"Besides, he is our guest," she said, prompted by that old-fashioned feeling of honor which rendered the shelter of a friend's roof a sanctuary, "and he might have construed my grandson's words into a reproach; altogether, we thought it best to keep them apart." There was a mystery about all this that baffled me. Who could have written that letter brought by one of Mr. Lee's servants? Not Jessie, I was sure of that, for she never could have taken a step of so much importance thus privately. Besides, save for the brief time of Lawrence's visit that day, when, wounded and heart-sick, she left the house, and wandered off into the thickest of the woods, she had not been absent from her mother's room scarcely a moment. Mrs. Dennison had seen her passing through the outskirt of the woods, or she would never have ventured to call for her so loudly. All this I knew, but it was unnecessary; a thorough understanding of Jessie's character rendered conjectures regarding her part in this matter quite superfluous. But who had written the letter? and what was its import? Of course, my suspicions fell on that woman; but what was her object? Surely she was not anxious to ensnare this young man also--her vanity could not be so insatiable as that. Perhaps it was Mr. Lee; his handwriting was exquisitely clear and delicate as a woman's; what if his displeasure against our visit had been expressed here? But no, Mr. Lee was not a man to rudely force his anger into a sick-room. Again my thoughts fell back on the widow; what unprincipled work was she doing here? What benefit could she find in sowing discord upon that poor young man's pillow? Of course, one thinks rapidly, and all these broken ideas took but little time in flashing through my brain. The old lady stood with one hand on the back of her easy-chair, observing me with a troubled look. "You think the letter was not from your young friend?" she said, reading my thoughts with that subtile magnetism which is a part of true womanliness. "I am sure it was not, dear lady!" "Nor from her father?" "Not if it gave him pain; Mr. Lee is incapable of that." The old lady drew a deep breath, as if infinitely relieved, and sat down, spreading out her ample skirts mechanically after her usual dainty habit. "Miss Hyde," she said, with a little tremor of the voice, and a movement of the hands, which fell into her lap and clasped themselves nervously, "Miss Hyde, I am sure you are my poor boy's friend!" "I am indeed!" was my earnest response. "And you know--" "Yes, dear madam, all that an affectionate heart can learn by its own observation." "I have thought, perhaps," said the dear old lady, coloring as she spoke, "that Mr. Lee, with his enormous wealth, might have considered the modest property of my grandson insufficient, and for this reason have influenced his daughter."