“I had a letter from Pake this morning,” she went on. “He says he’s got a new office that suits him perfectly. He says he didn’t need as much room as he had, so he’s taken desk room only in the office of a friend of his, some kind of Brazilian name, I couldn’t spell and can’t pronounce it. He says it’s a dandy place on the third floor, big, high room, plenty of floor space to move about in and nice fellows at the other desks. It’s bright and cool and airy, three big French windows open down to the floor.” Then, quite suddenly, as she paused, I felt the Alders enveloped in an atmosphere of tragedy and gloom. The Hibbards excelled in self-control; not one of them uttered a sound. There was a long silence. I could hear the ripple of the brook. The first rays of the late moon, just clearing the top of the Blue Ridge, struck through the maples. Anna spoke first: “Have you that letter with you, Mattie?” “Yes,” Mattie replied cheerfully. “I brought it along.” “Give it to me,” Anna said; “Billy and I will try to make out that name.” “Billy can do it, I’ll bet,” spoke Mattie brightly. Anna, the letter in her hand, stood up. “Come on, Billy,” she said. I went. I was surprised at her asking me instead of Brundige. I had never been intimate with Anna. Susie I had known well and Mattie better, but Leslie, in the old days, had merely smiled and seldom spoken, so that I could not tell whether she liked me or not, while Anna had seemed to avoid me. I should have expected her to call Brundige, for Tom had been in Rio longer than I, and much more recently. She stood by the refrigerator in the back hall by the side door and leaned against it, her brown hair almost golden against the lamp that stood on the refrigerator. “I daren’t look at the letter,” she said. “You read it, Billy.” I found the name and it was Orodoff Guimaraes. Also, at the end of the letter he told Mattie to write to him at his office address, Rua de Alfandega, 49A. “Come!” said Anna, in a fierce whisper. I followed her through the side door and out into the tepid windless moonlight. She made for the barn. The atmosphere of gloom and tragedy deepened about us. The moonlight seemed weird and ghastly, the shadows of the trees grim and menacing, the silence like that of a graveyard. Anna leaned against the barnyard gate. “Could I send a cablegram to Rio de Janeiro for thirty dollars?” she queried. “A long one for less,” I said. “When I was down there the rates were sixty-five cents a word. That’s many years ago. The rates can’t be over half that now. You could cable a letter for thirty dollars.” “I have three ten-dollar bills,” she said. “Barton gave them to me for emergencies just before I left Washington.” “I have more than that in my pocket,” I said. “Between us we are sure to have more than enough.” “Do you suppose,” she asked, “that I could send a cable from Jonesville this late Saturday night?” “We might try,” I said.