"I know I was"--and Timothy Wilks's voice became so rueful that it might have made Dr. Rane laugh under more open circumstances. "But when Dale made that promise, Miss Jelly, you see the affair of the anonymous letter had not taken place." "What anonymous letter?" "The one that killed Edmund North." "Why, you don't mean to insinuate that Dale lays the blame of that on _you?_" "I don't suppose he thinks I sent it. Indeed I'm sure he does not. But he was anything but pleasant over it to me at the time, and he has never been quite the same to me since." "He is an unjust owl," said Jelly. "One does not look for much else than injustice from lawyers." "Does Dale say that letter is the reason of his not promoting you to Repton's place?" "He doesn't say it: but I know that it is so, as if he did just as well." Jelly struck the key two or three times against the door. She was thinking. "That's through your foolish tongue, Timothy Wilks. You know you did talk of the matter out of the office." "They say so," confessed Timothy. "But if I did, I'm sure I've been punished enough for it. It's hard that it should stick to me always. Why don't they find the writer of the letter, and punish _him?_ He was the villain; not me." "So he was," said Jelly. "Tim, what would you say if I told you I knew who it was?" "I? Excuse me, Miss Jelly, but I should not quite believe it." Jelly laughed. Not a loud laugh, but one rather derisive, and full of _power_. Its peculiar significance penetrated to him who was seated under the cedar-tree, betraying all too surely that Jelly knew his dangerous secret. Even the less sensitive Tim Wilks was impressed by the sound. "Surely, Miss Jelly, you do not mean that you know who wrote the letter?" "I could put my finger out from where I now stand, Tim, and lay it on the right person," she answered in low, impressive tones, little suspecting how literally true were her words. Tim seemed overwhelmed. He drew a deep breath. "Then, why don't you, Miss Jelly?" "Because----" Jelly stopped short. "Well, because there are certain considerations that make it difficult to speak." "But you ought to speak. Indeed you ought, Miss Jelly. If Lawyer Dale got to hear of this, he'd tell you he could compel you to speak." Again there broke forth a laugh from Jelly. But quite a different laugh this time--one of mirth. Tim decided that she had only been making fun of him. He resented it, as much as he was capable of resenting anything. "You shouldn't make game, of a young man in this way, Miss Jelly! I'm sure I thought you were in earnest. You'd make a fine play-actor." "Shouldn't I?" assented Jelly, "and take in the audience nicely, as I take in you. Well," changing her tone, "you must be soft, Tim Wilks! The idea of believing that _I_ could know who wrote the letter?"