Never before had I been so profoundly convinced of the
malignant will veiled by that thin figure. It was as if the visible form
were only a spiral of grey smoke covering a sinister purpose.
"The only way," said Mrs. Vanderbridge, "is to fight fairly even when
one fights evil." Her voice was like a bell, and as she spoke, she rose
from the couch and stood there in her glowing beauty confronting the
pale ghost of the past. There was a light about her that was almost
unearthly--the light of triumph. The radiance of it blinded me for an
instant. It was like a flame, clearing the atmosphere of all that was
evil, of all that was poisonous and deadly. She was looking directly at
the phantom, and there was no hate in her voice--there was only a great
pity, a great sorrow and sweetness.
"I can't fight you that way," she said, and I knew that for the first
time she had swept aside subterfuge and evasion, and was speaking
straight to the presence before her. "After all, you are dead and I am
living, and I cannot fight you that way. I give up everything. I give
him back to you. Nothing is mine that I cannot win and keep fairly.
Nothing is mine that belongs really to you."
Then, while Mr. Vanderbridge rose, with a start of fear, and came
towards her, she bent quickly, and flung the letters into the fire.
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