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The couple lay awake the most of the night, Mary happy and busy, Edward
busy, but not so happy. Mary was planning what she would do with the
money. Edward was trying to recall that service. At first his
conscience was sore on account of the lie he had told Mary--if it was a
lie. After much reflection--suppose it was a lie? What then? Was it
such a great matter? Aren't we always acting lies? Then why not tell
them? Look at Mary--look what she had done. While he was hurrying off
on his honest errand, what was she doing? Lamenting because the papers
hadn't been destroyed and the money kept. Is theft better than lying?
That point lost its sting--the lie dropped into the background and left
comfort behind it. The next point came to the front: had he rendered
that service? Well, here was Goodson's own evidence as reported in
Stephenson's letter; there could be no better evidence than that--it was
even proof that he had rendered it. Of course. So that point was
settled. . . No, not quite. He recalled with a wince that this unknown
Mr. Stephenson was just a trifle unsure as to whether the performer of it
was Richards or some other--and, oh dear, he had put Richards on his
honour! He must himself decide whither that money must go--and Mr.
Stephenson was not doubting that if he was the wrong man he would go
honourably and find the right one. Oh, it was odious to put a man in
such a situation--ah, why couldn't Stephenson have left out that doubt?
What did he want to intrude that for?
Further reflection. How did it happen that Richards's name remained in
Stephenson's mind as indicating the right man, and not some other man's
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