I murmured something--I did not know what--and she clasped my hand; the warm pressure of her fingers upon mine thrilled my pulses. The next minute I was alone. I strove to concentrate my thoughts upon certain matters of business which claimed my attention, but I found it impossible to do so. I could not dispossess myself of the image of Frances Glaive. In an idle humour I wrote her name, Frances Glaive, over and over again; if I had been a boy, with all a boy's enthusiasm, instead of a man hardened and embittered by cruel experience, I could not have behaved more in accordance with established precedent. I saw Frances Glaive sitting in the vacant chair at my table; I heard her sweet voice; I gazed upon her face as it lay, insensible and beautiful, before me. 'Be my friend,' she had said. I could serve her; it was in my power to make her happy. I took out my bank-book and the private ledger in which I kept the record of my worldly progress; I was rich enough to pay all Mr. Glaive's liabilities, and still have a considerable sum left; but I need not pay them in full. I knew that I could easily settle with his creditors for a trifle over the value of his estate. I did not value money, and yet I decided upon nothing; I could not think calmly upon the matter; I thought only of Frances Glaive, knowing full well that she, by a word, by a look, by a smile, could make me do any wild or extravagant thing against all reason and conviction. I craved to see her again, and so strong was this craving that in the evening I found myself walking in the direction of Mr. Glaive's house. I can recall the manner of that walk; I can recall how, governed by an impulse stronger than reason, I still was conscious of a curious mental conflict which was being waged within me, independent of my own will as it seemed, and the most powerful forces of which strove to pull me back, while I was really walking along without hesitation. I _did_ hesitate when I stood before Mr. Glaive's house, but only for a very few moments. Frances Glaive came into the passage to receive me. 'I thought you would come,' she said, her face lighting up. 'And you are glad?' I could not help asking. 'Very, very glad. Papa is in the study; he is dreadfully weak and ill, and I have been counting the minutes. May I tell him that I have brought him a friend?' 'Yes,' I answered; 'a friend of yours.' All this while she had not relinquished my hand; and I too willingly retained hers in mine. Well, well--at that time I would have thought no price too heavy to pay for such precious moments.