"Her love for her sister is then greater than any other passion she may have had."
"I don't know; there were other motives beside love to influence her," explained Frank, and said no more.
Edgar sank again into silence. It was Frank who spoke next.
"Do you think"—He paused and moistened his lips—"Have you doubted what our duty is about this matter?"
"To leave the girl—you said it yourself. Have you any other idea, Frank?"
"No, no; that is not what I mean," stammered Etheridge. "I mean about—about—the father's death. Should the world know? Is it a matter for the—for the police?"
"No," cried Edgar, aghast. "Mr. Cavanagh evidently killed himself. It is a dreadful thing to know, but I do not see why we need make it public."
Frank drew a long breath.
"I feared," he said,—"I did not know but you would think my duty would lie in—in——"
"Don't speak of it," exclaimed Edgar. "If you do not wish to finish reading her confession, put it up. Here is a drawer, in which you can safely lock it."