Very gently he told the story to Leonie, concealing in his own heart that which he knew would cause her the greatest sorrow.
He told her that her sister had died violently insane, because he believed there would be a germ of comfort in the knowledge.
She was deeply affected, not because there had ever been, or could ever have been any affection between them, but because there were no words of forgiveness, and because she blamed herself to a great extent for the untimely end and the grewsome circumstances that led to it.
"There is one thing more," she said sadly, when the subject had been talked over for some time. "Mr. and Mrs. Chandler should be told. In spite of all, I feel that the death will strike them very closely home, and either you or I must tell them, Lynde. Don't you think so?"
"Perhaps you are right. They knew of my relations with her, and Mr. Chandler is not kindly disposed toward me. It might be better for you, though I will not ask it if you had rather not."
"I will go. It should be done now, don't you think?"
"Yes. If left until to-morrow, the papers will do it for us. God bless you, Leonie."
She hurried from the room quickly, that he might not see the tears that had gathered in her eyes.
She was not altogether unhappy.
She knew so well how much that death meant to her, but she tried to put that thought from her.