“From him!” panted Olivia.
“No, from—Mr. Bradstone, miss,” replied Bessie, pronouncing the name as if with an effort.
Olivia drew the hand back as if the envelope had power to sting her; then she took it slowly and read it.
With a cry she let the letter fall from her hands, and flung them before her face as if to shut out some fearful sight. Bessie flew to her with an exclamation; but suddenly Olivia’s emotion seemed to change, and, darting upon the letter, took it to the window and read it again with dilating eyes. Then she turned and grasped Bessie’s arm.
“Bessie,” she whispered, hoarsely, a strange thrill in her voice, a strange light seeming to shine upon her face, “did you ever doubt his innocence? Did you? Did you?” she demanded, feverishly.
Bessie looked at her indignantly.
“No; nor I! But if I had, if even for a moment such a doubt had entered my heart, I should doubt no longer! Do you know why?” and her grasp tightened upon Bessie’s arm and terrified her. “I will tell you! Because Mr. Bradstone says that he saw him do it!”
Bessie shrank back with a low cry of horror.
“Says——Oh, no, no, miss!”
“Yes! Listen! No, I will not sully my lips with the lie—for it is a lie! If it had been true he would not have waited until now! Ah, no!” She stopped and looked before her into vacancy, her dark brows drawn straight. “No, he would not have waited; he would have been only too glad to tell it. Then”—her voice dropped still lower—“why does he say it now? Why? why? Help me, Bessie,” and her hands worked convulsively. “There is some reason. Ah!” she started and shrank, and her face went white. “I see!”