Beryl Drane's belated confession, startling as it was in a way, and of a nature to ordinarily work in a most gratifying manner upon my spirit, did not long remain paramount in my thoughts. Father John seemed to have lapsed into a sort of revery, and as the silence lengthened I found my eyes going back again and again to the second envelope. What was in it? Father John had included it almost in his first sentence. It could not be from any of the vanished family, because of the typed address, and yet it evidently contained something of interest to me. Directly I purposely changed my position, and coughed slightly. The effort succeeded. The priest started, lifted his head with a smile and an indistinguishable murmur, and picked up the second envelope. "Zis, m'sieu," he said, in a voice tinged with awe, as he drew out the enclosure, "is won'erful. It is ze han' of God shapin' human affairs." Slowly, with an expression almost beatific on his sweet old face, suddenly glorified by some triumphant inner flame of supreme faith, he put out his arm and placed the folded sheets in my hand. "Read it--all," he said, simply, then cast himself back in his chair, closed his eyes, and intertwined his fingers under his chin. "NOTRE DAME, INDIANA, "August 1st, 19-- "_Rt. Rev. Jean Dupré_, "_Hebron, Ky_. "DEAR FR. DUPRÉ: I write you at the instance and request of one Hannibal Ellsworth, with whose geological researches in the shape of valuable contributions to periodical literature you are doubtless familiar. At any rate you know, or did know the man, for he died last night. "Late yesterday evening word came from a hospital that a patient dangerously ill wanted to see a priest. I went. I soon found that it was not for the purpose of spiritual confession and preparation for death that I was wanted, for the man was not only non-Catholic, but an unbeliever as well, but for a confession of another sort. I shall put his story in my own words, for I recall well everything he said, though I cannot attempt to give it in his language.