Roger flung himself back in his chair with a sigh of relief, as if he had half expected to hear another name, and that a name similar in sound.
"There are in that bundle," said Fanks, gravely, "letters written at Ironfields—so far so good. But they are only silly girlish letters!"
"As Judith told you!"
"Exactly, as Judith told me," responded Octavius, suavely, "but I want to see the letters written in London and in Ventnor."
"Perhaps she never wrote any in those two places."
"Humph! the chances are she did."
"You are excessively mysterious," said Roger, sarcastically, "but the question can easily be settled. Ask Miss Marson herself."
"I thought I heard Miss Varlins say she was ill!"
"So she is, poor child," said Roger, soberly; "I blurted out the fact of Melstane's death too suddenly, and she fainted. Now she is very ill."
"Oh! brain fever?"