thief of that document in your hands."

"Yes, this--will!" he said musingly, an evil glitter in his eyes. "Its
delivery has been long delayed. Posts and messengers are slow from
Pontiac."

"Monsieur will hear what I have to say? You have the will, your rights
are in your hands. Is not that enough?"

"It is not enough," he answered, in a grating voice. "Let us be plain
then, Madame, and as simple as you please. You concealed this will.
Not Tardif but yourself is open to the law."

She shrank under the brutality of his manner, but she ruled herself to
outward composure. She was about to reply when he added, with a sneer:
"Avarice is a debasing vice--Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's house!
Thou shalt not steal!"

"Monsieur," she said calmly, "it would have been easy to destroy the
will. Have you not thought of that?"

For a moment he was taken aback, but he said harshly: "If crime were
always intelligent, it would have fewer penalties."

She shrank again under the roughness of his words. But she was fighting
for an end that was dear to her soul, and she answered:

"It was not lack of intelligence, but a sense of honour--yes, a sense of
honour," she insisted, as he threw back his head and laughed. "What do
you think might be my reason for concealing the will--if I did conceal