"I will get the letter." 

 His hand was trembling when he took it from her. 

 "It was written on the steamer, you see." 

 "It may be a forgery," said Harry, in a loud voice that trembled too. Yet there was a ring of real hope in it. He was thinking of Lowndes in the train. He had caught him mopping a wet brow. He had surprised a guilty look—yes, guilty was the word—he had found it at last—in those shifty eyes behind the pince-nez. If villainy should be at the bottom of it all, and Lowndes at the bottom of the villainy! 

 If the letter should prove a forgery after all! 

 He had it in his hand. He carried it to the failing light. He hardly dared to look at it, but when he did a cry escaped him. 

 It was a cry of disappointment and abandoned hope. 

 Minutes passed without another sound; then the letter was slowly folded up and restored to its envelope, and dropped into Harry's pocket, before his arms went round his mother's neck. 

 "Mother, let me burn it, so that no eyes but ours shall ever see!" 

 "Burn it? Burn the last letter I may ever have from him? Give it to me!" And she pressed it to her bosom. 

 Harry hung his head in a long and wretched silence. 

 "We must forget him, mother," he said at last. 

 "Harry, he was a good father to you, he loved you dearly. He was mad when he did what he has done. You must never say that again." 

 "I meant we must forget what he has done——" 

 "Ah God! if I could!" 

 "And only think of him as he used to be." 

 "Yes; yes; we will try." 

 "It would be easier—don't you think—if we never spoke of this?" 

 "We never will, unless we must." 

 Prev. P 25/223 next