"No; as I say, I was busy when Margery gave it to me, and I slipped it into my pocket without thinking. It was only on looking at it again, the other day, that its resemblance to the bracelet struck me. I wear it as a stud rather than as a brooch; you see, it has no catch-pin." "Well, I think perhaps the best way would be to ask your husband how Dr. Drabble comes to possess a wrist-button so similar to his bracelet." Olive turned suddenly pale, and hung her head. "I cannot," she said, faintly; "he has left me." "Left you?" repeated Mallow, scarcely able to believe his ears. "Why--when?" "Nearly a fortnight ago. It was not possible for us to continue living together. I hated him, and he did not care in the least for me. It was solely for my money that he married me; and now that he has it, he has no further use for me. We agreed it was best to separate. I was glad to do so." "And this is the man you left me for!" "Not of my own free will. You know I was the victim of circumstances. I told you everything about my father's letter. Here it is; read it yourself, and tell me if I could have acted otherwise." In silence Mallow took the letter from her. He noticed that her hand trembled. In silence he read it through. It was a strange letter, and it had apparently been written under stress of great mental excitement. The man might have been in mortal terror when he penned those lines. The warning at the close was a very cry of anguish. "What do you say now?" asked Olive. "I can say nothing. We seem to move in a world of mystery." "You admit that I acted rightly?" "I admit that you were forced to obey the letter," answered Mallow. "Whether you acted rightly is not quite the same thing." "You are not just to me," cried Olive, passionately. "I loved my father dearly. He was always so good to me. I should have been wicked to ignore so solemn a command. Had it been only a question of money, I would readily have surrendered it all to Mr. Brock. But my father's dying wish--I could not disregard it, I could not." "I admit that," said Laurence, reluctantly. "But what a miserable result it is!" Olive covered her face with her hands. "I know, I know!" she cried. "The sins of the father are visited on the children. Oh, what can there have been in my father's life to make him sacrifice me so cruelly?" "Mr. Brock was your father's oldest friend. He might, perhaps, know." "He does not know, for I asked him the very day before this hateful marriage of mine. He could give me no answer. He could not understand the letter. Both in India and in England, he said, my father's life was above reproach." "Yet there must be something," mused Mallow. "There are few men who have not a turned-down page somewhere in the book of their life, and as a rule it is not shown even to the dearest and closest of friends. 'We mortal millions live alone,' as Arnold puts it."