are her cousin, almost her sister, have been at all events her daily companion for years, and must know for whom or for what she seals her lips, and conceals facts which, if known, would direct suspicion to the real criminal—that is, if you really believe what you have hitherto stated, that your cousin is an innocent woman."
She not making any answer to this, I rose and confronted her. "Miss Leavenworth, do you believe your cousin guiltless of this crime, or not?"
"Guiltless? Eleanore? Oh! my God; if all the world were only as innocent as she!"
"Then," said I, "you must likewise believe that if she refrains from speaking in regard to matters which to ordinary observers ought to be explained, she does it only from motives of kindness towards one less guiltless than herself."
"What? No, no; I do not say that. What made you think of any such explanation?"
"The action itself. With one of Eleanore’s character, such conduct as hers admits of no other construction. Either she is mad, or she is shielding another at the expense of herself."
Mary’s lip, which had trembled, slowly steadied itself. "And whom have you settled upon, as the person for whom Eleanore thus sacrifices herself?"
"Ah," said I, "there is where I seek assistance from you. With your knowledge of her history"
But Mary Leavenworth, sinking haughtily back into her chair, stopped me with a quiet gesture. "I beg your pardon," said she; "but you make a mistake. I know little or nothing of Eleanore’s personal feelings. The mystery must be solved by some one besides me."
I changed my tactics.
