gone, though she was very quiet, and she had that look of a vital
absorption which possesses human beings in crises of their lives.

Suddenly Kitty took from behind a book on the shelf a key, opened the
desk, and drew out the letter which Crozier had kept sealed and unopened
all the years, which he had never read.

"Do you know that?" Kitty asked, and held it out for Mrs. Crozier to
see.

Two dark blue eyes stared confusedly at the letter--at her own
handwriting. Kitty turned it over. "You see it is closed as it was when
you sent it to him. He has never opened it. He does not know what is in
it."

"He has-kept it--five years--unopened," Mona said in broken phrases
scarce above a whisper.

"He has never opened it, as you see."

"Give--give it to me," the wife said, stepping forward to stay Kitty's
hand as she opened the lid of the desk to replace the letter.

"It's not your letter--no, you shall not," said Kitty firmly as she
jerked aside the hand laid upon her wrist, and threw one arm on the lid,
holding it down as Mrs. Crozier tried to keep it open. Then with a swift
action of the free hand she locked the desk and put the key in her
pocket.

"If you destroyed this letter he would never believe but that it was