"Don't! I didn't know. I swear I did not know. I never saw the letter—until last night. And I don't understand. What—what did my mother tell you when you came?"
"There was only one thing which would have kept me from you, Molly."
"Only one thing? What?" she almost whispered.
"She told me you were dead."
The flash of understanding on her face showed that she, at least, had shifted part of the puzzle into place.
"I see now," she said slowly, "I have wondered ever since I saw the letter. But I did not think she would go that far. Yet it was the simplest way. There was no date on the letter—but I guessed that it must have come too late."
"Too late?"
"Yes, or she would never have dared. Besides she might not have wanted to. She didn't know. I never had the courage to tell her. But if the letter had come in time—"
She faltered, growing confused under his intense gaze.
"In time for what?" he prompted patiently.