"You were not afraid to come here," I said. "You can go from here as
well. Thunder will not hurt such as you."

Even then she did not move, but crouched in a corner of the room
farthest from me, reminding me of my kitten when I try to drive it from
a place where it has been permitted to play. As that will not understand
my scats and gestures, so she did not seem to comprehend my meaning.
But I made her at last, and with a very white face and a strange look in
her great, staring blue eyes, she said:

"Fanny" (she always called me Miss Frances before), "Fanny, do you
really mean me to go back in the dark and the rain and the thunder? Then
I will, but I must tell you first what I came for, and you will tell
Guy. He gave me ten thousand dollars when we first were married; settled
it on me, they called it, and father was one of the trustees and kept
the paper for me till I was of age. So much I understand, but not why I
can't give it back to Guy, for father says I can't. I never dreamed it
was mine after the--the--the divorce."

She spoke the word softly and hesitatingly, while a faint flush showed
on her otherwise white face.

"If I am not Guy's wife, as they say, then I have no right to his money,
and I told father so, and said I'd give it back, and he said I couldn't,
and I said I could and would, and I wrote to Guy about it, told him I
was not so mean, and father kept the letter, and I did not know what I
should do next till I was invited to visit Aunt Merriman in Detroit.
Then I took the paper--the settlement, you know, from the box where
father kept it and put it in my pocket; here it is--see," and she drew