'What from?' she ventured to ask.

'That you may never know.'

She thought of the weapon, and guessed that the letter he had just
received had effected this change in his mood, but made no
observation till he went on to say, 'What did you tell me was your
name, dear girl?'

She repeated her name.

'Margaret Tucker.' He stooped, and pressed her hand. 'Sit down for
a moment--one moment,' he said, pointing to the end of the seat, and
taking the extremest further end for himself, not to discompose her.
She sat down.

'It is to ask a question,' he went on, 'and there must be confidence
between us. You have saved me from an act of madness! What can I do
for you?'

'Nothing, sir.'

'Nothing?'

'Father is very well off, and we don't want anything.'

'But there must be some service I can render, some kindness, some
votive offering which I could make, and so imprint on your memory as
long as you live that I am not an ungrateful man?'