Dearest Harry,
if that is all--"
"No; it is the knowledge that you will not even feel reproach that is
my constant accuser. At my death you will get all back again. But I am
not old; I may live for many, many years to come. How can I wait for my
own death when I can repair this wickedness by a single stroke?"
"But by another wickedness--and worse."
"No--not another crime. Remember that this money is mine. It will come
to my heirs some day, as surely as to-morrow's sun will rise. Sooner or
later it will be mine; I will make it sooner, that is all. The
Insurance Company will lose nothing but the paltry interest for the
remainder of my life. My dear, if it is disgraceful to do this I will
endure disgrace. It is easier to bear that than constant self-reproach
which I feel when I think of you and the losses I have inflicted upon
you."
Again he folded her in his arms; he knelt before her; he wept over her.
Carried out of herself by this passion, Iris made no more resistance.
"Is it--is it," she asked timidly, "too late to draw back?"
"It is too late," he replied, thinking of the dead man below. "It is
too late. All is completed."
"My poor Harry! What shall we do? How shall we live? How shall we
contrive never to be found out?"
She would not leave him, then.
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