"Yes, all gone."
"The old Bible is for Phosie. I want my little girl to have some other things, though her grandmother gave it to me."
Miss Elliott leaned over eagerly. "You are—"
"I am your brother-in-law, Camilla. You have thought so more than once."
"You are Lewis Whitridge! Yes, yes, I have thought so, but I put the idea away, for it seemed beyond reason when there seemed little doubt of his having been dead for years. Lew, poor, dear, noble Lew! If I had known—"
"Not noble, Camilla. I was a wretched man fleeing from the law."
"Yes, but I know why you fled. It was to save my father, who was the guiltier of the two, for he enticed you, a younger man, into sharing his speculations. I know it all."
"He told?"
"No. I think he wanted to at the last, but he could not speak. I found some old letters, Lew, written after you had gone. They told the tale."
"They should have been destroyed. Does she know? My little girl?"