Not till he
had made his clumsy attempt to cover this memorial of love and
guilt and rehanging it, thus hidden, where it would attract less
attention, had she been admitted to his room. Alas! alas! that he
had not destroyed it then and there. That, clinging to habits old
as his grief and the remorse which had undoubtedly devoured him
for the part he had played in this case of perverted justice, he
had trusted to a sheet of paper to cover what nothing on earth
could cover, once Justice were aroused or the wrath of God
awakened.
Deborah shuddered. Aye, the mystery had cleared, but only to
enshroud her spirits anew and make her long with all her bursting
heart and shuddering soul that death had been her portion before
ever she had essayed to lift the veil held down so tightly by
these two remorseful men.
But was her fault irremediable? The only unanswerable connection
between this old crime and Oliver lay in the evidence she had
herself collected. As she had every intention of suppressing this
evidence, and as she had small dread of any one else digging out
the facts to which she only possessed a clew, might she not hope
that any suspicions raised by her inquiries would fall like a
house of cards when she withdrew her hand from the toppling
structure?
She would make her first effort and see. Mr. Black had heard her
complaint; he should be the first to learn that the encouragement
she had received was so small that she had decided to accept her
present good luck without further query, and not hark back to a
past which most people had buried.
Pages:
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169