"It is. I was going headlong down to hell, but God, through her, has pulled me up short. Gold is utterly valueless to me now. The child is dying, and I cannot part with her for all eternity. You can draw your own conclusions." As Ogilvie spoke he shook Grayleigh's detaining hand from his arm. The chairman of the Lombard Deeps Company stood still for a moment, then returned to the directors. As Grayleigh walked slowly upstairs he had a moment's conflict with his own conscience. In one thing at least Ogilvie was generous. He had not dragged Lord Grayleigh to the earth in his own fall. The affair of the ten thousand pounds was known to no one else. "He fell, and I caused him to fall," thought Lord Grayleigh. "In the moment of his fall, if I were even half a man, I would stand by him and acknowledge my share in the matter. But no; where would be the use? I cannot drag my children through the mire. Poor Ogilvie is losing his child, and for him practically life is over." Grayleigh re-entered the room where the directors waited for him. "I saw Ogilvie just now," he said, "and he sticks to his story. I fear, too, that I was wrong in my conjecture with regard to his madness. He must have had a temporary madness when he drew up and signed the false report. I suppose we ought to consider ourselves lucky." "At least the widows and orphans won't be ruined," said one of the directors, a thin-faced anxious-looking man. "Well, of course, Lord Grayleigh, we must all wash our hands of this." "We must do so advisedly," was Grayleigh's remark; "remember, we have gone far. Remember, the cablegram was not kept too secret, and the knowledge of the excellent report sent by Ogilvie has got to the ears of one or two city editors. He must give out that there was a misunderstanding as to the value of the mine." "And what of Ogilvie himself?" said an angry-looking man. "Such infamous conduct requires stringent measures. Do you gentlemen share my views?" One or two did, but most protested against dragging Ogilvie's story too prominently into the light of day. "It may reflect on ourselves," said one or two. "It is just possible there may be some people who will not believe that he was alone in this matter." Lord Grayleigh was the last to speak. "If I were you, gentlemen," he said, moodily, "I would leave Ogilvie to his God." CHAPTER XXII. "Philip!" said Mrs. Ogilvie, as he re-entered pretty Silverbel about four o'clock that afternoon, "I have just had an extraordinary telegram from our lawyer, Mr. Acland." Ogilvie looked full at her but did not speak. "How strangely tired and worn you look," she replied; "what can be the matter with you? Sometimes, when I think of you and the extraordinary way in which you are acting, I come to the conclusion that your brain cannot be right." "You are wrong there, Mildred. There was a time when not only my brain but all my moral qualities were affected, but I believe these things are put right at last."