Herminia turned upon him with the just wrath of a great nature
outraged. "Take them up!" she cried fiercely. "Don't pollute my
table!" Then, as often happens to all of us in moments of deep
emotion, a Scripture phrase, long hallowed by childish familiarity,
rose spontaneous to her lips. "Take them up!" she cried again.
"Thy money perish with thee!"
Dr. Merrick took them up, and slank noiselessly from the room,
murmuring as he went some inarticulate words to the effect that he
had only desired to serve her. As soon as he was gone, Herminia's
nerve gave way. She flung herself into a chair, and sobbed long
and violently.
It was no time for her, of course, to think about money. Sore
pressed as she was, she had just enough left to see her safely
through her confinement. Alan had given her a few pounds for
housekeeping when they first got into the rooms, and those she
kept; they were hers; she had not the slightest impulse to restore
them to his family. All he left was hers too, by natural justice;
and she knew it. He had drawn up his will, attestation clause and
all, with even the very date inserted in pencil, the day before
they quitted London together; but finding no friends at the club to
witness it, he had put off executing it; and so had left Herminia
entirely to her own resources.
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