“I want you to remain in the cottage. Let it be still your home for the future as it has been in the past—_it is yours_ without any restrictions. “You must not, however, stay there alone, for it would not be safe, and I want you to secure some com- panion—some one older than yourself, who will be a sort of protector to you. Do not mind the expense, Annie, for you know that we are relatives. I have a right to care for you in this extremity. “Inclosed you will find check sufficient for your present necessities, and when I return I will make some permanent arrangement for you. Write me at once, for I shall be very anxious until I hear from you. “Ever your friend, “WILLIAM MAPLESON.” “I _thought_ the writing was familiar to me. I suspected my father wrote it from the first, and yet his hand has changed very much since this was written. But surely there is nothing in this merely friendly epistle to warrant such dreadful suspicions as have nearly driven me wild during these last few weeks. I have believed the very worst—that it was _he_ who enticed her away, and then betrayed her confidence. I know that he was in New Mexico at that time; I know that she went there and lived with some one for a year; and then that ring seemed to prove everything to me. Still, this is not a lover’s letter; it is simply a friendly expression of sympathy and interest, and a desire to provide for a relative who had no one to rely upon. Heavens! will this mystery _never_ be solved?” he concluded, rising and shutting the portfolio, but retaining the scrap of paper he had found. He replaced everything in the trunk, closed it, though he could not lock it again, then pushed it back under the bed; after which he went quickly out of the house, feeling depressed and bitterly disappointed that he had discovered nothing tangible, either to prove or dissipate his suspicions. As he stepped off the veranda, something white fluttered in the tall grass at his feet. It was another letter. A thrill went tingling all along his nerves, as he stooped and picked it up. It was addressed to “Miss Annie Dale, Richmond, Va.,” and bore the date of July 15th, of the same year as the other one already in his possession. It was also in the same handwriting, and had been mailed from Santa Fe. “This is one of the things that _he_ came hither to secure, and he must have dropped it as he passed out,” Everet murmured, as he sat down upon a step, drew the letter from its envelope, and began to read it.