For a moment, and only for a moment, Emily was repelled by the profanation associated with her birthday gift. Then, the loving remembrance of the dear hands that had so often touched that relic, drew the faithful daughter back to the woman whom she abhorred. Her eyes rested tenderly on the book. Before it had lain in that guilty bosom, it had been _his_ book. The beloved memory was all that was left to her now; the beloved memory consecrated it to her hand. She took the book. “Open it,” said Mrs. Rook. There were two five-pound bank-notes in it. “His?” Emily asked. “No; mine--the little I have been able to save toward restoring what I stole.” “Oh!” Emily cried, “is there some good in this woman, after all?” “There’s no good in the woman!” Mrs. Rook answered desperately. “There’s nothing but fear--fear of hell now; fear of the pocketbook in the past time. Twice I tried to destroy it--and twice it came back, to remind me of the duty that I owed to my miserable soul. I tried to throw it into the fire. It struck the bar, and fell back into the fender at my feet. I went out, and cast it into the well. It came back again in the first bucket of water that was drawn up. From that moment, I began to save what I could. Restitution! Atonement! I tell you the book found a tongue--and those were the grand words it dinned in my ears, morning and night.” She stooped to fetch her breath--stopped, and struck her bosom. “I hid it here, so that no person should see it, and no person take it from me. Superstition? Oh, yes, superstition! Shall tell you something? _You_ may find yourself superstitious, if you are ever cut to the heart as I was. He left me! The man I had disgraced myself for, deserted me on the day when I gave him the stolen money. He suspected it was stolen; he took care of his own cowardly self--and left me to the hard mercy of the law, if the theft was found out. What do you call that, in the way of punishment? Haven’t I suffered? Haven’t I made atonement? Be a Christian--say you forgive me.” “I do forgive you.” “Say you will pray for me.” “I will.” “Ah! that comforts me! Now you can go.” Emily looked at her imploringly. “Don’t send me away, knowing no more of the murder than I knew when I came here! Is there nothing, really nothing, you can tell me?” Mrs. Rook pointed to the door. “Haven’t I told you already? Go downstairs, and see the wretch who escaped in the dawn of the morning!” “Gently, ma’am, gently! You’re talking too loud,” cried a mocking voice from outside. “It’s only the doctor,” said Mrs. Rook. She crossed her hands over her bosom with a deep-drawn sigh. “I want no doctor, now. My peace is made with my Maker. I’m ready for death; I’m fit for Heaven. Go away! go away!” CHAPTER LXII. DOWNSTAIRS.