"I do not clearly know myself. It is what I wish you to help me to find out." "But--when was this letter received?" "On Monday last." "On Monday last," repeated Ishmael, glancing at the envelope; "that was the 5th of December; and it is postmarked 'Banff, October 15th.' Is it possible that this important letter has been seven weeks on its way?" "Yes, it is quite possible. If yea look at the envelope closely you will see that it is stamped 'Missent,' and remailed from San Francisco, California, to which place it was sent by mistake. You perceive it has traveled half around the world before coming here." "How very unfortunate! and a letter so urgent as this! Sir, can you give me any idea of the danger that threatens Lady Vincent?" inquired Ishmael, raising his eyes for a moment from his study of the letter. "Read this second letter; I received it, and a third one, by the very same mail that brought the long-delayed first one," replied the judge. Ishmael took this letter also, and read: "McGruder's Hotel, Edinboro', Scotland, "November 25, 184--. "My Dearest Father: I wrote to you about six weeks ago, informing you that I was in sorrow and in danger, and imploring you to come and comfort and protect me. And since that time I have been waiting with the most acute anxiety to hear from you by letter or in person. Expecting this with confidence, I did not think it necessary to write again. But, as so long a time has elapsed, I begin to fear that you have not received my letter, and so I write again. Oh, my father! if you should not be already on your way to my relief--if you should be still lingering at home on the receipt of this letter, fly to me at once! My situation is desperate; my danger imminent; my necessity extreme. Oh, sir! an infamous plot has been hatched against me; I have been driven with ignominy from my husband's house; my name has gone over the length and breadth of England, a by-word of reproach! I am alone and penniless in this hotel; in which I know not how short the time may be that they will permit me to stay. Come! Come quickly! Come and save, if it be possible, your wretched child, "Claudia." "Heaven of heavens! how can this be?" cried Ishmael, looking up from these fearful lines into the woe-worn face of the judge. "Oh, I know but little more than yourself. Head this third letter." Ishmael eagerly took and opened it and read: