THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF California State Library Pfe 18| THE PORTRAIT. THE DEAD LETTER AN AMERICAN ROMANCE. BY SEELKY REGESTER. YORK: BEADLE AND COMPANY, 118 WILLIAM STREET. 1867. Entered according to Act of Con?*. In the je*r 19M, by BEADLR AND COMPANY. In the Clerk'8 Office of the District Court of the United SUtM for th Southern District of Now York. CONTENTS PAKT I. CHAPTER I. THE LETTER, 9 CHAPTER II. EVENTS OF A NIGHT, 11 CHAPTER IH. THE FIGURE BENEATH THE TREES, 23 CHAPTER IV. MORELAND VILLA, - 34 CHAPTER V. MR. BURTON, THE DETECTIVE, .... 49 CHAPTER VI. Two LINKS IN THE CHAIN, ... - 72 CHAPTER VII. ELEANOR, - 86 CHAPTER VHI. THE HAUNTED GRAVE, .... - 94 CHAPTER IX. THE SPIDER AND THE FLY, - - - - 114 CHAPTER X. THE ANNIVERSARY, 132 CHAPTER XI. THE LITTLE GUEST AND THE APPARITION, - 154 CHAPTER XII. THE NIGHT IN MORELAND VILLA, - - - 176 CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW ASSUMES SHAPE, - - - 188 832734 VI CONTENTS. PART II. CHAPTER L THE LETTER, 199 CHAPTER II. OUR VISITS, 212 CHAPTER HI. THE CONFESSION, 228 CHAPTER IV. EMBARKED FOR CALIFORNIA, .... 243 CHAPTER V. ON THE TRAIL, 252 CHAPTER VI. AT LAST AT LAST, 261 CHAPTER VH. Now FOR HOME AGAIN, 278 CHAPTER VIII. THE RIPE HOUR, 383 CHAPTER IX. JOINING THE MISSING LINKS, - - - - 290 CHAPTER X. THE NEW LIFE, - 305 ILLUSTRATIONS. BAFFLED, 04 ELEANOR, 90 " WKI.I., HOW DO YOU LOUS MT LOOKS?" - 161 THE PORTRAIT Frontispiece, 183 IN THE OAK, ... % ... 223 "I NEVER ACCUSED YOU," .... 297 THE DEAD LETTER PART I. THE DEAD LETTER. CHAPTER I. THE LETTER. I PAUSED suddenly in my work. Over a yeai % 's experi- ence in the Dead Letter office had given a mechanical rapidity to my movements in opening, noting and clas- sifying the contents of the bundles before me ; and, so far from there being any thing exciting to the curiosity, or interesting to the mind, in the employment, it was of the most monotonous character. Young ladies whose love letters have gone astray, evil men whose plans have been confided in writing to their confederates, may feel but little apprehension of the prying eyes of the Department ; nothing attracts it but objects of material value sentiment is below par ; it gives attention only to such tangible interests as are represented by bank-bills, gold-pieces, checks, jewelry, miniatures, et cetera. Occasionally a grave clei'k smiles sardonically at the ridiculous character of some of the articles which come to light ; sometimes, perhaps, looks thoughtfully at a withered rosebud, or bunch of pressed violets, a homely little pin-cushion, or a book-mark, wishing it had reached its proper destina- tion. I can not answer for other employees, who may not have even this amount of heart and imagination to invest in the dull business of a Government office ; but when I was in the Department I was guilty, at inter- vals, of such folly yet I passed for the coldest, most cynical man of them all. The letter which 1 held in ray paralyzed fingers when they so abruptly ceased their dexterous movements, was contained in a closely-sealed envelope, yellowed by 10 DEAD LETTER. time, and directed in a peculiar hand to "John Owen, kill, New York," and the date on the stamp was "October 18th, 1857" making tin- letter tuo years old. I know not what mairnetism paved from it, putting me, as tin- spirituaii-ts -ay. // fifjmrt with it; I hail not yet cut the lappet ; ami tin- only thing I could fix upon as the cause of my attraction was that at the date indicated on the envelope, I had leen a. resident of niankville, twenty miles from IVekskill and something about that date ! this was 1. 1) excuse for my agitation ; I was not of an inquisitive disposition; nor did ''John <)\ven" belong to the circle of my acquaintance. I sat there with such a strange expression ujiou my lace, tliat ono of my fellows, remark'niLf my mood, exclaimed jest iii'_rly : "What is it, KedtiYM ? A check lor a hundred thoii<:. "I am sure I don't know; I haven't opened it." 1 answered, at random: and \\itli this I cut the \\rapper, impelled 1 iy some strongly-defined, irresistible iidhienr.' I o read ihe time-stained sheet inclosed. It ran in this \\ i^e : It's too bad to disappoint you. ('mild . r order, as e\ei\l.d\ concerneil will dici,\er. \\'liat a charmiiii.' day I- ^nod lor taking :i ]iicture. That old friend 1 iutrodnee.l \..M to tell talc*, and you had not better bother youisi-lf to vi^it him. The next time you find \nur-elf i'n his anus, don't t'ccl in his left-hand pocket lor the broken tooth- pick which I lent him. lie U welcome to it. If you're at the place of pmneiit, I shan't be there, not ha\iii fulfilled the order, and having LMVCII up m\ enii-iation project, much airain-t my will: so, ^"Nfi'ii \oiir-e!f accordingly. Sorry your p pt"r, and M ith the j. r i- lbl -teem. \X dl-appo'mted To explain why this brief epistle, neither lucid nor inteivMm;; iu it^-lf, shoiil.l all'ect me as it did. I must go back to the time at which it was written. A STOEM COMING UP. 11 CHAPTER II. EVENTS OF A 3TIGHT. IT was late in the afternoon of a cloudy, windy au- tumn day, that I left the office of John Argyll, Esq., in his company, to take tea and spend the evening in his family. I was a law-student in the office, and was favored with more than ordinary kindness by him, on account of a friendship that had existed between him and my deceased father. When young men, they had started out in life together, in equal circumstances ; one had died early, just as fortune began to smile ; the other lived to continue in well-earned prosperity. Mr. Argyll had never ceased to take. an interest in the orphan son of his friend. He had aided my mother in giving me a collegiate education, and had taken me into his office to complete my law studies. Although I did not board at his house, I was almost like a member of the family. There was always a place for me at his table, with lib- erty to come and go when I pleased. This being Sat- urday, I was expected to go home with him, and stay over Sunday if I liked. "We quickened our steps as a few large drops were sprinkled over us out of the darkening clouds. " It will be a rainy night," said Mr. Argyll. " It may clear away yet," I said, looking toward a rift in the west, through which the declining sun was pouring a silver stream. He shook his head doubtfully, and we hurried up the steps into the house, to escape the threatened drenching. Entering the pai'lors, we found no one but James, a nephew of Mr. Argyll, a young man of about my own age, lounging upon a sofa. 19 THE DEAD LETTER. ' Where are the girls ?" "They haven't descended from the heavenly regions yet, uncle." "Dressing themselves to death, I expect it's Satur- day evening, 1 remember," smiled the indulgent father, _C on into the library. I >at down by the west window, ami looked out at the coming storm. I did not like James Argyll much, nor lie me; s> that, as much as we were thrown tar, our intercourse continue, 1 constrained. On this occasion, ho\\ever, he seemed in excellent spirits, tint: in talking on all kinds of indifferent subjects of my lrief replies. I was wondering when r \\ould make her appearance. ie came. I heard Jier silk dress rustle down ujion her when she- entered the room. She was dressed with unusual care, ami her face wore a brilliant, expectant smile. The smi ; - for neither of us. Perhaps James thought of it ; I am sure I did, with secret suffering with a sharp pantr, which I was ashamed of, and fought inwardly to conquer. She spoke plea-anllv to both of us. but \\ith a pie- oceiipied ;iir not Haltering t<> our vanity. Too r, to sit. she paced up and down tin- length of the parlors, ing to radiate light as'she walked, like M.nie superb -so lustrous was her countenance and so line her costume. Little smiles would sparkle about her lips, little trills of song break forth, as if she were uncon- scious of observer^. She had a right to be triad ; s),e appeared to exult in her own beauty and h:i|>p Presently she came to the windou. and as she stood by my side, a burst of glory streamed through the fastr rlo-ing clonds. enveloping her in a golden atmosphere, tinting her black hair with purple, tlu-hing her clear cheeks and the pearls about her throat. The fragrance VEXATION. 13 of the rose she wore on her breast mingled with the light ; for a moment I was thrilled and overpowered ; but the dark-blue eyes were not looking on me they were regarding the weather. " How provoking that it should rain to-night," she said, and as the slight cloud of vexation swept over her face, the blackness of night closed over the gleam of sunset, so suddenly that we could hardly discern each other. " The rain will not keep Moreland away," I answered. " Of course not but I don't want him to get wet walking up from the depot ; and Billy has put up the carriage in view of the storm." At that moment a wild gust of wind smote the house so that it shook, and the rain came down with a roar that was deafening. Eleanor rung for lights. " Tell cook to be sure and have chocolate for supper and cream for the peaches," she said to the servant who came in to light the gas. The girl smiled ; she knew, in common with her mis- tress, who it was preferred chocolate and liked cream with peaches ; the love of a woman, however sublime in some of its qualities, never fails in the tender domes- tic instincts which delight in promoting the comfort and personal tastes of its object. " We need not have troubled ourselves to wear our new dresses," pouted Mary, the younger sister, who had followed Eleanor down stairs " there will be nobody here to-night." Both James and myself objected to being dubbed nobody. The willful young beauty said all the gay things she pleased, telling us she certainly should not have worn her blue silks, nor puffed her hair for us " Nor for Henry Moreland either he never looks at me after the first miaute. Engaged people are So stupid ! 14 THI DKAD LETTER. I wish he and Eleanor would make an end of it. If I'm ever going to be bridemaid, I want to be " "And a clear field afterward. Miss Molly," j her cousin. "X)omc! play that new polka for me." " You couldn't hear it it' I did. Tin- rain is playing a polka this evening, and tin- wind is dancing t<> it." ll<- laughed loudly more loudly than the idle fancy warranted. "Let us see if we can not make more noise than the storm," he said, going to the piano and thumping out the most thunderous piece that he could recall. I was not a musician, but it seemed to mo there were more discords than the law of harmony allowed: and Mary put her hands over her ears, and ran away to the end of the room. For the next half-hour the rain came down in wide sheets, flapping against the windows, as the wind blew it hither and thither. .lames continued at the piano, and Kleanor moved restlessly about, stealing glances, now and then, at her tiny watch. All at once there occurred one of those pauses which precede the fresh outbreaking of a storm ; a^ it' startled by the sudden lull, .Fames Argyll paused in his playing; just then the shrill whistle of the locomotive j the silence with more than usual power, as the evening train swept around the eiir\ c of the hill not a quarter of a mile away, and rushed on into the depot in the lou, r part of the village. Then- is something unearthly in the scream of the "steam-eagle," especially when heard at night. Ho like a sentient thin^, with a will of his own, un- bending and irresistible; and his cry ia threatening and defiant. This night it rose upon the storm pro- longed and doleful. I know not how it sounded to the others, but to me, whose imagination was already wrought upon by the tempest and by the presence of the woman I hopelessly A HOPELESS LOVE. 15 loved, it came with an effect perfectly overwhelming ; it filled the air, even the perfumed, lighted air of the parlor, full of a dismal wail. It threatened I know not what. It warned against some strange, unseen disaster. Then it sunk into a hopeless cry, so full of mortal anguish, that I involuntarily put my fingers to my ears. Perhaps James felt something of the same thing, for he started from the piano-stool, walked twice or thrice across the floor, then flung himself again upon the sofa, and for a long time sat with his eyes shaded, neither speaking nor stirring. Eleanor, with maiden artifice, took up a book, and composed herself to pretend to read ; she would not have her lover to know that she had been so restless while awaiting his coming. Only Mary fluttered about like a humming-bird, diving into the sweets of things, the music, the flowers, whatever had honey in it ; and teasing me in the intervals. I have said that I loved Eleanor. I did, secretly, in silence and regret, against my judgment and will, and because I could not help it. I Avas quite certain that James loved her also, and I felt sorry for him ; sympa- thy was taught me by my own sufferings, though I had never felt attracted toward his character. He seemed to me to be rather sullen in temper, as well as selfish; and then again I reproached myself for uncharitable- ness ; it might have been his circumstances which rendered him morose he was dependent upon his uncle and his uuhappiness which made him appear unamiable. I loved, without a particle of hope. Eleanor was engaged to a young gentleman in every way worthy of her : of fine demean^, high social position, and un- blemished moral character. As much as her many admirers may have envied Henry Moreland, they could not dislike him. To see the young couple together 16 THE DEAD LETTER. was to feel that theirs would be one of those " matches made in heaven " in age, character, worldly circum- stances, beauty and cultivation, there was a rare corre- spondence. Mr. Moreland was engaged with his father in a bank- ing business in the city of Xew York. They owned a summer villa in Blankville, and it had been during his week of summer idleness here that he had made the :ic|uaintance of Klcanor Argyll. At this season of the year his business kept him in the city; but he was in the habit of coming out every Saturday afternoon and spending Sabbath at the house .f Mr. Argyll, the marriage which was to terminate a betrothal of nearly two years bein^i now not very far away. On her nineteenth birthday, which came in iber, Klcanor was to be married. Another half-hour passed away and the e\| guest did not arrhe. He usually reached the h<>u-e in fifteen minutes after the arrival of the train ; I could see that his betrothed was playing nervously with her watch-chain, though she kept her eyes fixed upon her book. *'Come, let us have tea; I am hungry." said .Mr. Argyll, coming out of the library. u I had a long ride dinner. No use waiting, Klcanor he won't be here to-night" he pinched her check to c\piv-s his sympathy f>r her disappointment " a little slmwer didn't use to keep l>eaux away when I was a boy." "A little rain, papa! I never heard such a torrent before; besides, it wtis not the storm, of course, f..r he would have already taken the cars bet'.. re it commenced." "To be sure! to be sure! defend your sweetheart, Klla that's right! ifut it n%y have been raining down there half the day the storm comes from that direction. James, are you asleep ?" I'll toon tee," cried Mary, pulling away the hand NO LETTEK. 