for ideas on the subject.
Mr. Fairbanks was more easily discouraged, and frankly confessed the case was beyond his powers.
Privately, he still suspected Mr. Carleton, but in the face of Rob's faith in his friend, and also because of the demeanor of Carleton himself, he couldn't avow his suspicions.
For since Fessenden's assertions of confidence, Carleton had changed in his attitude toward the world at large.
Still broken and saddened by the tragedy, he did not show that abject and self-condemnatory air which had hung round him during the inquest week.
Kitty French had almost recovered faith in him, and had there been any one else at all to suspect, she would have asserted her belief in his innocence.
Carleton himself seemed baffled. His suspicions had been directed toward Cicely, because he could see no other possibility; but the proof of her suspicions of himself, of course, showed he was wrong in the matter.
He could suggest nothing; he could think of nobody who might have done the deed, and he was thoroughly content to place the whole affair unreservedly in the hands of Fleming Stone.
Indeed, every one seemed to be glad of the expected help, if we except Fessenden. He was restlessly eager to do something himself, and saw no reason why he shouldn't keep on trying until Stone came.
Chapter XXII.
A Talk With Miss Morton
Of course Fessenden confided his wishes to Kitty French. Equally of course, that obliging young woman was desirous of helping him attain them. But neither of them could think of new lines of investigation to pursue.
"We've no clue but that little cachou," said Miss French, by way of summing up; "and as that's no good at all, we have really nothing that can be called a clue."
"No," agreed Rob, "and we have no suspect. Now that Carleton and Miss Dupuy are both out of it, I don't see who could have done it."
"I never felt fully satisfied about Miss Morton and her burned paper," said Kitty thoughtfully.
They were walking along a village road while carrying on this conversation, so there was no danger of Miss Morton's overhearing them.
"I've never felt satisfied about that woman, any way," said Rob. "The oftener I see her the less I like her. She's too smug and complacent. And yet when she was questioned, she went all to pieces."
"Well, as she flatly contradicted what Marie had said, of course they couldn't keep on questioning her. You can't take a servant's word against a lady's."
"You ought to, in a serious case like this. I say, Kitty, let's go there now and have a heart-to-heart talk with her."
Kitty laughed at the idea of a heart-to-heart talk between those two people, but said she was willing to go.
"It mayn't amount to anything," went on Rob, "and yet, it may. I've asked Mr. Fairbanks to chase up that burned paper matter, but he said there was nothing in it. He didn't hear Marie's story, you see,—he only heard it retold, and he doesn't know how sincere that girl seemed to be when she told about it."
"Yes, and I saw Miss Morton in Maddy's room, too. I think she ought to tell what she was up to." So to the Van Norman house went the two inquisitors, and had Miss Morton known of their fell designs she might not have greeted them as cordially as she did.
Miss Morton had grown fond of Kitty French during the girl's stay with her, and she looked with approval on the fast-growing friendship between her and young Fessenden.
As the hostess at the Van Norman house, too, Miss Morton showed a kindly hospitality, and though she was without doubt eccentric, and sometimes curt of speech, she conducted the household and directed the servants with very little friction or awkwardness.
She was most friendly toward Tom Willard and Schuyler Carleton, and the latter often dropped in at the tea hour. Fessenden dropped in at any hour of the day, and of course Mr. Fairbanks came and went as he chose.
Fessenden and Kitty found Miss Morton in the library, and, as they had decided beforehand, went straight to the root of the matter.
"Miss Morton," Fessenden began, "I want to do a little more questioning on my own account, before Mr. Fleming Stone arrives. I'm sure you won't object to helping me out a bit by answering a few queries."
"Go ahead," said Miss Morton grimly, but not unkindly.
"They are a bit personal," went on Rob, who was at a loss how to begin, now that he was really told to do so.
"Well?"
This time, Miss Morton's tone was more crisp, and Kitty began to see that Rob was on the wrong tack. So she took the helm herself, and said, with a winning smile:
"We want you to tell us frankly what was the paper you burned."
Something in Miss Morton's expression went to the girl's heart, and she added impulsively:
"I know it wasn't anything that affects the case at all, and if you want to refuse us, you may."
"I'd rather not tell you," said Miss Morton, and a far-away look came into her strange eyes; "but since you have shown confidence in me, I prefer to return it."
She took Kitty's hand in hers, and from the gentle touch the girl was sure that whatever was the nature of the coming confidence, it was not that of a guilty conscience.
"As you know, Kitty," she began, addressing the girl, though she glanced at Rob occasionally, "many years ago I was betrothed to Richard Van Norman. We foolishly allowed a trifling quarrel to separate us for life. I will not tell you the story of that now,—though I will, some time, if you care to hear it. But we were both quick-tempered, and the letters that passed between us at that time were full of hot, angry, unconsidered words. They were letters such as no human beings ought to have written to each other. Perhaps it was because of their exceeding bitterness, which we read and reread, that we never made up that quarrel, though neither of us ever loved any one else, or ceased to love the other. At the death of Richard Van Norman, two years or more ago, I burned his letters which I had kept so long, and I wrote to Madeleine, asking her to return mine to me if they should be found among her uncle's papers."
"Dear Miss Morton," said Kitty, "don't tell any more if it pains you. We withdraw our request, don't we, Rob?"
"Yes, indeed," said Fessenden heartily; "forgive us, Miss Morton, for what is really an intrusion, and an unwarrantable one."
"I want to tell you a little more," Miss Morton resumed, "and afterward I'll tell you why I've told it. Madeleine replied with a most kind letter, saying she had not found the letters, but should she ever do so, she would send them to me. About a year ago, she wrote and asked me to come here to see her. I came, thinking she had found those letters. She had not, but she had found her uncle's diary, which disclosed his feelings toward me, both before and after our quarrel, and she told me then she intended to leave this place to me in her will, because she thought it ought to be mine. Truth to tell, I didn't take much interest in this bequest, for I supposed the
