ompulsion which, since both Eunane
and Eive had written in the knowledge that their letters passed
unread, would seem like a breach of faith. I asked, however, simply,
and giving no reason, for the production of any papers received and
preserved by either. Eive, with her usual air of simplicity, brought
me the two or three which, she said, were all she had kept. Eunane
replied with a petulance almost amounting to refusal, which to some
might have suggested suspicion; but which to me seemed the very last
course that a culprit would have pursued. To give needless offence
while conscious of guilt would have been the very wantonness of
reckless temper.

"Bite your tongue, and keep your letters," I said sharply.

Turning to Eive and looking at the addresses of hers, none of which
bore the name of any one who could be suspected of the remotest
connection with a political plot--

"Give me which of these you please," I said, taking from her hand that
which she selected and marking it. "Now erase the writing yourself and
give me the paper."

This incident gave Eunane leisure to recover her temper. She stood for
a few moments ashamed perhaps, but, as usual, resolute to abide by the
consequences of a fault. When she found that my last word was spoken,
her mood changed at once.

"I did not quite like to give you Velna's letters. They are foolish,
like mine; and besides----But I never supposed you would let me
refuse. What you won't make me do, I must do of my own accord."

Womanly reasoning, most unlike "woman's reasons!" She brought, with
unaffected alacrity, a collection of tafroo-slips whose addresses bore
out her account of their character. Taking the last from the bundle, I
bade her erase its contents.

"No," she said, "that is the one I least liked to show. If you will
not read it, please follow my hand as I read, and see for yourself how
far I have misused your trust."

"I never doubted your good faith, Eunane"--But she had begun to read,
pointing with her finger as she went on. At one sentence hand and
voice wavered a little without apparent reason. "I shall," wrote her
school-friend, some half year her junior, "make my appearance at the
next inspection. I wish the Campta, had left you here till now; we
might perhaps have contrived to pass into the same household."

"A very innocent wish, and very natural," I said, in answer to the
look, half inquiring, half shy, with which Eunane watched the effect
of her words