17 from her cousin's face " why, James, what is the matter ?" Her question caused us all to look at him ; his face was of an ashy paleness ; his eyes burning like coals of fire. " Nothing is the matter ! I've been half asleep," he answered, laughing, and springing to his feet. " Molly, shall I have the honor ?" she took his offered arm, and we went in to tea. The sight of the well-ordered table, at the head of which Eleanor presided, the silver, the lights, the odor of the chocolate overpowering the fainter fragrance the tea, was enough to banish thoughts of the tern raging without, saving just enough consciousness of it to enhance the enjoyment of the luxury within. Even Eleanor could not be cold to the warmth and comfort of the hour ; the tears, which at first she could hardly keep out of her proud blue eyes, went back to their sources ; she made an effort to be gay, and suc- ceeded in being very charming. I think she still hoped he had been delayed at the village; and that there would be a note for her at the post-office, explaining his absence. For once, the usually kind, considerate girl was self- ish. Severe as was the storm, she insisted upon send- ing a servant to the office ; she could not be kept in suspense until Monday. She would hardly believe his statement, upon his re- turn, that the mail had been changed, and there was really no message whatever. We went back to the parlor and passed a merry evening. A touch of chagrin, a fear that we should suspect how deeply she was disappointed, caused Eleanor to appear in unusually high spirits. She sung whatever I asked of her ; she played some delicious music ; she 18 Till: DEAD LETTER. parried the wit of others with keener and brighter rep- artee ; the roses bloomed on her cheeks, the stare rose in her eyes. It was not an altogether happy excite- ment ; I knew that pride and lorn-lines* were at the bot- tom of it ; but it made her brilliantly beautiful. I wondered what Moreland would feel to see her so lovely I almost regretted that he \vas not there. James, too, was in an exultant mood. It was late when we retired. I was in a state of mental activity which kept me awake for hours after. I never heard it rain as it did that night the water to come down in solid ina^-i > ami, occasion- ly, the wind shook the strong mansion as if it wen- :i child. I could not sleep. There was something awful in 'he storm. If I had had a touch of superstition vbout me, I should have said that spirits were abroad. A healthy man, of a somewhat vivid imagination, but without nervousness, unknowing bodily fear, I was still affected strangely. I shuddered in my soft bed ; the wild shriek of the locomotive lingered in my ears; something beside* rain seemed bmtuxj torm of that miserable night. When discovered by the lii>t pa--cr-by. alter daylight, lie uas lv'ni'4 on the path, by the side of the street, which led up in the direction of Mr. Argyll's, his trav- eling-bag bv his side, hi- face to the ground. The bag WH8 not touched, neither the watch and money on his person, making it evident that robbery \\as not the ob- ject of the murderer. A Stab in the back, in the double darkness <>f night and storm ! What enemy had Henry Morclaiid. to do this deed upon him ? It is useless HOW to repeat all the var\ MIL: conjectures in our minds, or which continued to engross tin- entire comimmity for weeks then-after. It became at A PAINFUL DUTY. 21 once the favorite theory of many that young Moreland had perished by a stroke intended for some other per- son. In the mean time, the news swept through the village like a whirlwind, destroying the calmness of that Sabbath morning, tossing the minds of people more fearfully than the material tempest had tossed the frail leaves. Murder ! and^such a murder in such a place ! not twenty rods from the busiest haunts of men, on a peaceful street sudden, sure, unprovoked ! People looked behind them as they walked, hearing the assas- sin's step in every rustle of the breeze. Murder ! the far-away, frightful idea had suddenly assumed a real shape it seemed to have stalked through the town, entering each dwelling, standing by every hearth-stone. While the inquest was proceeding, Mr. Argyll and myself were thinking more of Eleanor than of her mur- dered lover. " This is wretched business, Richard," said the father. " I am so unnerved I can do nothing. Will you tele- graph to his parents for me ?" His parents here was more misery. I had not thought of them. I wrote out the dreadful message which it ought to have melted the wires with pity to carry. " And now you must go to Eleanor. She must not hear it from strangers ; and I can not Richard ! you will tell her, will you not ? I will follow you home immediately ; as soon as I have made arrangements to have poor Henry brought to our house when the in- quest is over." He wrung my hand, looking at me so beseechingly, that, loth as I was, I had no thought of refusing. I felt like one walking with frozen feet as I passed out of the chamber of horror into the peaceful sunlight, along the very path he had last trodden, and over the spot where he had fallen and had lain so many hours 22 THE DEAD LETTER. undiscovered, around which a crowd was pressing, dis- turbcd, excited, but not noisy. Tlie s.-mdy soil had already filtered the rain, FO as to be nearly dry; there w.i< nothing to give a clue to the murderer's footsteps whither he went or whence he came what impn they illicit have made in the hard, gravelly walk had been washed out by the storm. A few persons were 'ling carefully for the weapon which had been the instrument of death, and which had been broken in the wound, thinking it might have been cast away in the vicinity. THE OLD MANSION. 23 CHAPTER III. THE FIGURE BENEATH THE TREES. As I came near the old Argyll mansion, it seemed to me never to have looked so fair before. The place was the embodiment of calm prosperity. Stately and spa- cious it rose from the lawn in the midst of great old oaks \yhose trunks must have hardened through a cen- tury of growth, and whose red leaves, slowly dropping, now flamed in the sunshine. Although the growing village had stretched up to and encircled the grounds, it had still the air of a country place, for th6 lawn was roomy and the gardens were extensive. The house was built of stone, in a massive yet graceful style; with such sunshiny windows and pleasant porticoes that it had nothing of a somber look. It is strange what opposite emotions will group themselves in the soul at the same moment. The sight of those lordly trees called up the exquisite picture of Tennyson's " Talking Oak" : " Oh, muffle round thy knees with fern, And shadow Sumner-chace ! Long may thy topmost branch discern The roofs of Sumner-place !" I wondered if Henry had not repeated them, as he walked with Eleanor amid the golden light and flicker- ing shadows beneath the branches of these trees. I. re- called how I once, in my madness, before I knew that she was betrothed to another, had apostrophized the monarch of them all, in the passionate words of Walter. Now, looking at this ancient tree, I perceived with my eyes, though hardly with my mind, that it had some fresh excoriations upon the bark. If I thought any thing at all about it, I thought it the work of the storm, 24 THK DEAD LETTER. for numerous branches had been torn from the trees throughout the grove, and the ground was car] with fresh-fallen leaxes. Passing up the walk, I caught a glimpse of Eleanor at an upper window, and heard her singing a hymn, softly to herself, as she moved about her chamber. I stopped as if struck a blow. How could I force my- self to drop the pall over this glorious morning ? Alas ! of all the homes in that village, perhaps this was the only one on which the shadow had not yet fallen this, over which it was to settle, to l.e lifted never- more. Of all the hearts as yet unstartled by the tragic was that most certain to be withered that young heart, this moment so full of love and bliss, caroling hymns out of the fullness of its gratitude to God for its own delicious happiness. Oh, I must I must ! I went in at an open window, from a portico into the library. James was tin-re, dressed for church, 1 1 is prayer-lunik and handkerchief on the table, ami lie looking over the la>t c\ ci.it: The sight of him gave me a slight relief; his uncle ami myself had forgotten him in Uie mi.lst of our distress. It was bad enough to have to tell any One such news, 1 nit any delay in meet ing Kleanor was eagerly welcomed. He looked at me inquiringly ray manner was enough to denote that something had wrong. -What is it, Richard?" " Horrible most horrible !" " For heaven'* sake, what is the matter ?" i eland has been murdered." "Mordand! What? Where? Whom do they suspect ?" - And her father wishes me to tell Kleanor. You are her cousin, James ; will you not be the fittest |..-t>on ?" ELEANOB. 25 the hope crossing me that he would undertake the de- livery of the message. " IT he exclaimed, leaning against the case of books beside him. " I ! oh, no, not I. I'd be the last person ! I'd look well telling her about it, wouldn't I ?" and he half laughed, though trembling from head to foot. If I thought his manner strange, I did not wonder at it the dreadful nature of the shock had unnerved all of us. " Where is Mary ?" I asked ; " we had better tell her first, and have her present. Indeed, I wish " I had turned toward the door, which opened into the hall, to search for the younger sister, as I spoke ; the words died on my lips. Eleanor was standing there. She had been coming in to get a book, and had evi- dently heard what had passed. She was as white as the morning dress she wore. " Where is he ?" Her voice sounded almost natural. " At the Eagle Hotel," I answered, without reflec- tion, glad that she showed such self-command, and, since she did, glad also that the terrible communication was over. She turned and ran through the hall, down the avenue toward the gate. In her thin slippers, her hair uncov- ered, fleet as a vision of the wind, she fled. I sprung after her. It would not do to allow her to shock her- self with that sudden, awful sight. As she rushed out upon the street I caught her by the arm. " Let me go ! I must go to him ! Don't you see, he will need me ?" She made an effort to break away, looking down the street with strained eyes. Poor child ! as if, he being dead, she could do him any good ! Her stunned heart had as yet gone no further than that if Henry was hurt, was murdered, he would need her by his side. She must eo to him and comfort him in his calamity. It 2 26 THB DEAD LETTER. was yet to teach her that this world and the things of this world even she, herself, were no more to him. " Come back, Eleanor ; they will bring him to you before long." I had to lift her in my arms and carry her back to the house. In the hall we met Mary, who had heard the story from James, and who burst into tears and sobs as she Baw her sister. " They are keeping me away from him," said Elea- nor, pitifully, looking at her. I felt her form relax in my arms, saw that she had fainted ; James :ml 1 car- ried her to a sofa, while Mary ran distractedly for the housekeeper. There was noisy wailing now in the mansion ; the servants all admired and liked the young gentleman to whom their mistress was to be manicd ; atul, as usual, they gave full scope to their powers of expressing ter- ror and sympathy. In the midst of cries and tears, the insensible girl was conveyed to her chamber. James and myself paced the long halls and porticoes, waiting to hear tidings of her recovery. After a time the housekeeper came down, informing us that Miss Argyll had come to her senses; Ka-t \\ix-, cnouu r li to open her eyes and look about; but she wouldn't speak, and she looked dreadful. Just then .Mr. Argyll came in. After liriiiLT inform.'