Mr. Barrett stared at her in anxious amazement.
"I see it all now," continued the girl. "Their Aunt Charlotte was devoted to them. She always had the fear that some day you would return and claim them, and to prevent that she invented the story of their death."
"Charlotte is the most truthful woman that ever breathed," said the distressed Mr. Barrett.
Miss Lindsay shook her head. "You are like all other honourable, truthful people," she said, looking at him gravely. "You can't imagine anybody else telling a falsehood. I don't believe you could tell one if you tried."
Mr. Barrett gazed about him with the despairing look of a drowning mariner.
"I'm certain I'm right," continued the girl. "I can see Charlotte exulting in her wickedness. Why!"
"What's the matter?" inquired Mr. Barrett, greatly worried.
"I've just thought of it," said Miss Lindsay. "She's told you that your children are drowned, and she has probably told them you are dead. A woman like that would stick at nothing to gain her ends."
"You don't know Charlotte," said Mr. Barrett, feebly.
"I think I do," was the reply. "However, we'll make sure. I suppose you've got friends in Melbourne?"