It was but the work of a moment to unseal the envelope over the steam of a kettle. With feverish haste, she drew out its contents, and read, half aloud, with halting words: My Beloved Carl: I am home again with my mother, whom I found before the charred cross you had erected over what you thought was my grave. Dear heart, I was overjoyed to hear that you were alive. I had thought that the savage cavemen had done their worst to you. When they carried me away, and later while lying in their cave I prayed to God to receive your soul with mercy. But now I am thanking Him for having kept you alive. I can hardly believe it, darling. The cavemen held the slave-girl, Cintani and myself captives for several days, but Cintani, she is a clever one, managed to poison them, so that we escaped. On our way home we came across de Rochelle, who was almost dead with thirst and fever. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it, but I gave him water and helped him to his feet. He came along with us to the site of the burned cabin where mother was praying for me. At the sight of me, she fainted dead away. You can well imagine the shock it would be. De Rochelle has confessed that he set the place on fire, trying to help us, and that he followed the cavemen when they carried me off. This may be true, but I do not believe him. At any rate, he has promised to leave Timbuktoo as soon as he has sufficient strength to do so. So don’t worry about him, dear. “In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wild waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing Which speaks to my spirit of thee.” I shall write you more in a day or two. At present I am worn out and still too much excited in the happiness and knowledge that my Carl is still among the living. With heaps of love and kisses, Your Sana. To this letter was pinned a short note to the effect that, because of incorrect address on the first envelope, the letter had been returned to her after some seven weeks had passed, and that she had promptly readdressed it correctly and with the second sending had also dispatched a cablegram. Grace said to herself, “Poor thing, writing a wrong address on a letter to her lover. However, it finally found its destination. Here it is! And the cablegram!” As Grace read this loving message, her face grew livid and her eyes expanded and contracted in her rage. She rose up suddenly, exclaiming through quivering lips, “Why couldn’t she have died, or that caveman taken her. Then I should not have to suffer now. Then she would have been out of my way.” For an hour she sat in the chair, where she had thrown herself in a fit of rage, torturing herself with cruel thoughts. But finally the madness died down, and the look of hatred was replaced by one of utmost depression and despair.