. 1 of what had occurred, he went up to his daughter's room. With uttermost tenderness he gave her the do- tails of the murder, as they were known ; his eyes over- running with tears to see that not a drop of moi softened her fixed, unnatural look. Friends came in and went out with no notice from her. "I wish they would all leave me but you. .Mary," he said, after a time. Father, you will let me know WHO WAS SHE? 27 " Yes yes." He kissed her, and she was left with her sister for a watcher. Hours passed. Some of us went into the dining- room and drank of the strong tea which the house- keeper had prepared, for we felt weak and unnerved. The parents were expected in the evening train, there being but one train running on Sunday. The shadow deepened over the house from hour to hour. It was late in the afternoon before the body could be removed from the hotel where the coroner's inquest was held. I asked James to go with me and attend upon its conveyance to Mr. Argyll's. He declined, upon the plea of being too much unstrung to go out. As the sad procession reached the garden in front of the mansion with its burden, I observed, in the midst of several who had gathered about, a woman, whose face, even in that time of preoccupation, arrested my attention. It was that of a girl, young and handsome, though now thin and deadly pale, with a wild look in her black eyes, which were fixed upon the shrouded burden with more than awe and curiosity. . I know not yet why I remarked her so particularly; why her strange face made such an impression on me. Once she started toward us, and then shrunk back again. By her dress and general appearance she might have been a shop-girl. I had never seen her before. " That girl," said a gentleman by my side, " acts queerly. And, come to think, she was on the train from New York yesterday afternoon. Not the one poor Moreland came in ; the one before. I was on board myself, and noticed her particularly, as she sat facing me. She seemed to have some trouble on her mind." I seldom forget faces ; and I never forgot hers. " I will trace her out," was my mental resolve. We passed on into the house, and deposited our charge in the back parlor. I thought of Eleanor, as 28 THE DEAD LETTER. she had walked this room just twenty-four hours ago, a brilliant vision of love and triumphant beauty. A\ ! twenty-four hours ago this clay before me \\a> splendent with life, as eager, a> plowing with the hope of the soul within it ! Now, all the hours of time would never restore the tenant to his tenement. Who had dared to take upon himself the responsibility of unlaw- fully and with violence, ejecting this human soul from its house ? I shuddered as I asked myself the question. Some- where must be lurking a guilty creature, with a heart on.iire from the flames of hell, with- which it had put itself in contact. Then my heart stood still within me all but the family had been b.-mished from the apartment her father was leading in Kleanor. With a slow step, cling- ing to his arm, sin- entered ; but as her eyes ti\rd them- I upon the rigid outlines lying there beneath the funeral pall, she sprung forward, casting hei>elf upon her lover's corpse. Before, she had been silent ; now began a murmur of woe so heart-rending that w- who listeiu-d wished onrsch cs deaf before our ears h:id heard and sentences which could nc\er be f.. rotten. It would IHJ useless for me, a man, with a man's lan- guage and thoughts, to attempt to repeat what this broken-hearted woman said to her dead It was not her words so much as it was her pathetic tones. She talked to him as if he were alive and could hear her. She was resolved to make him hear and feel her love through the dark death which was between them. "Ah, Henry," she said, in a low, caressing tone, pressing back the curls from his forehead with her hand, " your hair is wet still. To think that you should lie, out there all night all night on the ground, in the rain, and I not knov of it ! I, to be sleeping in my CEAZED. 29 warm bed actually sleeping, and you lying out in the storm, dead. That is the strangest thing ! that makes me wonder to think I could! Tell me that you for- give me for that, darling for sleeping, you know, when you were out there. I was thinking of you when I took the rose out of my dress at night. I dreamed of you all night, but if I had known where you were, I would have gone out barefooted, I would have stayed by you and kept the rain from your face, from your dear, dear hair that I like so much and hardly ever dare to touch. It was cruel of me to sleep so. Would you guess, I was vexed at you last evening because you didn't come ? It was that made me so gay not be- cause I was happy. Vexed at you for not coming, when you could not come because you were dead !" and she laughed. As that soft, dreadful laughter thrilled through the room, with a groan Mr. Argyll arose and went out ; he could bear no more. Disturbed with a fear that her reason was shaken, I spoke with Mary, and we two tried to lift her up, and persuade her out of the room. " Oh, don't try to get me away from him again," she pleaded, with a quivering smile, which made us sick. " Don't be troubled, Henry. I'm not going I'm not! They are going to put my hand in yours and bury me with you. It's so curious I should have been playing the piano and wearing my new dress, and never guessing it ! that you were so near rne dead murdered !" The kisses ; the light, gentle touches of his hands and forehead, as if she might hurt him Avith the caresses which she could not withhold ; the intent look which continually watched him as if expecting an answer; the miserable"smile upon her white face these were things which haunted those who saw them through many a future slumber. 30 THB DEAD LETTEB. " You will not say you forgive me for singing last night. You don't say a word to me because you are dead that's it because you are dead murdered !" The echo of her own last word recalled her wander- ing reason. " My God ! murdered !" she exclaimed, suddenly rising to her full hight, with an awful air ; " who do you suppose did it ?" Her cousin was standing near; her eyes fell upon him as she asked the question. The look, the manner, were too much for his already overwrought sensibility ; he shrunk away, caught my arm,' and sunk down, insensible. I did not wonder. We all of us felt as if we could endure no more. Coins; to the family phy>ician, who waited in another apartment, I begged of him to use some influence to withdraw 1 from the room, and quiet her feelings and memory, before her brain yielded to the strain upon it. After giving us some directions what to do with James, he went and talked with her, witli so much wisdom and tact, that the danger to her r. seemed pacing ; persuading her also into taking the powder which he himself administered ; but no argu- ment could induce her to leave the mute, unans\\ering clay. The arrival of the relatives was the last scene in tlio tragedy of that day. Unable to lx?ar more of it, I \\t ilo.n- we came upon. It wasopem-d by a decent-appearing middle-a.^ed woman, who held the knob in her hand while she waited for us to make known our errand; we both stepped into her apart- ment, before we spoke. A rapid glance revealed an innocent-looking room with the ordinary furniture of such a place a cooking-stove, bed, table, etc. ; but no other inmate. There was a cupboard, the door of which stood open, showing its humble array of dishes and eatables there were no pantries, nor cither pla , concealment, I was certain that I had seen the girl enter this room at the head of the stairs, so I vcutun ! : " Is your daughter at home, ma'.. " Is it my niece you mean ?" I detected an Irish accent, though the woman spoke MKS. SULLIVAN. 35 with but little " brogue," and was evidently an old resi- dent of our country in a manner Americanized. " Oh, she is your niece ? I suppose so a tall girl with dark eyes and hair." " That's Leesy, herself. Was you wanting any work done ?" " Yes," answered the officer, quickly, taking the mat- ter out of my hands. " I wanted to get a set of shirts made up six, with fine, stitched bosoms." He had no- ticed a cheap sewing-machine standing near the win- dow, and a bundle of coarse muslin in a basket near by. " It's sorry I am to disappoint you ; but Leesy's not with me now, and I hardly venture on the fine work. I make the shirts for the hands about the railroad that hasn't wives of their own to do it but for the fine bus- sums" doubtfully " though, to be sure, the machine does the stitches up beautiful if it wasn't for the but- ton-holes !" " Where is Leesy ? Doesn't she stop with you ?" " It's her I have here always when she's out of a place. She's an orphan, poor girl, and it's not in the blood of a Sullivan to turn off their own. I've brought her up from a little thing of five years old given her the education, too. She can read and write like the ladies of the land." " You didn't say where she was, Mrs. Sullivan." " She's making the fine things in a fancy-store in New York caps and collars and sleeves and the beautiful tucked waists she's such taste, and the work is not so hard as plain-sewing four dollars a week she gets, and boarded for two and a half, in a nice, genteel place. She expects to be illivated to the forewoman's place, at seven dollars the week, before many months. She was here to stay over the Sunday with me she often does that ; and she's gone back by the six o'clock train this mornin' and she'll be surely late at that by an hour- 86 THE DEAD LETTER. I tried to coax her to stay the day, she seemed so poorly. She's not been herself this lone: time she seems goin' in a decline like it's the stooping over the needle, I think. She's eo nervine-like, the news of the murder yesterday almost killed her. 'Twas an awful deed that, wasn't it, gintlemen ? I couldn't sleep a, wink last night for thinkin' of that poor young man and the sweet lady he was to have married. Such a fine, generous, polite young gintleman 1" " Did you know him ?" " Know him ! as well as my own son if I had one ! not that ever I spoke to him, but he's passed here often on his way to his father's house, and t<> Mr. Argyll's; and Lecsy sewed in their family tlu-M- two summers when they've been here, and was alu paid. When she'd iro away he'd say, laughing in \\\* beauti- ful way, 'And how much have y.-u earned a day, .Mi-s Sullivan, sitting there all these long, hot hours ?' and she'd answer, 'Fifty rents a day, and thanks to your mother for the good pay;' and he'd put his hand in his pocket and pull out a ten-dollar gold-piece and say, 1 Women aren't half paid for their work! it's a shame! it' \oii hain't earned a dollar a da\ . .Mi> Sullivan, you hain't earned a cent. So don't be afraid to take it it's your due.' And that's what made Leesy think so much of him he was so thoughtful of the poor God bless him ! How could anybody have the heart to do it!" I looked at the officer and found his eyes reading my One thought had evidently flashed over both of i'lit it wa a suspicion which wmn j,-d the immaeu- mem*ry of Henry Moreland, and I, for my part, b:inihed it as soon as it entered my n .' 1 him to pay generously the labors of girl; it was not like him to take any advantage of her ignorance or gratitude, which might result in her takiui: THE SEWING-GIKL. 87 such desperate revenge for her wrongs. The thought was an insult to him and to the noble woman who was to have been his wife. I blushed at the intrusive, un- welcome fancy ; but the officer, not knowing the de- ceased as I knew him, and, perhaps, having no such exalted idea of manhood as mine, seemed to feel as if here might be a thread to follow. " Leesy thought much of him, you think, Mrs. Sulli- van," taking a chair unbidden, and putting on a friendly, gossiping air. " Everybody speaks well of him. So she sewed in the family ?" " Six weeks every summer. They was always satis- fied with her sewing she's the quickest and neatest hand with the needle ! She'd make them shirts of yours beautiful, if she was to home, sir." " When did she go to New York to live ?" " Last winter, early. It's nearly a year now. There was something come across her she appeared homesick like, and strange. When she said she meant to go to the city and get work, I was minded to let her go, for I thought the change mebbe would do her good. But she's quite ailing and coughs dreadful o' nights. I'm afraid she catched cold in that rain-storm night afore last ; she came up all the way from the depot in it. She was wet to the skin when she got here and as white as a sheet. She was so weak-like that when the neigh r bors came in with the news yesterday, she gave a scream and dropped right down. I didn't wonder she was took aback. I ain't got done trembling yet my- self." I remembered the gentleman who had first spoken to me about the girl said that she had come in on the morn- ing train Saturday ; I could not reconcile this with her coming up from the depot at dark ; yet I wished to put my question in such a way as not to arouse suspicion of my motive. 