She reflected a minute. "It seems to me that I have. He was the first of your father's family to come to this country. There is a faint recollection in my mind of having heard that he—well, he died in some sudden way," and she stopped in confusion.
"It comes back to me now," said Vesper. "Was he not the old man who got out of bed, when his nurse was in the next room, and put a pistol to his head?"
"I daresay," said his mother, slowly. "Of course it was temporary insanity."
"Of course."
"Why do you ask?" she went on, curiously. "Do you find his name among the old documents?"
Vesper understood her better than to make too great a mystery of a thing that he wished to conceal. "Yes, there is a letter from him."
"I should like to read it," she said, fussily fumbling at her waist for her spectacle-case.
Vesper indifferently turned his head towards her. "It is very long."
Her enthusiasm died away, and she sank back in her rocking-chair.