and hesitations, he pulled out of it the sealed-up money and that letter, that priceless letter, written in a mature and energetic hand. “Dear Mr. Thomas,” he again read with excitement, “I am not doing this for you, but for my sister. She has been nearly off her head since you sent her that terrible letter. She would have sold all her clothes and jewels in order to send you money; I had to use all possible force to prevent her from doing something which she would afterwards have been unable to hide from her husband. What I am sending you is my own money; I know that you will take it without making unnecessary difficulties and beg you not to thank me for it—L.” Then a hasty postscript: “For the love of God, after this leave M. in peace! She has given all that she has; she gave you more than what belonged to her; I am horrified to think of what would happen if it all were discovered. I beseech you not to abuse your terrible influence over her! It would be too base if you were to” The rest of the phrase was struck out and there followed still another postscript: “Please convey my thanks to your friend, who is bringing you this. He was unforgettably kind to me at a time when most of all I needed human help.”
Prokop was simply overpowered by an excess of happiness. So she was not Thomas’s! And she had nobody to whom she could turn! A brave and generous girl. She got together forty thousand to save her sister from . . . evidently from some humiliation. Thirty thousand of it was from the bank; it still had a band round it as when she had drawn it—why the devil didn’t the band have on it