38 THE DEAD LETTER. " If she came in the six o'clock train she must have been on the same train with Mr. Moreland." " I believe she was in the seven o'clock cars yes, she was. *Twas hall-past seven when she got in the rain was pouring down awful. She didn't see him, for I asked her yesterday." " In whose shop in New York is she employed ?" inquired the officer. " She's at No 3 Broadway,'' naming a store some- where between Wall street and Canal. " Are you wanting her for any thing ?" she asked, suddenly, looking up sharply as if it just occurred to her that our inquiries were rather pointed. " Oh, no," replied my companion, rising ; " I was a bit tired, and thought I'd rest my feet before starting out again. I'll thank you for a glass of water, Mrs. Sullivan. So yon won't undertake the shirts ?" 44 If I thought I could do the button-holes " " Perhaps your niece could do them on her next visit, if you wanted the job," I suggested. " Why, so she could ! and would be glad to do some- thing for her old aunt. It's bright you are to put me in iniiul of it. Shall I come lor (he work, sir?" " I'll send it round when I get it ready. I suppose your niece intends to visit you next Saturday ?" " Well, ra'ly, I can't say. It's too expensive her coming every week ; but, she'll sure be here afore the whole six is complate. Good-morn'm', trintlemen and they's heard nothin' of the murderer, I'll warrant ?" We responded that nothing had been learnetl. and descending to the street, it was arranged, as we walked along, that the officer should go to New York and j>ut some detective there on the track of Leesy Sullivan. I informed my companion of the discrepancy between her actual arrival in town and her appearance at her aunt's. Either the woman had purposely deceived us, or her SUSPICIONS. 39 niece had not gone home for a good many hours after landing at Blankville. I went with him to the depot, where we made a few inquiries which convinced us that she had arrived on Saturday morning, and sat an hour or two in the ladies' room, and then gone away up town. There was sufficient to justify our looking further. I took from my own pocket means to defray the ex- penses of the officer as well as to interest the New York detective, adding that liberal rewards were about to be offered, and waited until I saw him depart on his errand. Then, turning to go to the office, my heart so sicken- ed at the idea of business and the ordinary routine of living in the midst of such misery, that my footsteps shrunk aAvay from their familiar paths ! I could do nothing, just then, for the aid or comfort of the afflicted. Tho body was to be taken that afternoon to the city for interment, the next day, in the family inclosm-e at Greenwood ; until the hour for its removal, there was nothing more that friendship could perform in the ser- vice of the mourners. My usual prescription for mental ailments was a long and vigorous walk ; to-day I felt as if I could breathe only in the wide sunshine, so cramped and chilled were my spirits. The summer residence of the Morelands lay about a mile beyond the Argyll mansion, out of the village proper, on a hillside, which sloped down to the river. It was surrounded by fine grounds, and commanded one of the loveliest views of the Hudson. " A spirit in my feet Led me, who knows how?" in the direction of this now vacant and solitary place solitary, I believed, with the exception of the gardener and his wife, who lived in a cottage back of the gar- dens, and who remained the year round, he to attend to out-door matters, and she to give housekeeper's care to the closed mansion. 40 THE DEAD LETTER. The place had never looked more beautiful to rae, not even in the bloom of its June fbliftg6 and flowers, than it did as I approached it on this occasion. The frosts had turned to every gorgeous color the top- of the trees which stood out here and there; back of the house, and extending down toward the southern irate, by which I entered, a grove of maples and elms glowed in the autumn sunshine; the lawn in front sloped down to the water's edge, which tlowed by in a blue and lordly stream, bearing on its broad ln>om picturesque white ships. In the garden, through which now walking, many brilliant flowers still lingered : asters, gold, pink and purple ; chrysanthemums; some dahlias which had been covered from the frost ; panics lurking under their broad leaves. It had been the in- tention of the young couple to make this their perma- nent home after their marriage, going to the city only for a couple of the winter months. The very next week. I had heard, Eleanor expected to go down to help Henry in his selection of new furniture. Here the mansion lay, bathed in the rich sunshine ; the garden sparkled with llo \\ers a the river with ripples, so full, as it were, of consciou>, joy on - while the master of all lay in a darkened room await- ing his narrow coffin, \c\cr had the uncertainty of human purposes BO impressed me .-^ when I looked abroad over that stately residence and thought of the prosperous future which had come to so awful a stand- still. I gathered a handful of pansies they Eleanor's favorites. As I approached the IIOUM- by the garden, I came nearly upon the portico which extended acres- :n front before I perceived that i 1 occupied. Sitting on its outer edge, with one arm half wound around one of its pillars, and her bonnet in the- grass at her feet, I beheld the sewing-girl after whom I had dispatched an officer to Now York. She A STUDY. 41 did not perceive me, and I had an opportunity of study- ing the face of the woman who had fallen under my suspicion, when she was unaware that my eye was upon it, and when her soul looked out of it, unvailed, in the security of solitude. The impression which she made upon me was that of despair. It was written on attitude and expression. It was neither grief nor remorse it was blank despair. It must have been half an hour that I remained quiet, watching her. In all that time she never stirred hand nor eyelid ; her glance was upon the greensward at her feet. When I turn to that page of my memoi-y, I see her, photo- graphed, as it were, upon it every fold of the dai'k dress, which was some worsted substance, frayed, but neat ; the black shawl, bordered, drawn close about the slen- der shoulders, which had the slight, habitual stoop of those who ply the needle for a living ; the jetty hair pushed back from her forehead, the marble whiteness and rigidity of the face and mouth. It was a face made to express passion. And, although the only passion expressed now was that of despair, so intense that it grew like apathy, I could easily see how the rounded chin and full lips could melt into softer moods. The forehead was rather low, but fair, consorting with the oval of the cheek and chin ; the brows dark and rather heavy. I remembered the wild black eyes which I had seen the previous day, and could guess at their hidden fires. This was a girl to attract interest at any time, and I mutely wondered what had entangled the threads of her fate in the glittering web of a higher fortune, which was now suddenly interwoven 'with- the pall of death. All her movements had been such as to con- firm my desire to ascertain her connection, if any, with the tragedy. It seemed to me that if I could see her eyes, before she was conscious of observance, I could 42 THE DEAD LETTER. tell whether there was guilt, or only sorrow, in her In-art ; therefore I remained quiet, waiting. But I had mistaken my powers, or the eyes overbore them. When she did lilt them, as a steamer came puffing around the base of the mountain which ran down into the river at the east, and they suddenly encountered mine, where I stood not ten feet from her, I saw only black, unfath- omable depths, pouring out a trouble so intense, that my own gaze dropped beneath their power. She did not start, upon observing me, which, as I thought, a guilty person,buried in sell-accusing reveries, would have done it seemed only slotvly to penetrate her consciousness that a stranger was confronting her ; when I raised my eyes, which had sunk beneath the intensity of hers, she was moving rapidly away toward the western gate. " Miss Sullivan, you have forgotten your bonnet." With a woman's instinct she put up her hand to smooth her disordered hair, came slowly back and took the bonnet which I extended toward her, without speaking. I hesitated what move to make next. I wished tn aiMress her she was hen-, in my grasp, and I ought to >ati>l'y my>elf, a-< far as possible, about the suspicions which I had conceived. J might do her an irreparable injury by making my feeling public, if she were innocent of any aid or instigation of the crime which had been committed, yet there were circum- stances which could hardly pass unchallenged. That unaccountable absence of hers on Saturday, t'rm three o'clock until an hour after the mtinlcr was committed ; the statement of her aunt that she was in the city, and my finding her in this spot, in connection with tin- mid- night visit to the window, and the other things which 1 had observed, were sufficient to justify inquiry. V . if I alarmed her prematurely I should have the less chance of coming upon proofs, and her accomplices, if A CONVBBSATION. 43 she had any, would be led to take steps for greater safety. Anyhow, I would make her speak, and find what there was in her voice. "Your aunt told me that you had gone to New York," I said, stepping along beside her, as she turned away. " She thought so. Did you come here to see me, sir ?" stopping short in her walk, and looking at me as if she expected me to tell my business. This again did not look like the trepidation of guilt. " No. I came out for a walk. I suppose our thoughts have led us both in the same direction. This place will have an interest to many, hereafter." " Interest ! the interest of vulgar curiosity ! It will give them something to talk about. I hate it !" She spoke more to herself than to me, while a ray of fire darted from those black orbs ; the next instant her face subsided into that passionate stillness again. Her speech was not that of her station ; I recalled what her aunt had said about the education she had bestowed on her, and decided that the girl's mind was one of those which reach out beyond their circumstances aspiring ambitious and that this aspiring nature may have led her into her present unhappiness. That she was unhappy, if not sinful, it took but a glance to assure me. " So do I hate it. I do not like to have the grief of my friends subjected to cold and curious eyes." " Yet, it is a privilege to have the right to mourn. I tell you the sorrow of that beautiful lady he was to have married is light compared with trouble that some feel. There are those who envy her." It was not her words, as much as her wild, half- choked voice, which gave effect to them; she spoke, and grew silent, as if conscious that the truth had been wrung from her in the ear of a stranger. We had 44 THE DEAD LETTER. reached the gate, and she seemed anxious to escape through it; but I held it in my hand, looking hard at her, as I said "It may have been the hand of envy which dashed the cup of fruition from her lips. Her young life is withered never to bloom again. I can imagine but one wretchedness in this world greater than hers and that is the wretchedness of the guilty person who has mttrdtr written on his or her soul." A spasm contracted her face ; she pushed at the gate which 1 still held. " All. don't," -he said; "let me p I opened it and she darted througli, fleeing along the road which led out around the backward slope of the hill, like lo pursued by the stinging lly. Her path was away from the village, so that I hardly expected to see her again that day. Within t\\> minutes the gardener's wife came up the road to the gate. She had been down to \ i-it the corpse of her young master; her eyes were red with weep- ing. * How do you do, Mr. lledlii-ld? Tlu-sr be infera- ble times, ain't they? My very heart i^ son- in my breast; but I couldn't cry a tear iii the room \\here lu> was, a-lying there like life, for Miss Eleanor sot by him like a statue. It made me cold all o\vr to Me her I couldn't speak to save me. The father and mother are j\\>{ broke down, too." " How is Miss Eleanor, this morning ?" "The Lord knows ! She doesn't lo any thing but pit there, as quiet as can be. It'> a bad symptom, to my thinking. 4 Still waters run deep.' They're a-dread- ing the hour when they'll have t-> n,n,.