the candle, and with one hand clutching for support at the high mantel-shelf--for her knees were shaking under her--held it close to the glass and peered into the black depths. Her pale, quivering face, ravaged with tears, stared back at her, like some poor ghost more ugly even than in life. "_A wicked woman._" Yes--yes--yes; and he would have to know it. But when he knew it, what then? If his eyes opened to sin, would they open to-- "I have tried to make him comfortable," she said, faintly. Suddenly she put the candle down and sank into a chair, covering her face with her poor, gaunt hands.... And so the night passed.... The dawn was dim and rainy. It was about four o'clock that Alice, sitting on the floor, sleeping heavily, her head on the cushion of the chair, started, bewildered, at the noise of the opening door. Rebecca, in her gray dressing-gown, one hand shielding the flare of her candle, came abruptly into the room. "Alice," she said, harshly, and stopped by the empty bed; then her eyes found the figure on the floor ("you ought to be in bed"), she said, in a brief aside; then: "Alice, I've been thinking it over. You can't take that money." "I don't understand," Alice said, confused with sleep and tears. "You can't take that money. If you do, your father would have to know. And he never must--he never must." Alice pulled herself up from the floor and sat down in her big chair. "Not take the money?" she said, in a dazed way; "but it's mine." "That's why you needn't take it. Thank God it was left to you, not just to 'her heirs.' Alice, I've gone all over it. I--I wanted you to take it"--Rebecca's voice broke; "yes, I--did." "Well, it's mine," Alice repeated, bewildered. Rebecca struck her hands together. "Yours not to take! Don't you see? You can save your father." Alice, cringing, dropped her head on her breast with a broken word. "Don't be a fool," the older woman said, trembling. "He's been your father ever since you were born. And it would be a pretty return for his love to tell him--" Alice burst out crying; her step-mother softened. "I am sorry for you, you poor girl. But, oh, Alice, think, _think_ of your father!" She clasped her hands and stood, trembling; she took a step forward, almost as if she would kneel. "If he would feel so dreadfully," Alice said, at last, "why--we needn't tell him where the money comes from." "Now, Alice, that is absurd. Of course he would know. He would have to know. A girl doesn't inherit £5000 without her father's knowing where it comes from. And, anyway, Mr. Carter said that Mr. Gray would have to make a statement and swear to it. Of course he would--know." "Do you mean you don't want me to have it at all?" Alice said, blankly. "I've just explained it to you," Rebecca said, her voice harsh with anxiety. "You _can't_ have it."