"They lie," she replied softly. "I know he has no wife."
"I'll bet you he left her in England," said the boy. "That's what the men say."
"Your repentant Helene," repeated the girl over and over to herself.
Suddenly suspicion, jealousy, rage, entered her heart, setting her brain on fire. She turned to the boy like a fury. "Give me that letter!"
Frightened beyond speech by the storm in her black eyes, he handed it to her and watched her as with a set face and strangely brilliant eyes she began to read. Every word branded itself upon her heart indelibly.
My Darling Boy: Can it be that you actually refuse to allow me to come there? Admitting I have wronged you in the past, can you not in your greatness of heart find forgiveness for a weak woman—a pleading woman——
There at the foot of the first page the girl stopped, a sudden terror coming over her.
"What have I done!" she cried, crushing the letter in her hand. "What have I done!" Hysterically she began tearing it into small pieces, throwing them upon the ground.
"Now we can't give it back to him," deplored the twin, recovering from his fright.
"What have I done?" repeated the girl again, softly. Then in an agony of remorse she went down upon her knees in the cool grass and picked up each tiny scrap of paper, putting it all back into the envelope. She stood for a moment looking down the long green slope below, shamed, disgusted—a world of misery showing in her dark eyes. "You're a mighty fine specimen of womanhood!" she exclaimed aloud; then turning about suddenly became aware that her small audience was watching her with some interest.