\e the body from the house they're afraid her mind '11 "No, no," I answered, inwardly shuddering; ' % nor' s reason is too fine and powerful to be uust. even by a blow like this." THE GARDENER'S WIFE. 45 " Who was that went out the gate as I came around the bend ? Was it that girl, again ?" " Do you mean Leesy Sullivan ?" " Yes, sir. Do you know her ? She acts mighty queei-, to my thinkin'. She was out here Saturday, sit- tin' in the summer-house, all alone, 'till the rain began to fall I guess she got a good soaking going home. I didn't think much about her ; it was Saturday, and I thought likely she was taking a holiday, and there's many people like to come here, it's so pleasant. But what's brought her here again to-day is more'n I can. guess. Do you know, sir ?" " I do not. I found her sitting on the portico look- ing at the river. Maybe she comes out for a walk and stops here to rest. She probably feels somewhat at home, she has sewed so much in the family. I don't know her at all, myself; I never spoke to her until just now. Did you get much acquainted with her, when she was in the house ?" " I never spoke to her above a dozen times. I wasn't at the house much, and she was always at work. She seemed fast with her needle, and a girl who minded her own business. I thought she was rather proud, for a seamstress she was handsome, and I reckon she knew it. She's getting thinner ; she had red spots on her cheeks, Saturday, that I didn't like looked con- sumptive." " Did the family treat her with particular kindness ?" It was as near as I cared to put into words what I was thinking of. " You know it's in the whole Moreland race to be generous and kind to those under them. I've known Henry more than once, when the family was going out for a drive, to insist upon Miss Sullivan's taking a seat in the carriage but never when he was going alone. I heard him tell his mother that the poor girl looked 46 THE DEAD LETTEB. tired, as if she needed a breath of air and a bit of free- dom, and the kind-hearted lady would laugh at her son, but do as he said. It was just like him. But I'd stake my everlasting futur' that he never took any ad- vantage of her feelings, if it's that you're thinking of, Mr. Rcdfield." " So would I, Mrs. Scott. There is no one can havo a higher respect for the character of that noble young gentleman, than I. I would resent an insult to his memory more quickly than if he had been my brother. But, as you say, there is something queer in the notions of Miss Sullivan. I know that I can trust your d: - tion, Mrs. Scott, for I have heard it well spoken of; do not say any thing to others, not even to your huslnmd, but keep a watch on that person if she should come here any more. Report to me what she does, and what spot she frequent*." " I will do so, sir. But I don't think any harm of her. She may have been unfortunate enough to think too much of the kindness with whieh lie treated her. If so, I pity her she could hardly help it, poor thing. Henry Moreland was a young gentleman a good many people loved." She put her handkerchief to her eyes in a fresh burst of tears. Wishing her good-morning, I turned toward the village, hardly earing what I should do m , M Scott was an American woman, and one to be truMi-d ; I felt that she would be the best detective I could ]>laoe at that spot. When I reached the office, on my homeward r. went in. Mr. Argyll was there alone, his lu-ad leaning on his hand, his face anxious and worn, his brow con- tracted in deep thought As soon as I came in, he sprung up, closed the outer door, and said to me, in a low voice, M Richard, another strange thing has occurred." BOBBED. 47 I stared at him, afraid to ask what. " I have been robbed of two thousand dollars." " When and how ?" " That is what I do not know. Four days ago I drew that amount in bills from the Park Bank. I placed it, in a roll, just as I received it, in my library desk, at home. I locked the desk, and have carried the key in my pocket. The desk has been locked, as usual, every time that I have gone to it. How long the money has been gone, I can not say ; I never looked after it, since placing it there, until about an hour ago. I wanted some cash for expenses this afternoon, and going for it, the roll was gone." " Haven't you mislaid it ?" " No. I have one drawer for my cash, and I placed it there. I remember it plainly enough. It has been stolen" and he sat down in his chair with a heavy sigh. " That money was for my poor Eleanor. She was to complete her wedding outfit this week, and the two thousand dollars was for refurnishing the place out at the Grove. I don't care for the loss so much she doesn't need it now but it's singular at this time !" He looked up at me, vague suspicions which he could not shape floating in his brain. " Who knew of your having the money ?" " No one, that I am aware of, except my nephew. He drew it for me when he went down to the city last Wednesday." " Could you identify the money ?" " Not all of it. I only remember that there was one five hundred dollar bill in the package, a fresh issue of the Park Bank, of which, possibly, they may have the number. The rest was city money of various denomi- nations and banks. I can think of but one thing which seems probable. James must have been followed from the city by some professional thief, who saw him obtain 48 THE DEAD LETTER. the money, and kept an eye upon it, waiting for a suit- able opportunity, until it was deposited in the desk. The key is a common one, which could be easily dupli- cated, and we are so careless in this quiet community that a thief might enter at almost any hour of the night. Perhaps the same villain dogged poor Henry in hopes of another harvest." " You forget that there was no attempt to rob Henry." " True true. Yet the murderer may have been frightened away before he had secured his prize." v -In which case, he would have returned, as the body remained undiscovered all night." *' It may be so. I am dizzy with thinking it over and over." " Try and not think any more, dear sir," I said, gently. " You are feverish and ill now. I am going, this afternoon, with the friends to the city, and I will put the police on the watch for the money. We wil 1 get the number of the large bill, if possible, from the bank, and I will have investigations made as to the passengers of Wednesday on the train with James. Have you said any thing to him about your loss ?" " I have not seen him sinci- I madf ilu discovery. You may tell him if you see him first ; and do what you can, Richard, for I feel as weak as a child." CARRYING AWAY THE DEAD. 49 CHAPTER V. MR. BURTON, THE DETECTIVE. WHEN I came out of the office, I encountered James on the steps, for the first time that day. I could not stop to make known the robbery to him, and telling him that his uncle wished to see him a few minutes, I hurried to my boarding-house, where I had barely time to take some lunch in my room, while packing a small bag to be sent to the cars, before hurrying back to Mr. Argyll's to attend the funeral escort to the train. James and I were two of the eight pall-bearers, yet neither of us could summon fortitude to enter the parlor where the body lay ; I believe that James had not yet looked upon the corpse. We stood outside, on the steps of the piazza, only taking our share of the burden after the coffin was brought out into the yard. While we stood there, among many others, waiting, I chanced to observe his paleness and restlessness ; he tore his black gloves in putting them on ; I saw his fingers trembling. As for me, my whole being seemed to pause, as a single, pi-olonged shriek rung out of the darkened mansion and floated off on the sunshine up to the ear of God. They were taking the lover away from his bride. The next moment the coffin appeared ; I took my place by its side, and we moved away toward the depot, passing over the very spot where the corpse was found. James was a step in advance of me, and as we came to the place, some strong inward recoil made him pause, then step aside and walk around the ill-starred spot. I no- ticed it, not only for the momentary confusion into which it threw the line, but because I had never sup- posed him susceptible to superstitious or imaginative influences. 3 50 THE DEAD LETTER. A private car had been arranged for. James and I occupied one seat; the swift motion of the train was opposed to the idea of death; it had an exhilarating ef- fect upon my companion, whose paleness passed away, and who began to experience a reaction after his de- pression of feeling. He talked to me incessantly upon trifling subjects which I do not now recall, and in that low, yet sharp voice which is most easily distinguished through the clatter of a moving train. The necessity for attending to him for making answers to irrelevant questions, when my mind was preoccupied, annoyed me. My thoughts centered about the coffin, and its inmate, taking his last ride under circumstances so dif- ferent from those under which he had set out, only two days ago, to meet her whom his heart adored ; whose hand ho never clasped whose lips he never touched the fruition of whose hopes was cut off ut- terly whose fate, henceforth, was among the mysteri- ous paths of the great eternity. I could not, for an instant, feel the least lightness of heart. My nature was too sympathetic ; the currents of my young blood flowed too warmly, lor me to terl otherwise than deeply affected by the catastrophe. My eyes shed inward tears at the sight of the parents sit- ting in advance of us, their heads bowed beneath the stroke; and, oh! my heart shed tears of blood at thought of Eleanor, left behind us to the utter darkness of a night which had fallen while it was yet morning. Musing upon Acr, I wondered that her cousin James could throw off* the troubles of others as he did, inter- esting himself in passing trifles. I have said that I never liked him much; but in this I was an exception to the general rule. He was an almost universal 1 1 \ . ]- ite. At least, he seldom failed to please and win those for whom he exerted himself to be agreeable. His voice was soft and well modulated such a voice as, UNSEEMLY LEVITY. 51 should one hear it from another apartment, would make him wish to see the speaker ; his manner was gracious and flattering. I had often wondered why his evident passion for Eleanor had not secured her interest in return, before she knew Henry Moreland, and had answered myself that it was one of two reasons : either their cousinly intercourse had invested him, to her, with the feelings of a brother or relative, or her fine percep- tions, being the superior woman which she was, had unconsciously led her to a true estimate of his qualities. This day I felt less affinity for him than ever before, as I gazed at his dark, thin features, and met the light of eyes brilliant, unsteady and cold. That intense selfish- ness which I had secretly attributed to him, Avas now, to my perhaps too acute apprehension, painfully appar- ent. In my secret heart, as I listened to his light re- marks, and perceived the rise of spirits which he hardly endeavored to check, I accused him of gladness that a rival was out of the way, and that the chances were again open for the hand of his beautiful and wealthy cousin. At first he had been shocked, as we all were ; but now that he had time to view the occurrence with an eye to the future, I believed that he was already cal- culating the results with regard to his own hopes and wishes. I turned from him with a feeling of aversion. After neglecting to reply to him until he was obliged to drop the one-sided conversation, I recollected that I had not yet spoken to him in regard to his uncle's loss ; so I said to him quite suddenly, " Mr. Argyll has been robbed of a sum of money." An inexplicable expression flashed into his face and passed off ; it went as soon as it came. " So he informed me, just before we started. He says that you will put the police on the track of it that possibly the five-hundred dollar bill will be identi- fied. It was taken from his desk, it appears." 52 THE DEAD LETTER. "Yes; I wonder what will happen next." "Ay! I wonder what will." "Who knows what :i narrow escape you may have had," said I. "It is well that you came here in limad daylight; else, like poor Henry, you might have fallen a victim to a blow in the dark. Mr. Argyll thinks you must have been followed from the city by some profes- sional burglar." " He thinks so ?" he asked, while the shadow of a smile just showed a second in the mirror of his it was as if there was a smile in his heart, anl a reflec- tion from its invisible self fell athwa/t his eyes ; but he turned them away immediately. "It's queer," he resumed; "horribly queer; don't you think so? I saw that money in the desk Friday evening. Uncle asked me to hold the lamp a moment, while he found some papers, and I noticed the roll of bills lying in his cash-drawer, ju^t as I hail given them to him. It must have been abstracted Saturday or Sunday it's queer confoundedly so ! There must be some great villain lurking in our midst !" this \;\^\ M -n- tenee he uttered with an emphasis, looking me through with his black eyes. There was suspicion in his gaze, and my own fell be- fore it. Innocence itself will blush if obliged to con- front the insult of accusation. I had had many wild, and doubtless many wrong and suspi<-i<>us thoughts about various persons, since the discovery of the mur- der ; and this was turning the tables on me rather sud- denly. It never occurred to me that among the dozens upon whom vague and flying suspicions might alight, might be myself. " There is an awful mystery somewhere," I stam- mered. " Humph ! yes, there is. My uncle Argyll is just the man to be wronged by some one of his many friends ADVICE. 