"Indeed in telling you what I am going to tell you, I am violating Margaret's earnest and express commands. Perhaps I am even violating a confidence of friendship. I don't know, and it makes no difference. It is my duty to tell you, and I'll do that duty at all hazards. It involves the life-long happiness or unhappiness of two persons whom I hold in affectionate regard." By this time Westover, nervous, restless, troubled and enthusiastic as he was, was wrought up to the verge of delirium. "Tell me!" he cried earnestly. "Tell me quickly! I can endure the suspense no longer." In reply the girl, who had completely recovered her self-control, said very deliberately: "What I have to tell you may perhaps explain many things that you have not hitherto understood. It is this: the letters you wrote to Margaret Conway at the time of your trouble were never delivered to her; the letters she wrote to you at that time were never posted. That is all." "How do you know this?" he asked, seizing her by the shoulders as if intent upon shaking the answer out of her. "Do you _know_ it or is it only conjecture? Tell me, quick, how do you know it?" "I have seen the letters," she answered, calmly enjoying his half-mad excitement. "But how do you know mine were not received and hers not mailed?" "I have seen them," she answered. "Yours were not opened and Margaret had never seen them. Hers were addressed and stamped, but bore no postmarks. Be perfectly sure, Mr. Westover, that I know all I say." "But who interfered? Why were the letters stopped in transit?" he asked almost angrily. "That I am not free to tell you. I am concerned only for you and Margaret. The rest concerns another person, and I have no right--" "Was it Colonel Conway? Did he--" "Mr. Westover, you know Colonel Conway. Therefore you know it was not he, just as you know that he isn't a coward or anything else dishonorable. Now please don't ask me any further questions. I have already violated obligations, I suppose. At any rate I have put you in possession of the essential facts. The rest lies with you. We must go down the hill now." The two started off together, but before they had journeyed far, Westover stopped suddenly and, taking both the girl's hands in his, said fervently: "I thank God, and I thank you, Millicent Danvers. To the end of my life I shall thank you. Now let us be off, for I must get away from here." She did not ask him why, but she understood and approved. XXXVI THE MEETING AT THE OAKS As the two neared the scene of Judy's festivities, Millicent suddenly stopped and, looking straight into Westover's eyes, asked: "You are very sure you believe me, and that I have acted upon the prompting of conscience alone?" "Millicent Danvers, I never believed anything in my life more confidently than I do that." "And do you think I have done right?"