"Mr. Argyll, it is for you to decide the fate of this miserable man. I have kept all my proceedings a secret from the public; I even allowed George Thorley to remain in Mexico, for I thought your family had already suffered enough, without loading it down with the infamy of your nephew. If you say that he shall go unpunished by the law, I shall abide by your wish; this matter shall be kept by the few who now know it. For _your_ sakes, not for his, I would spare him the death which he deserves; but he must leave the country at once and for ever." "Let him go," said the uncle, his back turned upon the murderer, toward whom he would not look. "Go, instantly and for ever. And remember, James Argyll, if I ever see your face again, if I ever hear of your being anywhere in the United States, I shall at once cause you to be arrested." "And I, the same," added Mr. Burton. "God knows, if it were not for these young ladies, whose feelings are sacred to me, I would not let you off so easily." He opened the door, and James Argyll slunk out into the night, and away, none knew whither, branded, expatriated, and alone--away, without one look at the fair, beautiful girl who was so soon to have been his bride--away, from the home he had periled his soul to secure. When he had gone, we all breathed more freely. Mr. Burton had yet much to say, for he wished to close this horrible business for ever. He took the surgical instrument which we had found in the tree, and fitted it to the piece which had been extracted from the body of the murdered man, and showed the family the initials of George Thorley upon it. He then produced the written confession of Thorley, which we all read for ourselves; but as it contained only, in a plain statement, the facts already given, I will not repeat them here. He then proceeded with the history of the DEAD LETTER, which, also, he had with him, and which proved to be in the same handwriting as the confession. In speaking of the curious manner in which this document had been lost, to be recovered in the right time by the right person, he seemed to consider it almost awfully providential. From this he went on with a minute history of all the steps taken by both of us, our journey over the ocean, the wonderful success which waited upon patience, perseverance and energy, securing the final triumph of justice; and, to conclude with, he said, [Illustration: Page 297. "I NEVER ACCUSED YOU."]