Mrs. Rook forgot her piety; she was ready with an impudent rejoinder. “You hot-headed little woman, your time will come,” she answered. “But you’re right--I am wandering from the point; I am not sufficiently sensible of this solemn occasion. By-the-by, do you notice my language? I inherit correct English from my mother--a cultivated person, who married beneath her. My paternal grandfather was a gentleman. Did I tell you that there came a time, on that dreadful night, when I could stay in bed no longer? The pocketbook--I did nothing but think of that devilish pocketbook, full of bank-notes. My husband was fast asleep all the time. I got a chair and stood on it. I looked into the place where the two men were sleeping, through the glass in the top of the door. Your father was awake; he was walking up and down the room. What do you say? Was he agitated? I didn’t notice. I don’t know whether the other man was asleep or awake. I saw nothing but the pocketbook stuck under the pillow, half in and half out. Your father kept on walking up and down. I thought to myself, ‘I’ll wait till he gets tired, and then I’ll have another look at the pocketbook.’ Where’s the wine? The doctor said I might have a glass of wine when I wanted it.” Emily found the wine and gave it to her. She shuddered as she accidentally touched Mrs. Rook’s hand. The wine helped the sinking woman. “I must have got up more than once,” she resumed. “And more than once my heart must have failed me. I don’t clearly remember what I did, till the gray of the morning came. I think that must have been the last time I looked through the glass in the door.” She began to tremble. She tore the veil off her face. She cried out piteously, “Lord, be merciful to me a sinner! Come here,” she said to Emily. “Where are you? No! I daren’t tell you what I saw; I daren’t tell you what I did. When you’re possessed by the devil, there’s nothing, nothing, nothing you can’t do! Where did I find the courage to unlock the door? Where did I find the courage to go in? Any other woman would have lost her senses, when she found blood on her fingers after taking the pocketbook--” Emily’s head swam; her heart beat furiously--she staggered to the door, and opened it to escape from the room. “I’m guilty of robbing him; but I’m innocent of his blood!” Mrs. Rook called after her wildly. “The deed was done--the yard door was wide open, and the man was gone--when I looked in for the last time. Come back, come back!” Emily looked round. “I can’t go near you,” she said, faintly. “Come near enough to see this.” She opened her bed-gown at the throat, and drew up a loop of ribbon over her head. The pocketbook was attached to the ribbon. She held it out. “Your father’s book,” she said. “Won’t you take your father’s book?”