Derwent, when he
became old enough, had stepped over the traces. All this Keith had
gathered from the letters, but there was a great deal that was missing.
Egbert, he gathered, must have been a scapegrace. He was a cripple of
some sort and seven or eight years his junior. In the letters Mary
Josephine had spoken of him as "poor Egbert," pitying instead of
condemning him, though it was Egbert who had brought tragedy and
separation upon them. One night Egbert had broken open the Conniston
safe and in the darkness had had a fight and a narrow escape from his
uncle, who laid the crime upon Derwent. And Derwent, in whom Egbert
must have confided, had fled to America that the cripple might be
saved, with the promise that some day he would send for Mary Josephine.
He was followed by the uncle's threat that if he ever returned to
England, he would be jailed. Not long afterward "poor Egbert" was found
dead in bed, fearfully contorted. Keith guessed there had been
something mentally as well as physically wrong with him.
"--And I was going to send for you," he said, as they came to the level
of the valley. "My plans were made, and I was going to send for you,
when this came.
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