53 and dependents. He is too confiding, too unsuspecting of others as I have told him. He has been duped often but this this is too bad !" I looked up again, and sharply, to see what he meant. If he intended covertly to insinuate that / was open to imputation as one of the " friends or dependents " who could wrong a benefactor, I wished to understand him. A friend, I knew, Mr. Argyll was to me ; a friend to be grateful for ; but I was no dependent upon his bounty, as his nephew was, and the hot blood rushed to my face, the fire to my eye, as I answered back the cool gaze of James with a haughty stare. " There is no love lost between us, Richard," he said, presently, " which is principally your fault ; but I am friendly to you ; and as a friend, I would suggest that you do not make yourself conspicuous in this affair. If you should put yourself forward at all, being so young, and having, apparently, so small an interest in the mat- ter, you may bring unpleasant remark upon yourself. Let us stand back and allow our elders to do the work. As to that money, whether it has or has not any con- nection with the the other affair, time will perhaps show. Let the police do what they can with it my advice to you is to keejD in the background." " Your course may be prudent, James," was my reply ; " I do not ask your approbation of mine. But to one thing I have made up my mind. So long as I live, and the murderer of Henry Moreland is undiscov- ered, I will never rest. In Eleanor's name, I consecrate myself to this calling. I can face the whole world in her behalf, and fear nothing." He turned away with a sneer, busying himself with the prospect from the window. During the rest of the ride we said little ; his words had given me a curious sensation ; I had sustained so many shocks to my feel- ings within the last forty-eight hours, that this new one 54 THE DEAD LETTER. of finding myself under the eye of suspicion, mingled in with the perplexing whirl of the whole, until I al- most began to doubt my own identity and that of others. A vision of Leesy Sullivan, whose wild foot- steps might still be tracking hills and fields, hovered before me and out of all this distraction, my thoughts settled upon Eleanor. I prayed God earnestly to be with her in this hour ; either to strengthen her heart and brain to bear her afnict ion without UtiDgtOroini lieneath the weight, or to take her at once to Himself, where Henry awaited her in the mansions of their eternal home. The arrival of the train at Thirtieth street recalled me to my present duties. Carriages were in waiting to convey the coffin and its escort to the house of the parents, the funeral being arranged for the following day. I saw the orticcr who had gone down from Blank- vine in the inoriiiiiLT, waiting in the depot to speak to me; but I did not need to be told that he had not found the sewing-girl at her place of business. I made an appointment to meet him in the evening at the Met- ropolitan, and took my place in the sad procession to the house of the Morulands. I was anxious to give notice of the robbery at the bank, and to ascertain if they could identity any of the money, especially the large bill, whieh, being ne\v, I hoped they would have on record. Banking In ni s win- over, however, for the day, and it was only ly intrud- ing the matter upon the notice of .Mr. Moreland t|, a t I could get any thing accomplished. Thi- I decided to do; when he told me that, liv ir<>ing din-etlv to tin- bank, bethought I could gainacces- to the cashier ; :;nd if not, he gave me his address, so that I might seek him at his iv-idencc. Mr. Moreland also ad\ : take with me some competent detect i\e, who should hi- witness to the Statement of the ca>liier with regard to the money paid to James Argyll, on his uncle's draft, " UNMANNED." 55 and be employed to put the rest of the force on the lookout for it, or any portion of it which was identi- fiable. He gave me the name of an officer with whom he had a chance acquaintance, and of whose abilities he had a high opinion ; telling me to make free use of his name and influence, if he had any, with him, and the police. " And please, Mr. Redfield or James here, if you should be too busy make out an advertisement for the morning papers, offering a reward of five thousand dollars for the detection and conviction of the the murderer." James was standing by us during the conversation ; and I almost withdrew my verdict upon his selfishness, as I marked how he shrunk when the eye of the be- reaved father rested upon him, and how vainly he endeavored to appear calm at the affecting spectacle of the gray-haired gentleman forcing his quivering lips to utter the word " murderer." He trembled much more thun myself, as each of us wrung Mr. Moreland's hand, and departed down the steps. "It unmanned him," he said, stopping a moment on the pavement to wipe the perspiration from his brow, though the day was not at all warm. " I believe," he added, as he walked along, " that if the person who resolves to commit a crime would reflect on all the consequences of that act, it would remain undone for^ ever. But he does not. He sees an object in the way of his wishes, and he thrusts it aside, reckless of the ruin which will overwhelm surrounding things, until he sees the wreck about him. Then it is too late for remorse to the devil with it. But I needn't philoso- phize before you, Richard, who have precociously earned that privilege of wisdom " -with that disagree- able half-laugh of his " only I was thinking how the guilty party must have felt could he have seen Henry'a 58 THE DEAD LETTER. father as we saw him just now," and again I felt his eye upon me. Certainly, tin-re seemed no prospect of our friendship increasing. I would rather have dis- pensed with his company, while I put my full energies into the business before me; but it was quite natural that he should expect to accompany me on an errand in wh'u-h he must have as deep an interest as my- self. Coming out of the avenue upon Broadway we took a stage, ridlhg down as far as Grand street, when we got out and walked to the office of the detective- police. The chief was not in at the moment of our entrance ; we were received by a subordinate and questioned as to our visit. The morning papers had heralded the melancholy and mysterious murder through the eity; hundreds of thousands of persons had already marveled over the boldness and success, the silciiee and siidden- neSS with which tin- deed had been done, leaving not a clue by which to trace the perpetrator. It had lieen the sensation of the day throughout New York and its environs. The public mind was busy with conjectures as to the motive for the crime. And this was to !.< one of the sharp thorns pressed into the hearts of the distressed friends of the murdered man. Suddenly, into the garish light of day, beneath the pitiless gaze of a million curious eyes, was dragged every word, or net, or circumstance of the life so abruptly closed. It *was necessary to the investigation ( .f tin- atl'air, that the most secret pa_u'es ,,f his history should be read out and it i> not in the nature of a daily paper to neglect such opportunities for turning an honest penny, let me say that not one character in ten thousand could have stood this trial by lire as did Henry More- land's. No wronged hireling, no open enemy, no secret intrigue, no gambling debts not one blot on the bright record of his amiable, Christian MR. BURTON. 67 To return to the detective-office. Our errand at once received attention from the person in charge, who sent a messenger after the chief. He also informed us that several of their best men had gone up to Blank- ville that afternoon to confer with the authorities there. The public welfare demanded, as well as the interest of private individuals, that the guilty should be ferret- ed out, if possible. The apparent impunity with which the crime had been committed was startling, making every one feel it a personal matter to aid in discour- aging any more such practices ; besides, the police knew that their eiforts would be well rewarded. "While we sat talking with the official, I noticed the only other inmate of the room, who made a peculiar impression upon me for which I could not account. He was a large man, of middle age, with a florid face and sandy hair. He was quietly dressed in the ordinary manner of the season, and with nothing to mark him from a thousand other men of similar appear- ance, unless it was the expression of his small, blue- gray eyes, whose glance, Avhen I happened to encounter it, seemed not to be looking at me but into me. How- ever, he turned it away, and occupied himself with looking through the window at the passers-by. He appeared to be a stranger, awaiting, like ourselves, the coming of the chief. Desiring to secure the services of the particular detective whom Mr. Moreland had recommended, I asked the subordinate in attendance, if he could inform me where Mr. Burton was to be found. " Burton ? I don't know of any one of that name, I think if I may except my stage experience with Mr. Toodles," he added, with a smile, called up by some passing vision of his last visit to the theater. "Then there is no Mr. Burton belongs to your force ?" 3* 68 THK DEAD LETTER. " Not that I am acquainted with. He may be one of us, for all that. We don't pretend to know our own brothers here. You can ask Mr. Browne when he comes in." All this time the stranger by tin- window sat motion- less, absorbed in looking upon the throng of persons and vehicles in the street beneath ; and now I, having nothing else to do, regarded him. I felt a magnetism emanate t'n>m him, as from a manufactory of vital forces ; I felt, instinctively, that lie was possessed of an iron will and indomitable courage ; I was speculating, ac- cording to my dreamy habit, upon his characteristics, when the chief appeared, and we, that is. James and myself, laid our case before him at the same time I mentioned that Mr. Mori-land had desired me to ask for Mr. Burton to be detailed to aid our in\ 'estimations. "Ah ! yes," said Mr. Browne, "there are not many outsiders who know that person. He is my right hand, but I don't let the left know what he d>eth. Mr. Moreland had his services once. I remember, in tracking some burglars who had entered his banking-house. Poor young Moreland ! I've seen him often! Shock- ing affair, truly. We mustn't rest till we know more about it. I only hope we may be of service to his afflicted father. Burton is just here, fortunately." and he beckoned to the very stranger sitting in the window, who had overheard the inquiries made for him without the slightest demonstration that such a being had any existence as far M he was concern. !. and who now slowly arose, and approached us. We four went into an inner room, where we were introduced to each other, and drawing up our chairs in a close circle, we b. in low voices, the di-cu--sii.il of our bii-:: Mr. Broun.- was voluble when he heard that a rob- bery had been committed in Mr. Arj\ IP- He bad no doubt, he said, that the two crimes were THE RESTRAINED WON. 59 connected, and it would be strange, indeed, if nothing could be discovered relating to either of them. He hoped that the lesser crime would be the means of be- traying the greater. He trusted the rogue, whoever he or she might be, had, in this imprudent act, done something to betray himself. He had hopes of the five-hundred dollar bill. Mr. Burton said very little, beyond asking two or three questions ; but he was a good listener. Much of the time he sat with his eyes fixed upon James, who did a good deal of the talking. I could not, for the life of me, tell whether James was conscious of those blue-gray eyes ; if he was, they did not much disturb him ; he made his statements in a calm and lucid man- ner, gazing into Mr. Bui-ton's face with a clear and open look. After a while, the latter began to grow uneasy ; powerful as was his physical and mental frame, I saw a trembling of both ; he forced himself to remain quiet in his chair but to me he had the air of a lion, who sees its prey but a little distance off, and who trembles with restraint. The light in his eye narrowed down to one gleam of concentrated fire a steely, glittering point he watched the rest of us and said little. If I had been a guilty man I should have shrunk from that observation, through the very walls, or out of a five-story window, if there had been no other way ; it struck me that it would have been unbearable to any accusing conscience ; but my own mind being burdened with no weightier sins than a few boyish follies saving the selfishness and earthliness which make a part of all human natures I felt quite free, breathing easily, while I noticed, with interest, the silent change going on in the detective. More and more like a lion about to spring, he grew ; but whether his prey was near at hand and visible, or far away and visible only to his mental gaze, I could 00 THE DEAD LETTEK. not tell. I fairly jumped, when he at last rose quickly to his feet ; I expected to see him bound upon some guilty ghost to us intangible, and shakr it to ji'u>ces in an honest rage ; but whatever was the passion within him, he controlled it, saying only, a little impatiently, "Enough, gentlemen, we have talked enough! Browne, will you go with Mr. Argyll t> the bank, ami see about that money? I do not wish to be known there as belonging to your force. I will walk to his hotel with Mr. Redfield, and you can meet us there at any hour you choose to appoint." " It will take until tea-time to attend to the bank. Say about eight o'clock, then, we will be at the " " Metropolitan," said I, ami the quartette paiMed, half going up and half going down town. On our way to the hotel we tell into an easy conver- sation on topics entirely removed iVom the one which absorbed the gravest thoughts of both. Mr. l>urt<>n did more talking now than he had d! and her character stood high at both places. She had been represented to him as a " strictly proper" person, very reserved, in poor health, with a sad appearance, and an excellent workwoman that no gentlemen were ever known to call to see her, and that she never went out after returning to her boarding-house at tin- close of work-hours. We then requested him to say nothing about her to his brother officers, and to keep tin- matter from the newspapers, as we should regret doing an ir- reparable injury to one who might be guilt!. It seemed as if the Fates were in favor of the guilty. Mr. Browne, punctually at eight o'clock, reported that there was none of the money paid out t> .lames Argyll at Mr. Argyll's order, which the bank would identity not even its own bill of five hundred dollars, whieh was a recent issue. They had paid out such a bill on the draft, but the number was not known to them. " However," said Mr. Browne, "bills of that denom- ination are not common, and wo shall be on the look- out for them, wherever offered." " Bat even should the robber be discovered, there is no proof that it would establish any connection with the murder. It may have been acoincidence," remarked James. ki I have often noticed that one calamity is sure to be followed by another. If there is a railroad disaster, a powder-mill explosion, a steamer destroyed by fire, before the horror of the first accident has done thrilling our nerves, we are pretty certain to be startled by another catastrophe." "I, too," said Mr. Burton, "have remarked &i cession of events echoes, as it were, f..ll..