rriedly; "why should you rake
up the past? Cannot it be left alone?"

He was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his chin supported by his
hands, a look of settled gloom upon his face. Miss Vane's eyes flashed.

"You know what I mean then?" she said sharply.

Hubert started into an upright position, crossed his arms, and looked
her imperturbably in the face.

"I have not the slightest idea of what you are going to say."

"You know something, nevertheless," said Miss Vane, with equal
composure. "Well, I don't ask you to betray your sister. I only wish to
mention that, in looking over my brother Sydney's papers the other day,
I came across a letter from Florence which I consider extremely
compromising. It was written from Scotland while she was still engaged
to that young laird, but it showed plainly that some sort of
understanding subsisted between her and Sydney Vane. They must have met
several times without the knowledge of any other member of our family;
and it seems that she proffered her services to Marion as Enid's
governess at his instigation. What do you think of that?"

"I think," said Hubert deliberately, "that Florence has always proved
herself something of a plotter, and that the letter shows that she was
scheming to get a good situation. You can't possibly make anything more
out of it, aunt Leonora"--with a stormy glance. "I think you had better
not try."

Miss Vane sat for a moment or two in deep meditation.

"Well," she said at length, "that may be true, and I may be an old fool.
Perhaps I ought not to betray the girl to her brother either; but----"

"Oh, say the worst and get it over, by all means!" said Hubert
desperately, "Out with your accusation, if you have any to make!"

Leonora Vane studied his face for a minute or two before replying. She
did not like the withered paleness about his mouth, the look of
suffering that was so evident in his haggard eyes.

"It is hardly an accusation, Hubert," she said, with sudden gentleness.
"I mean that I believe that she was in love--as far as a girl of her
disposition can be in love--with my brother Sydney. I need not tell you
how I have come to think so. In the first hours of our great loss she
betrayed herself. To me only--you need not be afraid that she would ever
wear her heart upon her sleeve, but to me she did betray her secret.
Whether Sydney returned her affection or not I am not quite sure--for
his wife's sake, I hope not."

Again she loo