Again the black roll of silent thunder gloomed on his brow; as once his sister's eyes had been, his now were coruscant.
"Do you refuse to give it to me?" he demanded.
"I do," I said, "now, and until Miss Lettie says, 'Give.'"
"You've learned the contents, I presume," he said, with untold sarcasm.
"Woman's curiosity digs deeply, when once aroused."
"You've been taught of woman in a sad school, I fear. I'll forgive the faults of your education, Mr. Axtell. Have you any more remarks to me? I'm waiting."
"Do you know the contents of the letter that made Lettie so anxious?"
"You accused me before questioning formerly, or I should have given you truth. I have no knowledge of what is in the letter."
He had resumed his former position, leaning against the monument, where I had mine. He changed it now, drawing nearer for an instant, then went to the side of the grave that he had asked me concerning, kneeled there, laid two hands above it, and said,—
"Letty was right, Miss Anna. God has made you well,—made you after the similitude of her who sleeps underneath this sod. Will you forgive my rudeness?"
And he looked down as I had done, ere he came, into the tangled, matted fibres, then out into the great all-where of air, as if some mysterious presence encompassed him.