At the mention of this name Bram, who had moved towards the door, stopped, although he was inclined to think that all this was a mere excuse on the part of Theodore to detain him, and put off the moment when he should be left by himself. “You remember that a box was sent to you--a chest, by the man at East Grindley who left you his money?” Bram nodded. His attention was altogether arrested now. Even before Mr. Biron uttered his next words it was clear that he had a real confession to make this time, that he was not merely filling up the time with idle self-accusations. “I went to your lodging the day it came, just to see that it was safe. Your landlady had sent to ask me if I could take care of it for you, as it was something of value. But I preferred to leave the responsibility with her. In--in fact, Claire thought it best too.” Bram read between the lines here, knowing what strong reasons poor Claire would have for taking this view. Mr. Biron went on-- “There was a key sent with it.” Bram looked up. He had found no key, and had been obliged to force the padlock. “The key was in a piece of paper. I found it on the mantelpiece. I--I--well, of course, I had no right to do it; but I thought it would be better for me to look over the contents of the chest to make sure they were not tampered with in your absence.” Bram was attentive enough now. “So I unlocked the box, and I just glanced through the things it contained. You know what I found; with the exception of this, that there was some loose cash----” Bram’s face grew red with sudden perception. But he made no remark. “I forget exactly what it was, something between two and three hundred pounds. Now, I know that in strict propriety,” went on Mr. Biron, in whom the instinct of confession became suddenly tempered with a desire to prove himself to have acted well in the matter, “I ought to have left the money alone. But it was strongly borne in upon me at the moment that my dear daughter was worried because of unpaid bills; and--and that, in short, it would be just what you would wish me to do if you had been here, for me to borrow the loose sovereigns, and apply them to our pressing necessities. I argued with myself that you would even prefer, in your delicacy, that I should not have to ask for them. And--in short, I may have been wrong, but I--borrowed them.” A strange light had broken on Bram’s face. “Did Miss Claire know?” he asked suddenly in a ringing voice. “Well--er--yes, in point of fact she did. She came to look for me, and she, well, she saw me take them. She--in fact--wished me to put them back; and I could not convince her that I was doing what you would have wished.”