I have not the slightest evidence except personal
conviction, but I believe that the paper inside this envelope is
written by my father's hand and I believe it tells me that he was
not Eileen's father and that I am not her sister. If it does not
say this, then there is nothing in race and blood and inherited
tendencies."
Linda picked up the paper cutter, ran it across the envelope,
slipped out the sheet, and bracing herself she read:
MY DARLING LINDA:
These lines are to tell you that your mother went to her eternal
sleep when you were born. Four years later I met and fell in
love with the only mother you ever have known. At the time of
our marriage we entered into a solemn compact that her little
daughter by a former marriage and mine should be reared as
sisters. I was to give half my earnings and to do for Eileen
exactly as I did for you. She was to give half her love and her
best attention to your interests.
I sincerely hope that what I have done will not result in any
discomfort or inconvenience to you.
With dearest love, as ever your father,
ALEXANDER STRONG.
Linda laid the sheet on the table and dropped her hands on top of
it. Then she looked at John Gilman.
"John," she said, "I believe you had better face the fact that
the big car and the big people that carried Eileen away today
were her mother's wealthy relatives from San Francisco. She must
have been in touch with them. I think very likely she sent for
them after I saw her in the bank yesterday afternoon, trying with
all her might to make the paying teller turn over to her the
funds of the private account.
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