Hours had passed over her before she began to think whence had come the
paper which Trendellsohn had found in her desk; and then, when the idea
of some fraud presented itself to her, that part of the subject did
not seem to her to be of great moment. It mattered but little who had
betrayed her. It might be Rebecca, or Souchey, or Ruth, or Lotta, or
all of them together. His love, his knowledge of her whom he loved,
should have carried him aloft out of the reach of any such poor trick
as that! What mattered it now who had stolen her key, and gone like
a thief to her desk, and laid this plot for her destruction? That he
should have been capable of being deceived by such a plot against her
was enough for her. She did not even speak to Souchey on the subject.
In the course of the afternoon he came across her as she moved about
the house, looking ashamed, not daring to meet her eyes, hardly able
to mutter a word to her. But she said not a syllable to him about her
desk. She could not bring herself to plead the cause between her and
her lover before her father's servant.
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