“She has got my money, and she throws it down for anybody to pick up,” he cried. “My money! there’s money there to pay everything! Why don’t you pay those people and let ’em go--pay them, pay them and let them go! or else give me back my money!” he cried, wildly straining forward, with his white hair falling back, his reddened eyes blazing, struggling against his bonds. Mrs. Harwood took up the pocket-book, weighing it, with a sort of forced laugh, in her hand. “You think there may be a fortune here--enough to pay? And he thinks so. Give it to him, Vicars. We’ve tried to keep it all quiet, but it seems we have failed. You may leave the door open now--you may do as you please. It can’t matter any longer. I have thought of the credit of the family, and of many things that nobody else thinks of. And of his comfort--nobody will say I have not thought of his comfort. Look round you: there is everything, everything we could think of. But it is all of no use now.” The old man had caught the pocket-book from Vicars’ hands with a pitiful demonstration of joy. He made a pretence of examining its contents, eagerly turning them over as if to make sure that nothing was lost, kissing the covers in enthusiasm of delight. He made an attempt with his confined arms to return it to his pocket, but, failing in that, kept it embraced in both his hands, from time to time kissing it with extravagant satisfaction. “As long as I have got this they can do nothing to me,” he said. While this pantomime was going on, and while still Mrs. Harwood was speaking, a little movement and rustle in the group caught everybody’s attention as if it had been a new fact: but it was only Janet stealing away behind the others who had a right there which she did not possess. She had been watching her moment. She herself, who had nothing to do with it, had received her share of discomfiture too. Her heart was sinking with humiliation and shame. What had she to do with the mysteries of the Harwoods, the things they might have to conceal? What was she to them but a stranger of no account, never thought of, dragged into the midst of their troubles when it pleased them, thrown off again when they chose? Nobody would have said that Janet had any share in this crisis, and yet it was she who had received the sharpest arrow of all; or so, at least, she thought. She slipped behind Julia, who was bigger and more prominent than she, and stole through the bewildering stairs and passages. How well she seemed to know the way, as if it had been familiar to her for years! And it was she who had given the information--she who had been the cause of everything, drawn here and drawn there into affairs alike alien to her, with which she had nothing to do. They were all moved by her departure; not morally, indeed, but by the mere stir it caused. Gussy rose from her knees, showing a countenance as pale as death and still glistening with tears. She said,