Perhaps if Fate ever broke him on her wheel it was at that moment. His destiny was still in his own hands, and so was the letter. Unaddressed, it was his personal property. He could retain it if he chose, and the family mystery would darken into deeper gloom than ever. I felt my comfortable, commonplace heart beat rapidly. Our silence had passed the point of discomfort, and was fast reaching that of anguish, when the boy lifted his head manfully, dipped one of “The Happy Family's” new pens into a stately ink-bottle, and rapidly filled in the missing address upon the unfortunate letter. He handed it to me without a word. My eyes blurred when I read: “Personal. Miss Peggy Talbert, Eastridge. (Kindness of Miss Alice Talbert.)” “What shall I do with it?” I asked, controlling my agitation. “Deliver it to her, if you please, as quickly as possible. I thought of everything else. I never thought of this.” “Never thought of--” “That she might not have got it.” “Now then, Mr. Goward,” I ventured, still speaking very gently, “do you mind telling me what you took that 5.40 train for?” “Why, because I didn't get an answer from the letter!” exclaimed Harry, raising his voice for the first time. “A man doesn't write a letter such as that more than once in a lifetime. It was a very important letter. I told her everything. I explained everything. I felt I ought to have a hearing. If she wanted to throw me over (I don't deny she had the right to) I would rather she had taken some other way than--than to ignore such a letter. I waited for an answer to that letter until quarter-past five. I just caught the 5.40 train and went to my aunt's house, the one--you know my uncle died the other day--I have been there ever since. By-the-way, Mrs. Price, if anything else comes up, and if you have any messages for me, I shall be greatly obliged if you will take my address.” He handed me his card with an up-town street and number, and I snapped it into the inner pocket of my wallet. “Do you think,” demanded Harry Goward, outright, “that she will ever forgive me, REALLY forgive me?” “That is for you to find out,” I answered, smiling comfortably; for I could not possibly have Harry think that any of us--even an unpopular elder sister--could be there to fling Peggy at the young man's head. “That is between you and Peggy.” “When shall you get home with that letter?” demanded Harry. “Ask my husband. At a guess, I should say tomorrow.” “Perhaps I had better wait until she has read the letter,” mused the boy. “Don't you think so, Mrs. Price?” “I don't think anything about it. I will not take any responsibility about it. I have got the letter officially addressed, and there my errand ends.” “You see, I want to do the best thing,” urged Harry Goward. “And so much has happened since I wrote that letter--and when you come to think that she has never read it--”