The traces gathered carefully into a small box and sealed up, Dr. Knox went into the presence of his step-mother.
"I think," he said, just showing the box as it lay in his hand, "that this proof will be accepted by the Bank of England; in that case they will make good the money to me. One question, mother, I wish to ask you: how could you possibly suspect Miss Carey?"
"There was no one else for me to suspect," replied Mrs. Knox in fretful tones; for she did not at all like this turn in the affair.
"Why, of course I did. How can you ask such foolish questions?"
"It was a great mistake in any case to take it up as you did. I am not alluding to the suspicion now; but to your harsh and cruel treatment."
"Just mind your own business, Arnold. It's nothing to you."
"For my own part, I regard it as a matter that we must ever look back upon with shame."
"There, that's enough," said Mrs. Knox. "The thing is done with, and it cannot be recalled. Janet Carey won't die of it."
Dr. Knox went about Lefford with the box in his hand, making things right. He called in at the police-station; he caused a minute account to be put in the _Lefford News_; he related the details to his private friends. Not once did he allude to Janet Carey, or mention her name: it was as though he would proudly ignore the stigma cast on her and assume that the world did the same. The world did: but it gave some hard words to Mrs. Knox.
Mr. Tamlyn had not much sympathy for wonders of any kind just then. Poor Bertie, lying cold and still in the chamber above, took up all his thoughts and his grief. Arnold spent a good deal of time with him, and took his round of patients.
It was the night before the funeral, and they were sitting together at twilight in the dining-room. Dr. Knox was looking through the large window at the fountain in the middle of the grass-plat: Mr. Tamlyn had his face buried; he had not looked up for the last half-hour.
"When is the very earliest time that you can come, Arnold?" he began abruptly.
"As soon as ever they will release me in London. Perhaps that will be in a month; perhaps not until the end of June, when the six months will be up."
Mr. Tamlyn groaned. "I want you at once, Arnold. You are all I have now."