After knocking Goyle down, Bodney had fully determined to make a confession to Howard and the Judge, but upon finding the note his will resolved itself into fear and indecision. He felt, however, that the gambling germ was dead—"germ," he muttered to himself. "Giant!" he cried aloud. It must be, though, that he would gradually gain strength, and the time for the confession was surely not far off. But he would bring disgrace upon himself and be driven out of the house. He could not bear the thought of seeing hatred in the eye of the Judge. The old man was unforgiving; had not forgiven his son, and would surely send Bodney to the penitentiary. "I can’t tell him yet," he mused. "I must wait for strength. That scoundrel is thinking of me at this moment, and I know it." In the night he awoke with a feeling that Goyle was in the room, and he sprang out of bed and lighted the gas. Thus it was for three nights, and on the third morning came a letter from Goyle, not a letter, but an envelope directed by his hand, and in it was a newspaper cutting, set in the large type of the village press. "Last night, at Col. Radley’s, the guests were entertained in a most novel, not to say startling, manner, by Prof. Goyle, of Chicago, who gave several feats of mind-reading. Miss Sarah Mayhew, daughter of our leading merchant, stuck a pin in the door-facing as high as she could reach, while the Professor was out of the room, and then hid the pin under the carpet. The Professor was brought in blindfolded, amid the silence which the Colonel had enjoined. He took Miss Mayhew by the hand, fell into deep thought for a few moments and then went straightway and took the pin from under the carpet, and then, marvelous to relate, ran across the room and leaping off the floor stuck the pin in the exact hole which it had occupied at the hands of the handsome Miss Mayhew. George Halbin, one of our leading lawyers, said that the feat would have seemed impossible to even a man with both eyes open. The Professor will appear at the opera house tomorrow night, and our citizens who appreciate a good thing when they see it should turn out." "What have you got there?" William asked, standing in Bodney’s door. "Just a clipping from a newspaper telling of Goyle’s wonderful mind-reading." "Let me see it." William read the paragraph and handed it back. "I don’t believe a word of it," he said. "Those fellows will write anything if they are paid for it. It’s all a lie." "It’s all true," said Bodney.