"
"Why couldn't he resign?" asked Io, white-lipped.
"If he quit The Patriot he could no longer hold Bussey, and The
Searchlight could print what it chose. You see?"
"I see," said Io, very low. "Oh, why couldn't I have seen before!"
"How could you, if Ban told you nothing?" reasoned Edmonds. "The blame
of the miserable business isn't yours. Sometimes I wonder if it's
anybody's; if the newspaper game isn't just too strong for us who try to
play it. As for The Searchlight, I've since got another hold on Bussey
which will keep him from making any trouble. That's what I wanted to
tell you."
"Oh, what does it matter! What does it matter!" she moaned. She crossed
to the window, laid her hot and white face against the cool glass,
pressed her hands in upon her temples, striving to think connectedly.
"Then whatever he did on The Patriot, whatever compromises he yielded to
or--or cowardices--" she winced at the words--"were done to save his
place; to save me."
"I'm afraid so," returned the other gently.
"Do you know what he's doing now?" she demanded.
"I understand he's back at Manzanita."
"He is. And from what I can make out," she added fiercely, "he is giving
up his life to guarding Miss Van Arsdale from breaking her heart, as she
will do, if she learns of Judge Enderby's death--Oh!" she cried, "I
didn't mean to say that! You must forget that there was anything said.
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