“Thank you; a very respectful way of addressing a parent,” Mr. Dalton sneered, while Earle’s lip curled disdainfully, and a hot flush again mounted to his brow. “I must say, however,” Mr. Dalton continued, “that the package was not worthy of the effort it cost me to open it, and contained nothing of interest to me beyond the pictures and writing that proved to me you were Marion Vance’s child, unless, I except some hieroglyphics on a piece of cardboard that I could not read.” Earle’s expression was a peculiar one, as he asked: “Did you examine that piece of cardboard critically?” “No; I tossed it one side when I found I could not read it.” “I have it with me now—I always carry it with me, for it contains matter of the most vital importance to me, and might possibly interest you considerably.” He drew it from his pocket as he spoke, and held it so that Mr. Dalton could see the writing in cipher. He recognized it instantly. “These hieroglyphics, as you call them, merely tell what the cardboard contains.” “What it contains!” repeated Mr. Dalton, his curiosity now fully aroused. To him it appeared only a single piece of rather heavy cardboard. “Yes; if you had examined it carefully you would have noticed that it is apparently composed of three layers, but the middle one is cut out very near the edge, so as to allow of some closely written sheets of thin paper to be inserted. I remove one end of what appears the middle layer—thus, and you perceive that the papers easily slide out of their pocket.” He held it upside down, gave it a little shake, and some very thin sheets of paper, upon which there was writing, with another long, narrow slip which was not so thin, fell upon the table. “This, perhaps, may contain something of interest to you,” Earle said, taking the latter up and holding it before Mr. Dalton. It was the marriage certificate which the old rector had given Marion on the evening of her marriage. He laughed long, loud, and scornfully as he saw it. “I always thought Austin Osgood carried matters a little too far when he dared to sign the old rector’s name to a real marriage certificate, and give it to Marion. But I suppose it made it seem more real to the girl, only I wonder at her keeping the useless paper after she discovered the fraud. As for Austin, I told you before, I never saw him again. Perhaps he, also, thought he had gone too far in the matter, and was afraid he might be overhauled for forgery.” Earle did not make any reply to these remarks; he merely returned the certificate to the cardboard pocket and took up another paper. “Here is some information that I stumbled upon purely by accident—no, I should not say that,” he added, in a reverent tone; “I ought to say, a Divine Providence led me to it. Shall I read it to you, or will you read it for yourself? It is very closely connected with that little drama in St. John’s Chapel at Winchelsea.”