me--to dwell on it. I do really wish you would leave it alone."

Edmund frowned, though he liked that expression, "mother and you and
me."

"You needn't think about it unless you wish to," he answered.

"But I wish you wouldn't!"

"If I had banished it from my thoughts up till now, I could not leave it
alone now, for I have a clue."

"Oh, don't, Edmund."

"Well, it may come to nothing; only I'm glad that it makes one thing
still more clear to me though it may go no further."

He told her then of what the stud-groom had said, and ended by showing
her the letter. Rose read it in silence, and then, still standing with
her face turned away, she said in a very low voice:

"It is a comfort as far as it goes. But I knew it was so; he never meant
things to be as they are--poor David! Edmund, it is of no use to think
of it. Even if the paper then witnessed were the will, it is lost now
and will never be found. I would rather--I would _really_ rather not
think too much about it."

"No, no," he answered soothingly, "don't dear, don't dwell on it."

"I like," she answered, "to dwell on the thought that David did think of