I sat down and tore open the envelope. It was a long, heavy letter, closely written. I recognized the handwriting with a thrill of dread. With a sinking heart I turned over the pages, and saw "Lottie" written on the extreme corner of the last sheet. "Lottie!" and the letter dated in Paris! What could it mean? It was some moments before I composed myself sufficiently to make out the first few lines, though they were characteristic enough. "My very dear Miss Hyde," the letter began, "I a'n't much used to writing letters, and it seems to me as if this would be long and hard work; but things must be told, and if I don't write them, who will? "You thought hard of me, I dare say, for leaving you just as I did; but I thought just the other way about it, and haven't changed my mind yet. It was tough work, though, to get away from home and bid you both good-bye, as I did. I hope to goodness you will never have to go through with anything like it. I could not tell you then what it was that set me off; but I will now. "That very morning, before I came down on you for the money, the man from town brought over some things done up in a newspaper more than six weeks old, and in it I read that Mrs. Bab--I beg pardon--Madam Dennison had set sail in a steamboat for a place called Havre, across the Atlantic Ocean; I know more of places and things than you might believe. I was sure that Havre was in Europe, and knew well enough that Mr. Lee was there--a rich widower--with no one in the wide world to keep him from getting into scrapes. Of course, anybody that could see through a mill-stone might have known what that she-Bab--no, I mean that lady and servant--went to Havre for. "Well, I thought it all over, and made up my mind what to do. First, I concluded to keep a close mouth in regard to Miss Jessie, for I was sure that she would wilt right down; and as for you--well, no matter: that little secret lies between you and me. Silent was the word then; but I had made up my mind to travel, and was bound to do it. But people can't sail across oceans, and gulfs, and inlets, and such kind of waterworks, without money, and I hadn't but two half-dollars in the world. You know how I came down on you and the dear young lady like a roaring lion, and got that six hundred dollars; I'd rather have danced on red-hot coals an hour than do what I did. It was just highway burglary, and nothing less. I hate myself for it yet.