Patience Allerby occupied a very peculiar position, and knew that she did so, much to her perplexity. Ever since her lapse from virtue she had lived a self-denying existence as an expiation for her sin, and she had cause to be satisfied with the past twenty years of her life, seeing that she had done nothing wrong all the time. True, living in almost monastic existence, she had no temptations to fight against, and the absence of temptation rendered it comparatively easy to lead a virtuous life. Not being tempted she lived an ascetic life, being absolutely certain that she was strong enough to withstand any temptation, however powerful. Vain hope, for now the devil in the person of her old betrayer assaulted her on her weakest side. Had he tried to make her rob her master or return to her old life of sin, he would have failed dismally, but an appeal through her motherhood was perilous to her strength, and Beaumont knew this when he used her love for Reginald as a weapon against her. In spite of her prayers, her tears, her comforting texts, she knew that if Beaumont wished her to commit any crime to benefit her son she would do so in defiance of her religious belief, however strong. God alone knew the night of anguish this woman passed, wrestling with the subtle temptation placed before her in such an attractive shape. Those old saints, who, according to pious legends, fought with the visible powers of evil, had no such terrible enemies to cope with, in contrast to a soul racked with doubt fighting against spiritual promptings. In vain this poor soul, who wished to do right, closed her ears to the infernal whisperings of evil spirits, in vain she read with frenzied ardour the terrible prophecies of Isaiah or the comforting promises of the Gospels, in vain she knelt weeping bitterly before the crucifix, praying to be guarded from falling into sin. It was all useless. Either spiritual weapons had lost their efficacy, or her intense maternal passion blunted her sense of religious duty, and after a terrible struggle with her invisible enemies, which left her completely prostrate, she began to calmly consider Beaumont's scheme. From that moment she was lost; for, on reviewing the whole matter she began to pacify her conscience with arguments concerning the rectitude of the affair. She would be doing no wrong to anyone--nay, she would be conferring a benefit on Una, seeing that by her marriage with Reginald she would be put in possession of the property at once, whereas should the will be carried out strictly she would have to wait everlastingly for the appearance of a non-existing person. Suppose she agreed to Beaumont's plan, and said Fanny Blake and the squire were the parents of her son, he would become rich and honoured, bearing a renowned name and no longer be an unknown waif, heavily handicapped in the battle of life.