His face was strained with mental agony, and his fingers worked convulsively on one another. He spread his arms upon the table and bowed his head as though racked with physical pain. The clarion voice of duty was calling; but, when the woman's cry, "I am your wife, John, your very own--you and I are one--you cannot betray me!" next broke on his ear, would he be strong then? If he could bear the punishment with her, and stand in the dock by her side, it would be better than suffering alone, tortured by the thought of the hours of misery to be endured by a gently-nurtured woman in a cruel prison. Perhaps, they would take him, too, for his share in the fraud. Dick was right when he said a man could more easily bear the hardship of prison than could a woman. If it had been possible, he would gladly have borne his wife's burden. As usual, he did nothing. He put off the evil hour, and waited for Ormsby to act. CHAPTER XXVI MRS. SWINTON HEARS THE TRUTH The junior clerk of Messrs Jevons & Jevons carried Mrs. Swinton's card to the senior partner, a hoary-headed old man, well stricken in years. When the card was scrutinized, he could not recall the personality of Mrs. Swinton. He sent for his confidential clerk, who was also at a disadvantage, yet they both seemed to remember having heard the name before. At last, however, the client was ushered in, and Mr. Jevons hoped that his eyes would repair the lapse of his memory. A pale, dark-eyed, slender woman, wrapped in furs, entered. "You don't remember me, Mr. Jevons?" "Ah! now I hear your voice, I remember. You are the daughter of Mr. Herresford." "You were once my mother's lawyer, Mr. Jevons," said Mrs. Swinton, plunging at once into business. "I had that honor. Won't you sit down?" "It is twenty-five years ago--more than that." "Yes. You have married since then." "I married Mr. Swinton, the rector of St. Botolph's." "Indeed, indeed. That is very interesting. And now you are living--?" "At the rectory, on Riverside Drive." "Ah, yes.--And your father is well, I presume." "As well as can be expected," answered Mrs. Swinton, tartly. "It is about money-matters I have come to you, Mr. Jevons. I want to know if it is possible by any means to raise the sum of seven thousand dollars." "That is not a large sum. There ought to be no difficulty." "You think so!" she cried, eagerly. "Well, it depends. The income your mother left you--if it is not in any way mortgaged--should give ample security." "My mother left me no income." "I beg your pardon?" queried the old man, curtly, as if he doubted his hearing. "My income is pitifully small, Mr. Jevons--only four thousand a year, which my father allows me, and he makes a favor of that, often withholding it, and plunging me into debt." Mr. Jevons looked incredulous. "Four thousand a year. Did you see your mother's will, Mrs. Swinton?" "No. Did she make a will?"