood out one steadfast image--her husband.