‘And mine,’ said Hilda.
‘He does not know—or does he?’
‘How could he?’
‘His father wrote to him—was that letter lost too? Is that yet to come?’ Greif’s heart sank at the thought that all was not over yet.
‘But if he had known,’ said Hilda, ‘could he have hidden it so long? And besides, he came with you. If there had been a letter to him, you would have known of it. Who could have given it to him, without your knowledge?’
‘Your mother.’
‘She never told me of it, though she often wondered that you had nothing.’
‘Rex knows!’ exclaimed Greif in a tone of conviction. ‘And he received the letter. I have told you how it was that he confessed to me his real name. He was telling the truth then, for I know him well. He would as soon have told me that he was my brother as my cousin—’
‘He would have hesitated to do that—’
‘No. You do not know him. He does not value his life a straw, and would as soon have taken that opportunity of parting with it as any other.’