Sanderson looked long at the Bransford letter, considering the
situation. He was tempted to destroy that, too, but he reflected,
permitting a sentimental thought to deter him.
For Mary undoubtedly treasured that letter, and when the day came that
he should tell her the truth, the letter would be the only link that
would connect her with the memory of her brother.
Sanderson could not destroy it. He had already offended Mary Bransford
more than he had a right to, and to destroy her brother's letter would
be positively heinous.
Besides, unknown to him, there might be more letters about with Will
Bransford's signature on them, and it might be well to preserve this
particular letter in case he should be called upon to forge Will
Bransford's signature.
So he retied the letters in the packet and restored the packet to its
place, retaining his own letter to Bransford. Smiling grimly now, he
again sought the chair near the window, lit a match, applied the blaze
to the letter, and watched the paper burn until nothing remained of it
but a crinkly ash.
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