embling hope
of some further light being thrown on the situation, but in them was
evidence impossible to deny that her mother had invented the whole story
of the marriage. Why Madame Danterre had not destroyed these letters was
a further mystery, except that, time after time, it has been proved that
people have carefully preserved evidence of their own crimes. Fighting
against it, almost crying out in agonised protest, Molly was forced to
realise the slow persevering cunning and unflinching cruelty with which
her mother had pursued her victim. It was an ugly story for any girl to
read if the woman had had no connection with her. It seemed to cut away
from Molly all shreds of self-respect as she read it. She felt that the
daughter of such a woman must have a heritage of evil in her nature.

The packet of old letters finished, there was yet something more to
find. Next came a packet of prescriptions and some receipts from shops.
Under these were the faded photographs of several men and women of whom
she knew nothing. Lastly, there was half a letter written to Molly dated
in August and left unfinished and without a signature:

"CARISSIMA:

"I am far from well, but I believe Dr. Larrone has found out the
cause and will soon put things right again. If you ever hear
anything about me from Dr. Larrone you can put entire confidence in
him. I have found out now why Sir Edmund Grosse has tried to see
me. He is possessed with the absurd idea that I have no right to
Sir David Bright's fortune, although he does not venture to call in
question the validity of the will which left that fortune to me.
Dr. Larrone has certain proof that Grosse employs a detective here
to watch this house. I have also heard that he is in love with poor
David's widow, and hence I suppose this _trop de zele_ on her
behalf. As he cannot get at me he is likely to try to become
intimate with you, so I warn you to avoid him now and in future."

That was all.

Molly sat staring vacantly in front of her, almost unconscious of her
surroundings from the intensity of pain. Each item in the horror of the
situation told on her separately, but in no sequence--with no coherence.
Shame, "hopes early blighted, love scorned," kindness proved treason,
the prospect of complete and dishonourable poverty, a poverty which
would enrich her foes. And all this was mixed in her mind with the
dreadful words from t