"And this—this Sister Angela——" Thornton asked.
"She died the year after."
"And the others?"
"I doubt if they ever knew much, but if they did they forgot—they are like that; besides, I have not heard of them in years."
More and more Thornton realized the hopelessness of personal investigation, and he was not prepared to take outside counsel, certainly not yet.
"The Sisters did fairly well for the outcast in this instance," he sneered, "but we may all have to pay some day. Murder will out, you know!"
"Of course," Doris agreed, wearily; "we all understand that."
"Do you think the children will?" Thornton's eyes were gloomy and grave. "How about the hour when they—know?"
Doris felt the pain in her heart that this possibility always awakened. She raised her glance to the one full of hate and said quietly: