deep pain. 'Pitt, you and I believe she was sane when she was committed, but it's only our belief against the word of a respected doctor. And God knows, she was certainly mad when she died!'
'And Naomi Royce's word!' He put his hand on the letters spread out on the desk between them.' 'We've got these!''
'The opinion of a woman who had embraced a strange religious sect and starved herself to death rather than obey her husband and come back to the orthodox faith? Who's going to convict a dog on the basis of that?'
'No one,' Pitt said wearily. 'No one.'
'What are you going to do?'
'I don't know. May I keep these?'
'If you want-but you know you can't do anything with them. You can't accuse Royce.'
4'I know.'' Pitt picked up the letters, carefully folding them and putting them back in their envelopes and into the inside pocket of his coat. ' 'I know, but I want to keep them. I don't want to forget.'
Drummond smiled bitterly. 'You won't. Neither shall I. Poor woman . . . poor woman!'
Charlotte looked up, eyes wide with horror. The tears ran down her cheeks unheeded and her hands holding the letters were shaking.
'Oh Thomas! It's too dreadful to have a name! How they must have suffered-first Naomi, and then poor Elsie. How that poor creature must have felt! To watch her mistress die slowly, growing weaker every day, and yet refusing to betray her truth, and Elsie helpless to do anything. Then when it had gone too far and she could not eat, even if she would, to watch her sink into unconsciousness and death. And when Elsie would not let them hush it all up and report it as scarlet
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fever, they told her she was mad, and bundled her away to spend the rest of her life behind the walls of a lunatic asylum. '' She seized his handkerchief from his pocket and blew her nose fiercely. 'Thomas, what are we going to do?'
'Nothing. There is nothing we can do,' he replied somberly.
'But that's preposterous!'
' 'There's been no crime committed.'' And he related what Drummond had said to him.
She stood stunned, too appalled to speak, knowing what he said was true, and that argument was pointless. And staring up at him, she was as aware of his pity and anger as she was of her own.
'Very well,' she said at last. 'I can see that. I am sure you would prosecute him if there were any grounds-of course you would. But there is no purpose in taking to law something which could never be acted upon. I think, if you don't mind, I shall show the letters to Great-aunt Vespasia tomorrow. I am sure she would like to know what the truth of the matter was. May I take them to her?' She half held mem out to nun, but it was only a gesture; she had not considered that he might refuse.
'If you wish.' He was reluctant, and yet why should she not tell Vespasia? Perhaps they could comfort each other. She might want to talk about it further, and he was too exhausted by his own emotions to want to relive it. 'Yes, of course.'
'You must be tired.' She put the letters in her apron pocket, regarding him gravely. 'Why don't you sit down by the fire, and I shall make supper. Would you like a fresh kipper? I have two from the fishmonger today. And hot bread.'
By late the following afternoon Charlotte knew precisely what she was going to do, and how she would accomplish it. No one would help her, at least not knowingly, but Great-
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aunt Vespasia would do all that was necessary, if she was asked the right way. Pitt had spent most of the day in the garden, but at five o'clock the weather had changed suddenly, a chill wind had sprung up from the east covering the sky with leaden clouds, and by nightfall there would be a freezing fog. He had come inside, then gone to sleep in front of the fire.
Charlotte did not disturb
