There was a moment's silence, broken only by the roar and din of the London city traffic outside, which sounded like the thunder of mighty wheels--the wheels of a rolling world.

And then Sir Francis, gently taking Mary's hand in his own, raised her from the ground.
"My dear,"-- he said, huskily--"You must not--you really must not give way! See,"-- and he took up a sealed letter from among the documents on the desk, addressed "To Mary"-- and handed it to her--"my late friend asks me in the last written words I have from him to give this to you.

I will leave you alone to read it.

You will be quite private in this room--and no one will enter till you ring.

Here is the bell,"-- and he indicated it--"I think--indeed I am sure, when you understand everything, you will accept the great responsibility which will now devolve upon you, in as noble a spirit as that in which you accepted the care of David Helmsley himself when you thought him no more than what in very truth he was--a lonely-hearted old man, searching for what few of us ever find--an unselfish love!" He left her then--and like one in a dream, she opened and read the letter he had given her--a letter as beautiful and wise and tender as ever the fondest father could have written to the dearest of daughters.
Everything was explained in it--everything made clear; and gradually she realised the natural, strong and pardonable craving of the rich, unloved man, to seek out for himself some means whereby he might leave all his world's gainings to one whose kindness to him had not been measured by any knowledge of his wealth, but which had been bestowed upon him solely for simple love's sake.