"Oh, you darling, I'm so glad!" cried Kathleen, springing to her friend's side and giving her a girlish hug. "That dear Loyal Graham! I always thought he was perfectly grand, and I know you will be happy with him. Does he _know_ yet, darling?" "Yes; and he is coming home to _me_;" and her soft blue eyes drooped with a loving smile to the dear letter. Ah, the gladness, ah, the madness, ah, the magic of a letter! And Helen recalled the beautiful lines of Adelaide Proctor: "Dear, I tried to write you such a letter As would tell you all my heart to-day. Written Love is poor; one word were better-- Easier, too, a thousand times, to say. "I can tell you all: fears, doubts unheeding, While I can be near you, hold your hand-- Looking right into your eyes, and reading Reassurance that you understand. "Yet I wrote it through; then lingered, thinking Of its reaching you--what hour, what day; Till I felt my heart and courage sinking With a strange, new, wondering dismay. "Then I leant against the casement, turning Tearful eyes towards the far-off west, Where the golden evening light was burning, Till my heart throbbed back again to rest. "And I thought: 'Love's soul is not in fetters, Neither space nor time keep souls apart; Since I cannot--dare not--send my letters, Through the silence I will send my heart. "'She will hear, while twilight shades infold her; All the gathered Love she knows so well-- Deepest love my words have ever told her, Deeper still--all I could never tell. "'Wondering at the strange, mysterious power That has touched her heart, then she will say: "Some one whom I love, this very hour Thinks of me and loves me far away."' "So I dreamed and watched the stars' far splendour Glimmering on the azure darkness start, While the star of trust rose bright and tender Through the twilight shadows of my heart." "I must go and tell mamma that I shall marry Loyal, after all," said the blushing Helen, gliding from the room; and then Kathleen turned to her other letter. It was superscribed in a strange hand--feminine, yet bold and dashing. "It is a strange hand," Kathleen said to herself, as she tore it open; but stranger yet were the words it contained--strange, few, mysterious: "If you wish to have full proof of the guilt or innocence of the man you love, come alone at twilight this evening to the old Cooper saw-mill, where I am dying. I can not survive the night. Do not hesitate about coming. I know that a beautiful young girl like you will do and dare all for love and happiness, and it is all-important that you should know what I have to tell you. If I die with the secret untold, you will forever rue it. Come without fail, secretly and _alone_. Destroy this letter. "ONE WHO KNOWS ALL."