Thus, abruptly and without signature, ended the fatal letter. Dr. Rane slowly folded it, and left it on the table.
"Who could have written it?" he murmured.
"Ah, there it is!" rejoined Mr. North. "Edmund said no one could have done it but Alexander."
Standing over the fire, to which he had turned, Dr. Rane warmed his hands. The intensely hot day had given place to a cold night. His red-brown eyes took a dreamy gaze, as he mentally revolved facts and suppositions. In his private opinion, judging only from the contents of the letter, Mr. Alexander was the last man who would have been likely to write it.
"It is not like Alexander's writing," observed Mr. North.
"Not in the least."
"But of course this is in a thoroughly disguised hand."
"Most anonymous letters are so, I expect. Is it true that he and your son have been drawing bills together?"
"I gather that they have drawn one; perhaps two, Edmund's passion was so fierce that I could not question him. What I don't like is, Alexander's going off in the manner he did, without seeing me: it makes me think that perhaps he did write the letter. An innocent man would have remained to defend himself. It might have been written from a good motive, after all, Oliver! My poor son!--if he had only taken it quietly!"
Mr. North wrung his hands. His tones were feeble, meekly complaining; his manner and bearing were altogether those of a man who has been constantly put down and no longer attempts to struggle against the cares and crosses of the world, or the will of those about him.