"
"You believe one person wrote them?"
"I do."
"Have you any idea who this person is?"
"No; why should I?"
"No suspicion?"
"Not the least in the world."
"I ask because of this," he explained, picking out another letter
and smilingly holding it out towards her.
She read it with flushed cheeks. Listen to the lady. You can't
listen to any one nicer. What she wants she can get. There's a
witness you never saw or heard of.
A witness they had never heard of! What witness? Scarcely could
she lift her eyes from the paper. Yet there was a possibility, of
course, that this statement was a lie.
"Stuff, isn't it?" muttered the lawyer. "Never mind, we'll soon
have hold of the writer." His face had taken on a much more
serious aspect, and she could no longer complain of his
indifference or even of his sarcasm.
"You will give me another opportunity of talking with you on this
matter," pursued he. "If you do not come here, you may expect to
see me at Judge Ostrander's. I do not quite like the position into
which you have been thrown by these absurd insinuations from some
unknown person who may be thinking to do you a service, but who
you must feel is very far from being your friend. It may even lead
to your losing the home which has been so fortunately opened for
you. If this occurs, you may count on my friendship, Mrs.
Scoville. I may have failed you once, but I will not fail you
twice."
Surprised, almost touched, she held out her hand, with a cordial
THANK YOU, in which emotion struggled with her desire to preserve
an appearance of complete confidence in Judge Ostrander, and
incidentally in his son.
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