Jimmy had not moved. There was something in his attitude which filled Molly with a vague fear. In the shadow behind the lamp, he looked shapeless and inhuman. "What are you doing here?" he said at last, in a harsh, unnatural voice. "I----" She stopped. "You're hurting my eyes," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't think. Is that better?" He turned the light from her face. Something in his voice and the apologetic haste with which he moved the lamp seemed to relax the strain of the situation. The feeling of stunned surprise began to leave her. She found herself thinking coherently again. The relief was but momentary. Why was Jimmy in the room at that time? Why had he a lamp? What had he been doing? The questions shot from her brain like sparks from an anvil. The darkness began to tear at her nerves. She felt along the wall for the switch, and flooded the room with light. Jimmy laid down the lantern, and stood for a moment, undecided. He looked at Molly, and suddenly there came over him an overwhelming desire to tell her everything. He had tried to stifle his conscience, to assure himself that the old days were over, and that there was no need to refer to them. And for a while he had imposed upon himself. But lately the falseness of his position had come home to him. He could not allow her to marry him, in ignorance of what he had been. It would be a villainous thing to do. Often he had tried to tell her, but had failed. He saw that it must be done, here and now. He lifted the lid of the jewel box, and dangled the necklace before her eyes. She drew back. "Jimmy! You were--stealing them?" "No, I was putting them back." "Putting them back?" "Listen. I'm going to tell you the truth, Molly--I've been trying to for days, but I never had the pluck. I wasn't stealing this necklace, but for seven years I lived by this sort of thing." "By----" "By stealing. By breaking into houses and stealing. There. It isn't nice, is it? But it's the truth. And whatever happens, I'm glad you know." "Stealing!" said Molly slowly. "You!" He took a step forward, and laid his hand on her arm. She shrank away from him. His hand fell to his side like lead. "Molly, do you hate me?" "How could you?" she whispered. "How could you?" "Molly, I want to tell you a story. Are you listening? It's the story of a weak devil who was put up to fight the world, and wasn't strong enough for it. He got a bad start, and he never made it up. They sent him to school, the best school in the country; and he got expelled. Then they gave him a hundred pounds, and told him to make out for himself. He was seventeen, then. Seventeen, mind you. And all he knew was a little Latin and Greek, a very little, and nothing else. And they sent him out to make his fortune." He stopped.