"You did very well, young man. Excellently. I'm sure I'm much obliged." "You're welcome," replied Mr. Franklin. "It was a trifling affair." Repeating his thanks, the visitor put on his hat with its two ribbons and retired. For an hour or more the youthful son of science worked over his new negatives, and then he quietly closed the shutters and lighted his stereopticon. The first picture he threw upon the wall greatly pleased him. With half-parted lips, a placid smile, and closed eyes, the sleeping Alma lived in shadowy beauty before him. "Queer such a charming girl should belong to such a fool!" Not choice language for a son of pure-eyed science, but history is history, and the truth must be told. "Now for the paper." He took Alma's stolen picture from the lantern, and inserted in its place a positive copy of the paper he had captured from her lover. Suddenly there flashed upon the wall a document of the most startling and extraordinary character. He read it through several times before he could bring himself to understand the peculiar nature of the important discovery he had made. Long and earnestly he gazed upon the gigantic writing on the wall, and then he slowly opened one of the shutters, and the magic writing faded away in the rosy light of the setting sun. A moment after, the tea-bell rang. This over, young Mr. Franklin said he, must go out for his evening constitutional. He wished to be alone. The events of the day, the discoveries he had made, and, more than all, Alma's grief and silence at the supper-table, disturbed him. He wished more air, more freedom to think over these things and to devise some plan for future action. Alma. What of her? Was he not growing to like her--perhaps love her? And she was engaged to that--that--he could not think of him with patience. The chimney, the two in the photo, and the strange paper: what did they all mean? Why were both father and daughter in such evident distress? He pondered these things as he walked through the shadowy lanes, and then, about eight o'clock, he returned, in a measure composed and serene. There was a light in the parlor, and he went in and found Alma alone. "Oh, Elmer! I'm glad you've come. It's very lonely here. Father has gone to bed quite ill, and Lawrence asked me to sit up till he returned. He's gone down to the village on some business. I can't see why he should. The stores are closed and the last train has gone." She made a place for him on the sofa, and he sat down beside her. For some time they talked indifferently upon various matters--the weather, the heat of the day, and like trivialities. Suddenly she turned upon him, and said, with ill-suppressed excitement: "What did you do with it, Elmer?" "Do with what?" "The picture." "Oh, yes--the lantern slide. I wish I had never made it. It's up stairs in my room." "You didn't know it was Alice Green?"