The note was in handwriting with which I was well familiar.
"My DEAR LITTLE PEGGY,
I am very, very sorry,—but surely you know that what you ask is impossible. I shall try to find time to run out and see you at the usual place, Friday night at nine o'clock. Do not be afraid, little woman; everything will come out all right. You know I shall see that you are well looked after; that you do not want for anything.
Burn this after you read it. Keep our secret, and bear up, like the good little girl you are. Yours affectionately,
H——"
As I read, my blood chilled in my veins, was,—there could be no mistaking it.
"My God! Jim," I cried, "this is terrible. Surely,—surely——"
"Yes! George," he said, in a tensely subdued voice, "your brother did that. Your brother,—with his glib tongue and his masterful way. Oh!—well I know the breed. They are to be found in high and low places; they are generally not much for a man to look at, but they are the kind no woman is safe beside; the kind that gets their soft side whether they be angels or she-devils. Why couldn't he leave her alone? Why couldn't he stay among his own kind?
"And now, he has the gall to think that his accursed money can smooth it over. Damn and curse him for what he is."
I had little or nothing to say. My heart was too full for words and a great anger was surging within me against my own flesh and blood.