“Well,” she said, at last, in a hollow voice, “is this the extent of your revelations upon this subject?”
“Is it not sufficient to prove that you are not Adam Brewster’s child?” the man questioned.
“Yes,” said Allison, chocking back a sob; “there can be no doubt that I was only an adopted child——”
“You were not even adopted,” John Hubbard interposed. “There was no one living who knew the secret when Adam Brewster discovered it, and he was far too shrewd a man to betray it by taking out papers of adoption at that late day, and thus run the risk of having the world learn the truth. Why he should have spoiled everything by retaining these proofs is more than I can understand. If he had burned them immediately after reading Mrs. Brewster’s confession no one would ever have known that you were not his child.”
“How came you to have this box?” Allison questioned, after a thoughtful silence.
“Why, having been Mr. Brewster’s attorney and your guardian, it became my duty to examine everything connected with his affairs, and this——”
“Aha!” exclaimed Allison, with a start. “I believe this was one of the two boxes which my father sent Gerald to get that Sunday when you found him in the bank vault. I understand, now, why he did this,” she went on, breathlessly. “He knew that he could trust Gerald implicitly, never to speak of his errand to any one—never to mention the existence of anything which he wished to conceal, and he intended, without doubt, to destroy the contents of this box, and so blot out of existence every vestige of this secret.”
“Well, yes, I should say that you have analyzed the situation very accurately,” her companion observed, as she paused, although he had given an impatient shrug at her tribute to Gerald.
“Then if you knew—if you realized this, you have been false to your trust,” Allison indignantly continued. “You have not carried out my father’s wishes. Why could you not have respected them? Why have you revealed this secret to me?”
“I have my reasons,” the man sullenly returned.