“Never mind; read it.”
He read it:
“ ‘Algernon and Langley have gone into the study to talk business. It is this affair of the Mill that is still unsettled. I am a little anxious about Algernon; he has been strangely distrait for the last two or three days. Perhaps he is anxious about me. There need be no anxiety; I am quite well and strong. This morning he got up very early, and I heard him walking about in the study below. This is not his way at all. However, should a wife repine because her Lord is anxious about her? Algernon is very determined about that Mill, but I fear that Langley will not give way. You know how firm he can be behind that pleasant smile of his.’
“Nothing much in that letter, Constance, is there?”
“I don’t know. It is the voice of the dead. So are these letters of Langley’s to his wife. They speak of a subject of disagreement: neither would give way. Mr. Campaigne was at times overcome with anger uncontrolled. Leonard, it is wonderful how much we have learned since we first began this inquiry—I mean, this new evidence of the quarrel and Mr. Campaigne’s ungovernable temper and his strange outburst in the evening. Oh! it is new evidence”—her face changed: she looked like one who sees a light suddenly shine in the darkness—a bright and unexpected light. “It is new evidence,” she repeated with wondering, dazzled eyes. “It explains, everything”—she stopped and turned white.
“Oh!”
She shrank back as if she felt a sudden pain at her heart: she put up her hands as if to push back some terrible creature. She sprang to her feet. She trembled and shook: she clasped her forehead—the gesture was natural to the face of terror and amazement and sudden understanding.
Leonard caught her in his arms, but she did not fall. She laid her hand upon his shoulder, and she bowed her head.
“Oh, God, help us!” she murmured.
“What is it? Constance, what is it?”