"Never, never. I never wrote any thing but kindness."
"Then who wrote them?"
"Oh!" cried Zillah, suddenly, as a light burst on her; "I see it all! But is it possible? Yes, that must be it. And if you did not write that last letter, then _she_ wrote it."
"_She_! Who?"
"Hilda."
Hereupon ensued a long explanation, the end of which was that each began to understand better the state of the case. And Lord Chetwynde exulted at finding that all the baseness which he had imagined against his wife was the work of another; and Zillah felt ecstasy in the thought that Lord Chetwynde had never loathed her, and had never carried in his despairing heart the image of that dreaded and hated phantom, Inez Cameron.
"The fact is, I couldn't have written that letter for another reason, little girl. I always made allowances even for those letters which you did not write, and until that last one came I always laid great stress on my father's love for you, and hoped some day to gain your love."
"And that you would have done in the ordinary way if we had met in Chetwynde Castle."
"Would I, indeed?"
"Yes," sighed Zillah; "for I think I learned to love you from your letters to your father."