How simple it all was.  She reached the top of the many steps with little loss of breath; she turned to the right into the dark passage that led to her own room, passed her own door, and put the key in the lock of the one next to it.  She knew so exactly which box she sought, though she had never seen it since the day when Dr. Larrone brought it to her.  Although she had actually come in the cab that brought the small boxes from the flat, she had succeeded in not recognising that one among the number heaped up together.  She knew exactly where it stood now, and how many things had been piled above the boxes from the flat with seeming carelessness, but by her orders.

The shutters were closed, but she could have found that box in inky darkness, and now a ray from between the chinks fell upon it.  She did not think now of how often she had told herself that she did not know what the box was like.  Now it seemed to have been the only box she had ever known in her life.  The cases on the top of it were heavy, and Molly had to strain herself to move them, but she was very strong, and every reserve of muscular power was called out unconsciously to meet her need.  She did not know that her hands were covered with dust, and that blood was breaking through a scratch over the right thumb made by a jagged nail.

When she came back into the drawing-room, Father Molyneux was sitting with his back towards her, looking with unseeing eyes into the trees of the park.  She moved towards him and held out a long envelope.

“Take it away,” she said, “If I have ruined your life, you have ruined mine.”

She moved with uncertain steps to the chimney-piece, leant upon it, and, turning round, looked wildly at the envelope in his hands.

“Why didn’t you come for it before?” she asked him.

Mark could not answer.  He was absolutely astonished at what had happened.  He could hardly believe that he held in his hand a thing of such momentous importance.  He had nerved himself for a great fight, but he had not known what he should say, how he should act, and then—­amazing fact—­a few minutes after he came into the room, and without his having even asked for it, the will was put into his hands!  Nothing had been said of conditions or compromise; she only asked the amazing question why he had not come for it before!

“You were right,” she mused, “right to leave me alone.  I wonder, do you remember the words that have haunted me this summer?—­Browning’s words about the guilty man in the duel: 

     ’Let him live his life out,
     Life will try his nerves.’

It has tried my nerves unbearably; I could not go on, I have not the strength.  I might have had a glorious time if I had been a little stronger.  As it is, it’s not worth while.”

It is impossible to convey the heavy dreariness of outlook conveyed by her voice and manner.  There seemed no higher moral quality in it all.