“I am exceedingly obliged to you, sir, for straightening out these mysteries,” said Brett, stepping to the door. “How much do you wish made public?”
“Only that which is absolutely necessary to clear the innocent from suspicion,” returned Thornton gravely. “I leave the matter to your judgment.”
“Very good, sir; I’ll hush it up as much as possible. Good evening,”—and Brett departed.
Eleanor slipped from the lounge where she had been lying. “Wait for me here, Father,” she requested, as she left the room.
“Will you excuse me, Mr. Thornton,” said Fred Lane, rising. “I would like to join Mrs. Truxton and Cynthia for half an hour.”
“Certainly, Captain, and I will be exceedingly grateful if you will explain to Mrs. Truxton what has taken place here to-night. Tell her as much or as little as you think necessary.”
“I will indeed, sir; good night,” and Lane, his step elastic as he thought of joining Cynthia, hastened to Mrs. Truxton’s room.
Eleanor was not long absent. Walking over to the lounge, she laid a number of leather-bound journals on her father’s knee.
“Mother kept a diary for you, Father; she charged me never to part with it until we should meet, when I was to give it to you.”