[Illustration: "I CLIMBED THE CLIFF AND GOT THE PAPER."] "There," she said, going straight up to Lady Hartmore; "there's your letter--the last letter your son ever wrote to you. It was lost, or supposed to be lost, but I found it. I walked along the cliff, close to the edge--very close. There is a part where the cliff is undermined. I lay on my face and hands and looked over. I saw, far below me, a tiny ledge of rock: there was a bush growing there, and, sticking in the bush, something white--it might be a useless rag or a piece of torn paper, or it might be a letter of importance. The tide was coming in fast; still, I thought that I had time. I put wings to my feet and rushed down a narrow path which led to the beach below. The tide had already come up and was wetting the base of the rock above which the bush which contained the white paper stood. "I waded through the water and climbed the cliff and got the paper. I scrambled down again. When I came back the water was up to my knees. I crossed it safely, and mounted to the higher cliff again. Then, for the first time, I examined my prize. Yes, it was a letter--it was open. I don't know what had become of its covering. I sat on the grass and I read it--yes, I read every word. Here it is now, and you can read it. Read it aloud, please, for it is important--it explains, it saves! Ronald, it saves you!" Here the excited girl paused in her eager narrative, and turned her full gaze upon Carleton, who was bending forward to listen to her. "It saves you," she repeated; "it exonerates you completely!" The commotion and interest which Miss Farnham's words and manner excited can be better felt than described. Lady Hartmore stood up and confronted the breathless girl. She held out her hand and clutched the letter, which was torn and dirty from its long exposure to wind and weather. She held it close and looked at it. It was in the beloved writing of the dead. The dead man was her only son--the letter was addressed to her, his mother. It contained a last message from the brain now silent--from the heart now still. Tears filled her eyes. "I must read this letter in private," she faltered. "This last letter of my boy's is too sacred for anyone but his mother to hear--I must read it alone." "No," interrupted Miss Farnham, "it contains important information. I will call upon the coroner to insist on its being read aloud. I risked my life to get it. Another life hangs upon the information it contains. Dr. Halifax, you are a medical man--will you insist on this letter being read aloud?" I went up to Lady Hartmore and said something to her in a low voice. She listened attentively--she considered my words. After a pause she put the letter into my hands. "If it must be, it must," she said. "This is the last drop in the bitterness of my cup." She sat down, and flinging out her two arms, stretched them over the body of the dead man. Once more her attitude and manner reminded me of Rispah.