composed, but her white face was as hard as granite. Both Morley and his wife were much disturbed, as was natural, especially as at the moment Anne had refused any explanation. Now Morley was bent on forcing her to speak out and set Daisy's mind at rest. The state of the girl was pitiable.
The library was a large square apartment, with three French windows opening on to a terrace, whence steps led down to a garden laid out in the stiff Dutch style. The room was sombre with oak and heavy red velvet hangings, but rendered more cheerful by books, photographs, and pictures. Morley was fond of reading, and during his ten years' residence at The Elms had accumulated a large number of volumes. Between the bookcases were trophies of arms, mediæval weapons and armor, and barbaric spears from Africa and the South Seas, intermixed with bows and clubs. The floor was of polished oak, with here and there a brilliantly colored Persian praying-mat. The furniture was also of oak, and cushioned in red Morocco leather. Altogether the library gave evidence of a refined taste, and was a cross between a monkish cell and a sybarite's bower.
"Well, Miss Denham," said Morley, his merry face more than a trifle serious, "what have you to say?"
"There is nothing I can say," replied Anne, with composure, "the letter has nothing to do with me."
"My dear," put in Mrs. Morley, much distressed, "you cannot take up this attitude. You know I am your friend, that I have always done my best for you, and for my sake, if not for Daisy's, you must explain."
"She won't – she won't," said Daisy, with an hysterical laugh.
"I would if I could," replied Anne, talking firmly, "but the accusation is ridiculous. Why should I threaten Daisy?"
"Because you love Giles," burst out the girl furiously.
"I do not love Mr. Ware. I said so the other night."
"And you said more than that. You said that you would kill me."
"Miss Denham," cried Morley, greatly shocked, "what is this?"
"A foolish word spoken in a foolish moment," said Anne, realizing that her position was becoming dangerous.
"I think so too," said Mrs. Morley, defending her. "It so happened, Miss Denham, that I overheard you make the speech to Daisy, and I told my husband about it the next morning. We decided to say nothing, thinking – as you say now – that it was simply a foolish speech. But this letter" – she hesitated, then continued quickly, "you must explain this letter."
Anne thought for a moment. "I can't explain it. Some enemy has written it. You know all about me, Mrs. Morley. You read my credentials – you inquired as to my former situations at the Governess Institute where you engaged me. I have nothing to conceal in my life, and certainly I have no idea of harming Daisy. She came to my room and talked nonsense, which made me lose my temper. I said a foolish thing, I admit, but surely knowing me as you do you will acquit me of meaning anything by a few wild words uttered in a hurry and without thought."
"Why did you make use of such an expression?" asked Morley.
"Because I was carried out of myself. I have a strain of negro blood in me, and at times say more than I mean."
"And your negro blood will make you kill me," cried Daisy, with an expression of terror. "I am doomed – doomed!"
"Don't be a fool, child," said Morley roughly.
"She is a trifle hysterical," explained Mrs. Morley, comforting the girl, who was sobbing violently.
"Mr. Morley," said Anne, rising, "I don't know who wrote that letter, or why it should have been written. Mr. Ware and I are friends, nothing more. I am not in love with him, nor is he in love with me. He has paid me no more attention than you have yourself."
"No, that is true enough," replied Morley, "and as Giles is engaged to Daisy I don't think he is the man to pay marked attention to another woman."
"Ah! Giles is all right," cried Daisy angrily, "but she has tempted him."
"I deny that."
"You can deny what you like. It is true, you know it is true."
"Daisy! Daisy!" said Morley persuasively, whereupon she turned on him like a little fury.
"Don't you defend her. You hate me as much as she does. You are a – "
"Stop!" said Mrs. Morley, very pale. "Hold your tongue, Daisy. My husband has treated you in the kindest manner. When your father died you were left penniless. He took you in, and both he and I have treated you like our own child. Ungrateful girl, how can you speak so of those who have befriended you?"
"I do. I shall. You all hate me!" cried Daisy passionately. "I never wanted your help. Giles would have married me long ago but for Mr. Morley. I had no need to live on your charity. I have a hundred a year of my own. You brought that horrid woman down to steal Giles from me, and – "
"Take her away, Elizabeth," said Morley sharply.
"I'll go of my own accord," cried Daisy, retreating from Mrs. Morley; "and I'll ask Giles to marry me at once, and take me from this horrid house. You are a cruel and a wicked man, Mr. Morley, and I hate you – I hate you! As for you" – she turned in a vixenish manner on Anne – "I hope you will be put in gaol some day. If I die you will be hanged – hanged!" And with a stamp of her foot she dashed out of the room, banging the door.
"Hysteria," said Morley, wiping his face, "we must have a doctor to see her."
"Miss Denham," said the wife, who was weeping at the cruel words of the girl, "I ask you if Daisy has ever been treated harshly in my house?"
"No, dear Mrs. Morley, she has always received the greatest kindness both from you and your husband. She is not herself to-day – that cruel letter has upset her. In a short time she will repent of her behavior."
"If she speaks like this to Mrs. Parry, what will happen?" moaned the poor woman, wringing her hands.
"I'll have Mrs. Parry in court for libel if she says anything against us," said Morley fiercely. "The girl is an hysterical idiot. To accuse her best friends of – pshaw! it's not worth taking notice of. But this letter, Miss Denham?"
"I know nothing about it, Mr. Morley."
"Humph! I wonder if Daisy wrote it herself."
"Oliver!" cried Mrs. Morley in amazement.
"Why not? Hysterical girls do queer things at times. I don't suppose Mrs. Parry wrote it, old scandal-monger as she is. It is a strange letter. That Scarlet Cross, for instance." He fixed an inquiring eye on Anne.
"That is the one thing that makes me think Daisy did not write the letter. I fancied myself she might have done it in a moment of hysteria and out of hatred of me, but she could not know anything of the Scarlet Cross. No one in Rickwell could know of that."
"The letter was posted in London – in the General Post Office."
"But why should any one write such a letter about me," said Anne, raising her hands to her forehead, "and the Scarlet Cross? It is very strange."
"What is the Scarlet Cross?" asked Mrs. Morley seriously.
"I know no more than you do," replied Anne earnestly, "save that my father sometimes received letters marked with a red cross and on his watch-chain wore a gold cross enamelled with scarlet."
"Did