\v in^ the clap of thunder. And I have usually found that, like the echoes, there was a natural cause for them." James moved uneasily in his chair, arose, pulled aside A SUGGESTION DISMISSED. 63 the curtain, and looked out into the night. I had often noticed that he was somewhat superstitious ; perhaps he saw the eyes of Henry Moreland looking down at him from the starry hights ; he twitched the curtains together with a shiver, and came back to us. " It is not impossible," he said, keeping his face in the shadow, for he did not like us to see how the night had affected him, " that some one of the clerks in Mr. More- land's 'banking-house perhaps some trusted and re- sponsible person was detected by Henry, in making false entries, or some other dishonesty and that to save himself the disgrace of betrayal and dismissal, he has put the discoverer out of the way. The whole busi- ness of the establishment ought to be thoroughly over- hauled. It appears that Henry went directly to the cars from the office ; so that if any trouble had arisen, between him and one of the employees, there would have been no opportunity for his consulting his father, who was not at the place all that afternoon." " Your suggestion is good," said Mr. Browne, " and must be attended to." "The whereabouts of every one of the employees, down to the porter, at the time of the murder, are al- ready accounted for. They were all in the city," said Mr. Burton, with precision. Shortly after, the party separated for the night. An urgent invitation came from Mr. Moreland for James and myself to stop at his house during our stay in the city ; but we thought it better not to disturb the quiet of the house of mourning with the business which we wished to press forward, and returned an answer to that effect. It was nearly ten o'clock when James rec- ollected that we had not been to the offices of the daily journals with the advertisements which ought to ap- pear in the morning. It was the work of a few minutes for me to write one out, which we then copied on three 04 THE DEAD LETTKB. or four sheets of paper, and finding nn errand-boy below, we dispatched him with two of tin- copies to as many journals, and ourselves hurrii'd otl'with the others. I went to one establishment and my companion to another, in order to hasten proceedings, knowing that it was doubtful if we could - t them inserted at that late hour. Having > my satisfaction with ray own errand, I thought I would walk over to the next street and meet .lames, whom, having a little further than I to cjo, I would probably meet, returnin<_r. As I neared the building to which he had -jone, and which was brilliantly lighted up t<>r its night-Work, I saw .lames come out on the pavement, look around him an instant, and then start oil' in a direction opposite to that which would lead back to Broadway and his hotel. Jle had not observed me, \\lio chanced to lie in shadow at the moment ; and I, without any particular m which I could analv/.c. started after him, thinking to overtake him and oll'rr to join him in a walk. lie went, however, at so rapid a pace, that I still remained be- hind. Our course lay through Nassau and Fulton Streets, to the Brooklyn ferry. I quickened mv pace almost to a run, as James passed into the t'crrv ! for I saw that a boat was alxuit to start ; but I had a vexatious delay in lindiiiLT small change, so that I got through just in time to see the boat move oil', .1 himself having to take a llyin<_r leap to reach it ai'irr it was under way. At that hour there was a boat only every fifteen minutes; of r up the pursuit ; and sittit)'_' down at the end of the bridge, I allowed the cool wind from the bay and ri\er to blow a my hot lace, while I gazed out on the .lark u listening to their incessant moan'mir about the piers, and watching \\here they ^limmered beneath the li^l,' the opposite shore. The blue and red lamps of the moving vessels, in my present mood, had a weird and MUSINGS. 65 ghastly effect ; the thousands of masts of the moored shipping stood up naked against the sky, like a forest of blighted, skeleton pines. Sadness, the deepest I had ever felt in my life, fell upon me sadness too deep for any expression. The shifting water, slipping and sigh- ing about the works of men which fretted it ; the un- approachable, glittering sky ; the leafless forest, the wind fresh from its ocean solitudes these partially interpreted it, but not wholly. Their soul, as far as the soul of Nature goes, was in unison with mine ; but in humanity lies a still deeper deep, rises a higher hight. I was as much alone as if nearly a million fellow-crea- tures were not so encircling me. I thought of the many tragedies over which these waters had closed ; of the secrets they had hidden ; of the many lives sucked under these ruthless bridges ; of the dark crea- tures who haunted these docks at evil hours but most I thought of a distant chamber, where a girl, who yes- terday was as full of love and beauty as a morning rose is full of dew and perfume whose life ran over with light whose step was imperial with the happiness of youth lay, worn and pallid, upon her weary bed, breathing sighs of endless misery. I thought of the funeral procession which to-morrow, at noon, should come by this road and travel these waters, to that gar- den of repose, whose white tombstones I knew, al- though I could not see them, gleamed now under the " cold light of stars." Thus I sat, wrapped in musings, until a policeman, who, it is likely, had long had his eye upon me, won- dering if I were a suspicious character, called out " Take care of your legs, young man !" and I sprung to my feet, as the return boat came into her slip, drifting up and bumping sullenly against the end of the bridge where my legs had been dangling. I waited until, among the not numerous passengers, 66 THE DEAD LETTER. I perceived James hurrying by, when I slipped my hand into his arm quietly, saying, " You led me quite a race what in the world have you been across to Brooklyn for?" He jumped at my voice and touch; then grew angry, as people are apt to do when they are startled or fright- ened, after the shock is over. " What business is that of yours, sir? How dare you follow me ? If you have taken upon yourself the office of spy, let me know it.*' " I beg your pardon," I answered, withdrawing from his arm, " I walked over to the H office to meet you, and saw you walk off in this direction. I had no particular object in following you, and perhaps ou^ht not to have done it." "I spoke too hastily," he said, almost immediately. " Forget it, Richard. You pounced upon me so m.cv- pectedly, you gave me a nervous shock irritated my combativcncss, I suppose. I thought, of course, y..u had returned to tin- hotel, and feeling too restless to go back to my little bedroom, there, I determined to try the effect of a ride across the river. The bracing an- nas toned me up. I believe I can go back and sleep '' offering his arm again, wliieh I took, and we slowly d our steps to the Metropolitan. I will not pain the heartof my reader by forcing him to be one of the mournful procession which followed Hi nry Moreland tolas untimely grave. At two o'clock of Tuesday, all wa over. The \i.-tim was hidden away from the face of the earth smiling, as if asleep, dreaming of his Eleanor, he was consigned t<> that darkness from whence he sh.nild never awaken and find her while the one who had brought him low walked id under the sunlight of heaven. To give that guilty creature no peace was the purpose of my heart. James resolved to return to Blankville by the five WHY HE WAS A DETECTIVE. 67 o'clock train. He looked sick, and said that he felt so that the last trying scene had " used him up ;" and then, his uncle would surely want one of us to assist him at home. To this I assented, intending myself to stay in the city a day or two, until Mr. Burton was pre- pared to go out to Blankville with me. After such of the friends from the village as had come down to attend the funeral, had started for home in the afternoon cars, I went to my room to have another in- terview with the detective. In the mean time, I had heard some of the particulars of Mr. Burton's history, which had greatly increased the interest I already felt in him. He had chosen his present occupation out of a consciousness of his fitness for it. He was in inde-j pendent circumstances, and 1 accepted no salary for what \-/ was with him a labor of love ; seldom taking any of the liberal sums pressed upon him by grateful parties who had benefited by his skill, except to cover expenses to which long journeys, or other necessities of the case, might have subjected him. He had been in the " pro- fession " but a few years. Formerly he had been a for- warding-merchant, universally esteemed for integrity, and carrying about him that personal influence which men of strong will and unusual discrimination exercise over those with whom they come in contact. But that he had any extraordinary powers, of the kind which had since been developed, he was as ignorant as others. An accident, which revealed these to him, shaped the future course of his life. One wild and windy night the fire-bells of Xew York rung a fierce alarm ; the flames of a large conflagration lighted the sky; the firemen toiled manfully, as was their wont, but the air was bitter and the pavements sleety, and the wintry wind " played such fantastic tricks before high heaven " as made the angel of mercy almost despair. Before the fire could be subdued, four large warehouses had been 08 THE DEAD LETTER. burned to the ground, and in one of them a 1 a r; re- quantity of uninsured merchandise for which Mr. Bur- ton was responsible. The loss, to him, was serious. He barely escaped failure by drawing in his business to the smallest com- pass, and, by the exercise of great prudence, he man- aged to save a remnant of his fortune, with which, as soon as he could turn it to advantage, he withdrew from his mercantile career. His miiul was In-lit on a new business, which unfitted him for any other. The fire was supposed to be purely accidental ; the insurance companies usually cautions enough, had paid over their varying amounts ot' insurance to those for- tunate losers, who were not, like Mr. Hurt on, unpre- pared. These losers wen- men of wealth, and the highest position as busin->s linns high and mighty potentates against whom tobreathc aluvath of Zander, was to overwhelm the audacious individual in the ruins of his own presumption. .Mr. Burton had an inward conviction that these men wen-guilty nl'arson. lie knew it. His mind perceived their guilt. But he could make no allegation against them upon Mich unsubstan- tial bans as this. II.