passion as had never before possessed her.

She was panting, yet she spoke with absolute distinctness. "I have
just found out," she said, "how it is that I have had no letters
from Guy during the past six weeks. They have been--stolen."

"Really, Sylvia!" said Mrs. Ingleton. She arose in wrath, but no
wrath had any effect upon Sylvia at that moment. She was girt for
battle--the deadliest battle she had ever known.

"You took them!" she said, pointing an accusing finger full at her
step-mother. "You kept them back! Deny it as much as you like--as
much as you dare! None but you would have stooped to do such a
thing. And it has been done. The letters have been delivered--and
I have not received them. I have suffered--horribly--because of
it. You meant me to suffer!'

"You are wrong, Sylvia! You are wrong!" Shrilly Mrs. Ingleton
broke in upon her, for there was something awful in the girl's
eyes--they had a red-hot look. "Whatever I have done has been for
your good always. Your father will testify to that. Go and ask
him if you don't believe me!"

"My father had nothing to do with this!" said Sylvia in tones of
withering scorn. "Whatever else he lacks, he has a sense of
honour. But you--you are a wicked woman, unprincipled, cruel,
venomous. It may be my father's duty to live with you, but--thank
heaven--it is not mine. You have come into my home and cursed it.
I will never sleep under the same roof with you again."