He stopped and looked at me piteously. I saw I must speak, and summoned up my courage.
"Marah may not be living," I said, "but she did not perish in the river. It would have been better for you, though, and infinitely better for her if she had. She only lived to do evil, Mr. Felt. In bemoaning her you have wasted a noble manhood."
"Oh!"
The cry came suddenly, and rang through the cavern like a knell. I could not bear it, and hurried forward my revelation.
"You tell me that you received a letter from Mrs. Urquhart before she set sail for France. Was it the only letter which she has ever sent you? Have you never heard from her since?"
"Never!" He looked at me almost in anger. "I did not want to. I bade the postmaster to destroy any letters which came for me. I had cut myself loose from the world."
"Have you that letter? Did you keep it?"
"No; I gave it back to the men who opened it. What was it to me?"
"Mark Felt," I now asked, "did you know Honora Dudleigh's writing?"
"Of course. Why should you question it? Why—"