"You must take it," she interrupted; "it is the only money I ever saved." She broke off with a malicious laugh. "All these fools thought I was rich," she went on. "They have been scheming and plotting to get my money. There is no money. That is all there is. You and Luke were the only two who never thought about it. You are both like your father. Here, shut the desk up again. Put it back on the table. Now hide the keys--left-hand corner, under the box of hairpins." Fitz obeyed her and came back towards the bed. His large mind felt a sudden contempt for this petty and mean woman. He did not understand her, and the contempt he felt for her in some way hurt him. He was afraid of what she was going to say next. "But," she said, "if I get better you must give me the money back." Fitz gave a little laugh. Something prompted him to open the envelope and look at the contents. There were five notes of ten pounds each. The rich Mrs. Harrington of Grosvenor Gardens had saved fifty pounds, and she lay on her death-bed watching Fitz count this vast hoard with a quiet deliberation. In its way it was a tragedy--the grimmest of all--for its dominant note was the contemptibility of human nature. "I do not want the money. I should not keep it under any circumstances." "What would you do with it?" she asked sharply. "Give it to a charity." "No, no, you must not do that; they are all swindles!" In her eagerness she tried to sit up, and fell back with a puzzled look on her face, as if some one had struck her. "Here," she gasped, "give it to me! give it to me!" She clutched the envelope in her unsteady hands, and suddenly her jaw dropped. Fitz ran to the door. On the stairs were the two doctors, followed closely by Eve. In a moment the doctors were at the bedside. "Yes," said one of them--the younger of the two--and he glanced at his watch. "I gave her an hour." The elder man took the dead woman's hand in his. He released the envelope from her grasp and read the superscription, "Recipe for apple jelly." With a grave smile he handed the envelope to Eve as Fitz took her out of the room. They went downstairs together, and both were thinking of D'Erraha. They went into the library, which was silent and gloomy. Fitz had not spoken yet, but she seemed to understand his silence, just as she had understood it once before. She had told him then. She did not do so now. Eve was not thinking of the dead woman upstairs. This death came to her only as a faint reflection of the one great grief which had cut her life in two--as great griefs do. She was perhaps wondering how it was that Fitz seemed always to come to her at those moments when she could not do without him. She was more probably not thinking at all, but resting as it were in the sense of complete safety and protection which this man's presence gave her.