“I am not a good letter writer, and when things are not going on well I don’t write at all. Things are not going on well, and I have not written. You and Katie and everyone else have been right and I have been wrong, and Fred Bingham is a damned scoundrel; but that’s no news, and I am not writing about that now. I am writing about a very extraordinary discovery which has been made here. This afternoon I was clearing out my desk, and tore up a lot of old letters and things. Evan, who is a first-rate lad and as true as steel, cleared up the letters, and, seeing a seal unbroken, looked at it. It was the seal of the last letter I had from Captain Bradshaw—his crest, you know, the three-fingered hand. Well, Evan asserts that the mother of the cripple lad had a seal round her neck with a three-fingered hand. If so, it is possible—nay, probable that this lad is Captain Bradshaw’s grandson. Whether he knows of it or not I cannot say. In spite of his inexplicable conduct to me I cannot believe it. This is quite in your line, old man, and I leave you to act as you think best. I think my uncle ought to be told in case he should be ignorant of it. “Yours very affectionately, “FRANK MAYNARD.” Prescott read the letter through twice, and then, putting on his hat, went straight down to Mrs. Holl. He was greatly shocked at the striking change which had taken place in the appearance of the cripple lad; but after the first greeting said,— “James, I want to talk to your mother; would you mind going into the next room for a few minutes?” James wheeled his box into his room, and Mrs. Holl closed the door. “How dreadfully ill he looks, Mrs. Holl.” “Ay, sir, and he is ill; he frets and mopes here, and I fear nothing but change, which the doctor says he ought to have, can save him. Poor lad, I fear me he won’t be here long.” “We must hope better things, Mrs. Holl, and the matter I have come about may lead to it.” “Lor! sir,” Mrs. Holl said; “how can that be?” “A curious discovery has been made, Mrs. Holl, which may, I don’t say will, lead to our tracing who his mother was.” “You don’t say so, sir,” Mrs. Holl said. “I do indeed, Mrs. Holl. I hear from Evan that his mother had a seal, with a three-fingered hand upon it. Have you got it?” “Yes, sir; I have it locked up.” “Please let me see it.” Mrs. Holl produced from a chest a small bundle of clothes, and carefully done up in paper a small seal. Prescott examined it. There was no question that it was a three-fingered hand. “Were these her things, Mrs. Holl?” “Yes, sir; that’s all there were.” “Now, Mrs. Holl, if I am right the linen will be marked L. B.; or, at any rate, L. something. L. B. were the maiden initials of the lady, and as she died little over a year after her marriage—for she was, I believe, married—it is probable her clothes would bear her maiden initials.”