“I see what you mean. All the more this must be made safe.”
She rose, and going toward the hearth, dropped the papers one by one into the fire.
“Now, Cousin Betsey, that is done with. Forget all about it. We will never speak of this again.”
Elizabeth took the old bag to carry it away. Several papers fell from the other side as she moved it. She looked at each one as she put it in the bag again, reading aloud what was written on each. One was a sealed letter, thick and folded as letters used to be before envelopes were in use. It was addressed to her father in very beautiful handwriting which she had seen somewhere before. She held it before her cousin that she might see it.
“It is Hughie Fleming’s writing! I know it well,” said Betsey.
“It looks as if it had never been opened,” Elizabeth said, turning it over and over in her hand. “How strange! My father must surely have read it?”
“Who knows? It is possible he never did.”
“I wonder if I should keep it and speak to him about it?”
Betsey shook her head.
“It isn’t likely he’d remember it, and it might trouble him. It is about that old trouble likely.”