He looked up, questioningly. So repugnant did the action she had contemplated now appear to her that she hung her head. "I no longer wish to give it to you," she said in a stifled voice. "Grandfather's happiness, my own life--can money pay for such things?" He took her by the hand. It was some moments before he could regain command of himself. Then he said: "I am always your friend, Rachel." She nodded. For some moments longer they stood, their hands joined. Presently he touched her forehead with his lips. "Good-bye." She stood as he had left her, her bosom rising and falling softly and heavily, her eyes betraying all that was passing within her. Never did countenance more plainly announce a struggle. By this final act, he had erased from the scroll any charge against him of dishonour and selfishness. Her instinctive trust of him, persisting in the face of his weakness, was vindicated. The flame of her liking leapt higher. Open-lipped, open-eyed, open-eared, she listened to his retreating steps. Momentarily the consciousness of her debt to him increased. She was allowing him to go--this man who had aided her in the blackest hour of her life; who loved her, who offered her all a man can offer a woman. She placed him high, herself low. She saw him noble, herself craven. To receive so much and to give nothing! It was contrary to her nature. But one return she could make! Above waves of confusion the thought flashed and flashed. Was she capable of the sacrifice? Deeply she sounded her heart. Her life was empty, irretrievably, permanently empty and desolate, she told herself with the sureness of the tragic young. To what better use put its fruitless days? The idea assumed the brightness of a star above troubled deeps. She sprang to the door, calling. He did not answer, though his step was still faintly distinguishable in the hall. Bending over the well of the staircase, she repeated her call. The footsteps halted: then from the darkness below she heard him ascending. CHAPTER IX RACHEL--SIMON Her heroism was of the youthful, purblind, impetuous order. She had reasoned falsely and acted generously. But she was not one to sink wittingly to a lower level. Later, when she suspected the truth, she did not admit it to her own heart--least of all to her own heart. She was very glad of what she had done. But she delayed the marriage; there were preparations to make. For no reason that anyone could fathom, she insisted on remaining in the Street of Masts. One concession she made: at Simon's urgent request she consented to retain Nora Gage. The two occupied the old rooms across the hallway from Emily Short.