“Have you money?” asked Madge, tightly holding one of my hands.

“A small sum,” I answered.

“How much have you?  Tell me.  Tell me how much have you,” insisted Madge, clinging to my hand and speaking with a force that would brook no refusal.

“A very little sum, I am sorry to say; only a few shillings,” I responded.

She quickly withdrew her hand from mine and began to remove the baubles from her ears and the brooch from her throat.  Then she nervously stripped the rings from her fingers and held out the little handful of jewels toward me, groping for my hands.

“Take these, Malcolm.  Take these, and wait here till I return.”  She turned toward the staircase, but in her confusion she missed it, and before I could reach her, she struck against the great newel post.

“God pity me,” she said, as I took her hand.  “I wish I were dead.  Please lead me to the staircase, Cousin Malcolm.  Thank you.”

She was weeping gently when she started up the steps, and I knew that she was going to fetch me her little treasure of gold.

Madge held up the skirt of her gown with one hand while she grasped the banister with the other.  She was halfway up when Dorothy, whose generous impulses needed only to be prompted, ran nimbly and was about to pass her on the staircase when Madge grasped her gown.

“Please don’t, Dorothy.  Please do not.  I beg you, do not forestall me.  Let me do this.  Let me.  You have all else to make you happy.  Don’t take this from me only because you can see and can walk faster than I.”

Dorothy did not stop, but hurried past her.  Madge sank upon the steps and covered her face with her hands.  Then she came gropingly back to me just as Dorothy returned.

“Take these, Cousin Malcolm,” cried Dorothy.  “Here are a few stones of great value.  They belonged to my mother.”

Madge was sitting dejectedly upon the lowest step of the staircase.  Dorothy held her jewel-box toward me, and in the midst of the diamonds and gold I saw the heart John Manners had given her.  I did not take the box.

“Do you offer me this, too—­even this?” I said, lifting the heart from the box by its chain.—­“Yes, yes,” cried Dorothy, “even that, gladly, gladly.”  I replaced it in the box.

Then spoke Madge, while she tried to check the falling tears:—­“Dorothy, you are a cruel, selfish girl.”

“Oh, Madge,” cried Dorothy, stepping to her side and taking her hand.  “How can you speak so unkindly to me?”

“You have everything good,” interrupted Madge.  “You have beauty, wealth, eyesight, and yet you would not leave to me the joy of helping him.  I could not see, and you hurried past me that you might be first to give him the help of which I was the first to think.”

Dorothy was surprised at the outburst from Madge, and kneeled by her side.

“We may both help Cousin Malcolm,” she said.