By this time Westover, nervous, restless, troubled and enthusiastic as he was, was wrought up to the verge of delirium.
"Tell me!" he cried earnestly. "Tell me quickly! I can endure the suspense no longer."
In reply the girl, who had completely recovered her self-control, said very deliberately:
"What I have to tell you may perhaps explain many things that you have not hitherto understood. It is this: the letters you wrote to Margaret Conway at the time of your trouble were never delivered to her; the letters she wrote to you at that time were never posted. That is all."
"How do you know this?" he asked, seizing her by the shoulders as if intent upon shaking the answer out of her. "Do you know it or is it only conjecture? Tell me, quick, how do you know it?"
"I have seen the letters," she answered, calmly enjoying his half-mad excitement.
"But how do you know mine were not received and hers not mailed?"
"I have seen them," she answered. "Yours were not opened and Margaret had never seen them. Hers were addressed and stamped, but bore no postmarks. Be perfectly sure, Mr. Westover, that I know all I say."
"But who interfered? Why were the letters stopped in transit?" he asked almost angrily.
"That I am not free to tell you. I am concerned only for you and Margaret. The rest concerns another person, and I have no right—"