The time had come when she could not trust her dearest interests in the hands of her father. She knew he would have no sympathy with her regarding the confession she had obtained and would oppose rather than aid her in making it public to vindicate Earle.
But she had resolved to go to Mr. Felton, on the morrow, put the precious evidence in his hands, and be guided by his ever wise counsel.
She retired to her own rooms as soon as dinner was dispatched, and immediately set herself to work to make a careful copy of John Loker’s confession to send to Earle. And then, with something of the fear creeping over her that she had experienced while in Tom Drake’s power, she looked around for a safe place in which to hide the original. She would not take it below and put in into the safe, for she knew that burglars were not troubled nowadays about opening such things, let them have ever so complicated a lock, and she could not sleep until it was safely disposed of somewhere.
“What shall I do with it?” she said, with flushed cheeks and anxious brow. “Something tells me I must hide it even for to-night.”
No drawer with any common lock would be a safe place, she reasoned—she could not keep it about her person, and for a long time it was a matter that caused her much perplexity. All at once her eyes lighted. In her jewel-box, which was quite a large one, there was a raised velvet cushion, with places on it for the different articles of jewelry she was in the habit of wearing.
This cushion was securely glued to the bottom of the box. What omen of impending evil could have inspired Editha with the idea that underneath this would be a safe place to hide her evidence?
She carefully pried it from the box, folded the papers just to fit the bottom, then, pressing the cushions firmly back into its place, she once more arranged her jewels in their accustomed position, and then, apparently satisfied with her work, she resumed her seat and began to write an account of her adventures to her dear one across the sea.
It is said that “coming events cast their shadows before;” whether this be true or not, I cannot say, but one thing is certain, and that is that it was well for Earle Wayne’s honor that Editha Dalton was guided by her impressions to so adroitly conceal John Loker’s confession just where she did and just when she did.
The next morning Editha did not make her appearance at the breakfast-table.
This was something unusual, for the young girl had always made it a point, even since Mrs. Dalton’s death, to be neatly and attractively dressed and in her place opposite her father promptly every morning upon the ringing of the breakfast-bell.