"Listen, and I will explain. You knew, Mildred--oh, yes, you knew it well enough--that I went to Australia on no honorable mission. You did not care to inquire, you hid yourself behind a veil of pretended ignorance; but you _knew_--yes, you did, and you dare not deny it--that I went to Queensland to commit a crime. It would implicate others if I were to explain things more fully. I will not implicate others, I will stand alone now, in this bitter moment when the fruit of my sin is brought home to me. I will bear the responsibility of my own sin. I will not drag anybody else down in my fall, but it is sufficient for you to know, Mildred, that the Lombard Deeps Mine as a speculation is worthless." "Worthless!" she cried, "impossible!" "Worthless," he repeated. "Then why, why did you send a cablegram to say the mine was full of gold? Lord Grayleigh told me he had received such a message from you." "I told a dastardly lie, which I am about to put straight." "But, but," she began, her lips white, her eyes shining, "if you do not explain away your lie (oh, Phil, it is such an ugly word), if you do not explain it away, could not the company be floated?" "It could, and the directors could reap a fortune by means of it. Do you understand, Mildred, what that implies?" "Do I understand?" she replied. "No, I was always a poor little woman who had no head for figures." "Nevertheless you will, I think, take it in when I explain. You are not quite so stupid as you make yourself out. The directors and I could make a fortune--it would be easy, for there is enough gold in the mine to last for at least six months, and the public are credulous, and can be taken in. We should make our fortunes out of the widows and orphans, out of the savings of the poor clerks, and from the clergyman's tiny stipend. We could sweep in their little earnings, and aggrandize our own wealth and importance, and _lose our souls_. Yes, Mildred, we could, but we won't. I shall prevent that. I have a task before me which will save this foulest crime from being committed." Mrs. Ogilvie dropped into a chair; she burst into hysterical weeping. "What you say can't be true, Phil. Oh, Phil, darling, do have mercy." "How?" he asked. "Don't do anything so mad, so rash. You always had such a queer, troublesome sort of conscience. Phil, I cannot stand poverty, I cannot stand being dragged down; I must have this place; I have set my heart on it." He came up to her and took both her hands. "Is it worth evil?" he asked. "What do you mean?" "Is anything under the sun worth evil?" She made no answer. He dropped her hands and left the room. CHAPTER XX.