"If you have any more questions to ask me, Mr.Morris, pray go on.

I promise never to think unjustly of you again." He went on with an uneasy conscience--for it seemed cruel to deceive her, even in the interests of truth--but still he went on.
"Suppose we assume that this woman had injured your father in some way," he said.

"Am I right in believing that it was in his character to forgive injuries ?" "Entirely right." "In that case, his death may have left Mrs.Rook in a position to be called to account, by those who owe a duty to his memory--I mean the surviving members of his family." "There are but two of us, Mr.Morris.My aunt and myself." "There are his executors." "My aunt is his only executor." "Your father's sister--I presume ?" "Yes." "He may have left instructions with her, which might be of the greatest use to us." "I will write to-day, and find out," Emily replied.

"I had already planned to consult my aunt," she added, thinking again of Miss Jethro.
"If your aunt has not received any positive instructions," Alban continued, "she may remember some allusion to Mrs.Rook, on your father's part, at the time of his last illness--" Emily stopped him.

"You don't know how my dear father died," she said.
"He was struck down--apparently in perfect health--by disease of the heart." "Struck down in his own house ?" "Yes--in his own house." Those words closed Alban's lips.