‘How can I ever thank you?’ ‘Good God, woman, don’t thank me! You owe me nothing. It is for your mother’s sake that I have become your accomplice, and that I have taken this burden on myself.’ She bent her head. He continued, ‘People who sin against human life in this way cannot expect sympathy. Your punishment is that you are cut off from fellowship with your race; the memory of that murdered man will rise between you and those who guess, and those who do not guess, your guilt.’ ‘Supposing, after all, others discover that I did it?’ she whispered. ‘They shall not, they must not! I command you not to betray yourself; it is the least you can do.’ ‘You needn’t be afraid. I dare say you think I am sorry that I did it, but I am not; I am glad. I should be miserable if it had not been done.’ ‘He would never have done anything so criminal as this.’ ‘No, he hadn’t the courage, but he would have sneaked and lied and shivered through life, taking men’s and women’s souls and bodies and tearing them to shreds, dragging them down until they could see nothing in life but a struggle for amusement, nothing beyond but a rest from torment. I know I did it from a horrible motive, just to gratify my mad injured pride, to revenge myself on the cur that had turned on me; but all the same it is a good deed done, and I am glad I did it.’ ‘I do not understand you, Lady Geraldine.’ She got up and walked past him to the door; then she turned and said, ‘I am my father’s daughter. People like him and me belong to a race apart; we are only mortal clay, while you and mamma, and Maisy and all the rest of you have immortal souls.’ She came towards him once more. ‘Oh, don’t be afraid, I won’t touch you, I won’t contaminate you. Yes, I see it plainly now: you all of you have immortal souls, you show it in your lives, don’t you?’ * * * * * It was the day of the funeral. ‘_Suicide while of unsound mind_’ was the verdict brought in by the jury. Lady Geraldine was alone with Mrs. Travers for the first time. They were sitting with books in their hands pretending to read. Both were dressed in black. Both were somewhat restless. Lady Kirkdale had left them in the drawing-room. The funeral had taken place in the little village churchyard early in the morning. There was nothing more to be done. Mrs. Travers was going to London the following day to commence rehearsing for a new piece at Horsham’s Theatre. Lady Kirkdale had suggested she must stay with them and rest, but she only thanked her very much, and said she should prefer to set to work at once. Lady Geraldine sat eyeing her surreptitiously. At last she said-- ‘You are very fond of your profession, are you not, Mrs. Travers?’ ‘Indeed I am. I don’t know how I should have lived during the last few months if it had not been for the thought of it.’ ‘You were going to America, I heard?’ ‘Yes; George spoke of doing so.’