Taylor, who was lending me the superficial attention of a preoccupied man, smiled frankly at the utterance of this name. "Of course, she had nothing to do with such a debasing piece of business," he observed. "Of course not," I repeated. "Nor does it seem likely that Miss Dawes could have been concerned in it. Yet my detective told me that she was the next person who went into the parlor." "I do not know Miss Dawes so well," remarked Taylor, carelessly. "But I do," said I; "and I would as soon suspect my sister of a dishonorable act as this noble, self-sacrificing woman." "The third person?" suggested Taylor. I got up and crossed the floor. When my back was to him, I said, quietly--"was Mrs. Walworth." The silence that followed was very painful. I did not care to break it, and he, doubtless, found himself unable to do so. It must have been five minutes before either of us spoke; then he suddenly cried: "Where is that detective, as you call him? I want to see him." "Let me see him for you," said I. "I should hardly wish Sudley, discreet as I consider him, to know you had any interest in this affair." Taylor rose and came to where I stood. "You believe," said he, "that she, the woman I am about to marry, is the one who wrote you that infamous letter?" I faced him quite frankly. "I do not feel ready to acknowledge that," I replied. "One of those three women took my letter out from the Bible, where I placed it; which of them wrote the lines that provoked it I do not dare conjecture. You say it was not Mrs. Couldock, I say it was not Miss Dawes, but--" He broke in upon me impetuously. "Have you the letter?" he asked. I had, and showed it to him. "It is not Helen's handwriting," he said. "Nor is it that of Mrs. Couldock or Miss Dawes." He looked at me for a moment in a wild sort of way. "You think she got some one to write it for her?" he cried. "Helen! my Helen! But it is not so; it cannot be so. Why, Huntley, to have sent such a letter as that over the name of an innocent young girl, who, but for the happy chance of meeting you as she did might never have had the opportunity of righting herself in your estimation, argues a cold and calculating selfishness closely allied to depravity. And my Helen is an angel--or so I have always thought her." The depth to which his voice sank in the last sentence showed that for all his seeming confidence he was not without his doubts. I began to feel very uncomfortable, and not knowing what consolation to offer, I ventured upon the suggestion that he should see Mrs. Walworth and frankly ask her whether she had been to the hotel on Main Street on such a day, and if so, if she had seen a letter addressed to Miss N---- lying on the table of the small parlor. His answer showed how much his confidence in her had been shaken.