There was no doubt of it. But, oh, he did not do it.
Some one else did it. He did not--he could not."
Kennedy said nothing for a few minutes, but from his tone when he
did speak it was evident that he was deeply touched.
"Since our marriage we lived with old Mr. Godwin in the historic
Godwin House at East Point," she resumed, as he renewed his
questioning. "Sanford--that was my husband's real last name until
he came as a boy to work for Mr. Godwin in the office of the
factory and was adopted by his employer--Sanford and I kept house
for him.
"About a year ago he began to grow feeble and seldom went to the
factory, which Sanford managed for him. One night Mr. Godwin was
taken suddenly ill. I don't know how long he had been ill before
we heard him groaning, but he died almost before we could summon a
doctor. There was really nothing suspicious about it, but there
had always been a great deal of jealousy of my husband in the town
and especially among the few distant relatives of Mr. Godwin. What
must have started as an idle, gossipy rumour developed into a
serious charge that my husband had hastened his old guardian's
death.
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