"If you have read them, I must read them too." Mrs. Cragg fidgeted uneasily. Pattie sat motionless, her eyes travelling down one page after another. "Yes," she said at the end, with a deep sigh. "That was what brought us away. I see it now. He was accused of something—and I guessed it partly. I was told, but of course I did not believe what I heard. And my father never explained. He only said it was a mistake, and he was not to blame. And I believed him—because I knew what he was. I knew he could not have done the thing he was accused of. You did not know him, and so you could not tell. And he wanted to spare me knowing about this. He knew it would make me unhappy, and so he kept it to himself. And you—you could find it out for yourself—you could pry into another's secrets! I can't say much to you, because Mr. Cragg has been so good to me, and because just now I depend upon you. But—after this, I cannot depend much longer. I must make a change as soon as possible. You have been very very cruel!" Pattie hid her face. "I don't see, for my part, what you've got to make a fuss about," remarked Mrs. Cragg uncomfortably. "I don't see that you need bother. It isn't more than you knew before." "It is—much more!" "Anyhow, I won't tell. There's no need that I should. If you like to burn those letters, nobody will hear a word." "Ah!" and Pattie drew a long breath. "Yes —to-day you feel like that. But—another day—" Pattie's tone was sorrowfully distrustful. "But I promise I won't say anything. If I promise—" Mrs. Cragg stopped. She knew suddenly that her promise had no weight, could have no weight, in Pattie's eyes. She had shown herself to be deceitful. Pattie could feel no confidence in what she might say. This fact struck home. Mrs. Cragg was unpleasantly conscious of distrust in Pattie's face. Her tone changed. "You'll go next and tell Mr. Cragg, of course." "No. Not what you have done. That is for you to tell him—not me. I shall tell him what I have learnt about my father, and nothing more. I shall tell him that I have read three letters, and that all the rest are burnt." "He'll want to know why you didn't burn those three, too." "I don't think so. Men are not so curious." Pattie spoke with unconscious rebuke. "If he should ask, I need not say much. I think, if I were you, I should feel that I ought to tell him everything. But that is for you—not for me. I have only to speak to him about what concerns my father and me." "I can't get that key out." Mrs. Cragg spoke curtly, yet in her voice there was a new note, a something like regret. Pattie knelt down and worked patiently at the lock. It was a long business. For more than five minutes her efforts were in vain. Then at last the key yielded, and she handed the bunch to Mrs. Cragg. After which she stooped, and pressed her lips to the lid. Mrs. Cragg waited uneasily, longing to escape, yet hardly knowing how to do so.