- W ' t-> work, quietly and singly, to gather up the threads in the cable of his proof; and when he had made it .strong enough to hang them t \\ ice Over for two lives, that of a porter and a clerk, had been lost in the burning buildings he threatened them with exposure, unless they made good to him the loss which he had sustained through their villainy. They laughed at him from their stronghold of iv.j.ect- nbility. Ho brought the ca< over my shoulder as we walked up the hill from the depot; but my companion was guilty of no such weak- ness. He kept as sharp a lookout as the light of a set- ting moon would permit, but it was only with a view to making himself familiar with the premises. Wo passed the Argyll mansion on our way to my board in ;- place; it was too late to call; the lights were extin- guished, except the faint one always left burning in the hall, and in two or three of the chambers. A rush of emotion oppressed me, as I drew near it ; I would fain have laid my head against the pillars of tin- irateway and wept tears such as a man may shed without re- proach, when the woman he loves suffers. A growing anxiety possessed me to hear of Eleanor, no report of her mental or physical condition having reached me since that pieri-ing shriek had announced the part- ing of her heart-strings when the strain of linal sepa- ration came. I would have gone to the door a moment, to make inquiries, had I not inferred that a knock at that late hour must startle the family int.. nervous an- ticipations. The wan glimmer of the sinking moon truck under the branches of the silent trees, which stood about the dark mass of the stately mansion ; not a breath stirred the crisp foliage. I heard a leaf, which loosened itself and rustled downward to the sod. "It is a fine old place," remarked my companion, pausing because my own steps had come to a stand- still A BUSINESS-PROSPECT. 78 I could not answer ; he drew my arm into his, and we went on. Mr. Burton was growing to me in the shape of a friend, instead of a detective-officer. That night I gave up my room to him, taking a hall- bedroom adjoining. After breakfast we went forth in- to the village, making our first call at the office. Mr. Argyll was there, looking thin and care-worn. He said that he was glad to have me back, for he felt unfit for business, and must let the mantle of labor drop upon my shoulders hereafter. There had been an implied understanding, although it had never been definitely agreed upon, that I was to become a partner in the law with my teacher, when I had been admitted to practice. He had no one asso- ciated with him in his large and lucrative business, and he was now getting of an age to feel like retiring from at least the drudgery of the profession. That he de- signed to offer me the place open for some candidate, I had not doubted, for he had said as much many times. This prospect was an unusually fair one for so young a person as myself; it had urged me to patient study, to eager, ambitious effort. For I rightly deemed that a respect for my habits of mental application and a faith in my as yet undeveloped talents, had decided Mr. Argyll to offer me the contemplated encouragement. This had been another reason for James' dislike of me. He could not look favorably upon one who had, as it were, supplanted him. Instead of seeing that the fault lay in himself, and applying the remedy, he pursued the false course of considering me as a rival and an inter- loper. He, also, was a student in the office, and that he was a year behind me in his studies, and that, if he ever became a partner, it would be as a third member of the firm, was owing solely to his habitual indolence, which gave him a distaste for the dry details of a law- yer's work. What he would have liked would be to 4 74 THE DEAD LETTER. have his examination shirked over, to be admitted on the strength of his uncle's reputation, :iml then to be employed only in making brilliant oratorical efforts be- fore the judge, jury and audience, after some one else had performed all the hard labor of the case, and placed his weapons ready at his hand. I f Mr. Argyll really intended to take the son of his old friend into the firm, instead of his nephew, it was simply on the prudent principles of business. I was to pass my examination on the first of November; this remark, then, which he made, as I observed how weary and unwell he looked, was not a surprise to me it came ouly as a confirmation of my expecta- tions. At that moment James entered the oflieo. There was a cloud on his brow, called up by his uncle's words ; he hardly took time to shake hands with me, before he said, "How is it, uncle, if you are worried and overworked, that you do not tell me? I should have been _'la . I should not have noticed it, for it passed instantly, .ml he stepped forward -with frank cordiality, extending his band, and saying, \Ve did not know you were to come up. Indeed, we did not expect Richard back so soon. Has any thing transpired ?" " We hope that something will transpire, very soon," BROKEN-HEARTED. 75 answered the detective. " You are very anxious, I see and no wonder." "No no wonder! "We are all of us perfectly ab- sorbed and, as for me, my heart bleeds for niy friends, Mr. Burton." " And your friends' hearts bleed for you." Mr. Burton had a peculiar voice, searching, though not loud ; I was talking with Mr. Argyll, and yet I heard this reply without listening for it; I did not com- prehend it, and indeed, I let it in at one ear and out at the other, for I was asking about Eleanor. " She is better than we hoped for," said the father, wiping the mist from his eyes which gathered at the mention of her name, " but, alas, Richard, that is not saying much. My girl never will be herself again. My pretty Eleanor will never be my sunshine any more. Not that her mind is shaken that remains only too acutely sensitive. But her heart is broken. I can see that broken, past mending. She has not left her bed since Henry was carried away ; the doctor assures me there is nothing dangerous about her illness only the natural weakness of the system after intense suffering, the same as if she had endured great physical pain. He says she will rally presently." "If I could take her burden upon myself, I would ask no greater boon," I said. My voice must have been very full of the feeling within me, for it made Mr. Argyll give me a wonder- ing look ; I think it was the first time he had a suspi- cion of the hopeless passion I had cherished for his daughter. " We must all bear our own troubles," he said. " Poor Richard, I fear you have your own, like the rest of us." When I again noticed what was passing between the other two, James was telling Mr. Burton, with great 76 THE DEAD LETTER. animation, of some information which had been lodged with the authorities of the village. I became absorbed in it, of course. A respectable citizen of a town some thirty or forty miles beyond, on the railroad, hearing of the murder, had taken the trouble to come down to Blunkville and testify to some things which had fallen umler his ob- servation on the ni^ht of the murder. ]!< stated that he was a pa.-seii-jcr on the Saturd.i\ afternoon train from Xew York ; that the seat in front of hi> own, in the car, was occupied by a young gentleman, who, by tin- description since 'jiven, lie knew nui^t In- Henrv Morcland ; that, as there were but few people in that ear. he had given theinoiv attention to thr near him; that he was particularly attracted by the pr. appearance of the young gentleman, with whom : changed a few remarks with regard to the storm, and who informed him that he was going no further than Klankville. Al'ter \\e had been riding a while," said the witnr-s I do not jrhe .lames' words in telling it, but his own, as I afterward read them in the sworn testimony "I notic. in who sat on the oppoMU- side of the car. facing n-. His forehead was bent mi his hand, and he was looking out from umler his lingers, at the young man in front of me. It was his sinister expnv~--i.ni which compelled m- to notice him. His small, glitter- iiiLT. black eyes were fixed upon my neighbor with a, look which made me shudder. I smiled at myself for my own sensation said to myself it was none of my business that I was nervous yet, in spite of my at- tempts to be unconcerned, I was continually compelled to look across at the individual of whose serpent-gaze the young gentleman himself appeared totally uncon- scious. It' he had once met those eyes, I am certain ho would have been on his guard for I assi it, without A SUSPICIOUS CHARACTER. 77 other proof than what afterward transpired, that there was murder in them, and that that person was Henry Moreland's murderer. I can not prove it but my con- viction is unalterable. I only wish, now, that I had yielded to my impulse to shake my unknown neighbor, and say to him ' See ! there is an enemy ! beware of him !' There was nothing but the man's look to justify such a proceeding, and of course I curbed my feel- ings. " The man was a common-looking person, dressed in dark clothes ; he wore a low-crowned felt hat, slouched down on his forehead ; I do not remember about his hair, but his eyes were black, his complexion sallow. I noticed a scar across the back of the hand which he held over his eyes,, is if it had sometime been cut across with a knife ; a . so ; "*>at he had a large ring, with a red stone in it, on '- s lit:tl ^nger. " When the cars ^ f to Pped at Blankville, this person arose and followed iKi^'y Moreland from the car. I saw him step off the platform behind him, which was the last I saw of either of them." It may be imagined with what a thrill of fearful in- terest we listened to this account, and the thousand conjectures to which it gave rise. " It can not be difficult," I exclaimed, "to find other witnesses to testify of this man." We were assured by James that every effort had been made to get some trace of him. No person answering to the description was a resident of the village, and no one could be heard of as having been seen in the vicin- ity. Not a solitary lounger about the depot, or the hotel close at hand, could recall that he had seen such a stranger leave the cars ; no such person had stopped at the hotel ; even the conductor of the train could not be certain of such a passenger, though he had a dim recollection of a rough fellow in the car with Mr. 78 THE DEAD LETTER. Moreland he had not observed where he left the train thought his tick*-! was tor Albany. " But we do not despair of some evidence, yet," said Mr. Argyll. " The New York police, not being able to do any thing further here, have gone home," continued James. "If such a villain lurks in New York, he will be found. That scar on the hand is a good point for identifying him don't you think so, sir?" to Mr: Burton. " Well yes ! unless it was put on for the purpose. It may have been done in n- if t nothing eUe to 1.,- done immediately." Jnincs politely insisted upon accompanying n^. M What the deuce did you br'm<; another of those de- tective- up here for;'" he a-krd me, xft<> rnc,\ at the lir-i opportunity. "We've had a surfeit of them e regular bores ! and this Kurrou.Jiv ,,, IJurlon, or whatever his name K i^ the most disagreeable of them all. A conceited fellow one of the kind I dis- like, naturally." You mi-iake his character. He is intelligent and a gentleman." " I wish you joy of his society," was the sneering reply. Nevertheless, James favored us with his company daring our morning's tour. One sole fact tin di t. , ti\. ascertained in the course of his two hours' work. A MUTE WITNESSES. 79 fisherman had lost a small-boat during the storm of Saturday night. He had left it, fastened to its accus- tomed moorings, and, in the morning, found that the chain, which was old and rusty, had parted one of its links, probably by the extreme violence with which the wind had dashed the boat about. Mr. Burton had asked to see the remnant of the chain. It was still at- tached to the post around which it had been locked. An examination of the broken link showed that it was partly rusted away ; but there were also marks upon it, as if a knife or chisel might have been used. " I see my boy, Billy, a-tinkeriu' with it," said the fisherman. " Like as not he's been a-usin' of it to whit- tle on. That boy breaks more knives'n his neck's wuth. He's goin' on nine, now, and he's had six jack-knives in as many months." Mr. Burton stood, holding the chain in his hand, and looking up and down the river. His face glowed with a light which shone through from some inward fire. I, who had begun to watch his varying expres- sions with keen interest, saw that he was again becom- ing excited ; but not in the same way as on that first evening of our meeting, when he grew so leonine. He looked at the water and the sky, the fail 1 shores and the dull dock, as if these mute witnesses were tell- ing to him a tale which he read like a printed book. A few moments he stood thus in silence, his countenance illuminated by that wonderful intelligence. Then, say- ing that his researches were thixmgh with in this part of the village, we returned, almost in silence, to the of- fice ; for when this man was pondering the enigmas whose solution he was so certain to announce, sooner or later, he grew absorbed and taciturn. Mr. Argyll made us go home with him to dinner. I knew that I should not see Eleanor ; yet, even to be under the same roof with her, made me tremble. Mary, 80 THE DEAD LETTER. who was constantly in attendance upon her sister, would not appear at the table. Slit- came down. i'<>r a moment, to greet me, and to thank me tor my poor cllbrts. The diar rliil'l had changed some, like the nM of us. She could not look like any thing but the rosebud which she was afresh and pure young creature of sixteen summers a rosebud drenched in de\v a little pale, with a quiver in her smile, and bright tears beading her eye-lashes, ready, at any moment, to' drop. It was touching to see one naturally so joyous, subdued by the shadow which had fallen over the house. Neither of us could say much; our lips trembled \\lien \\ e >p.-].. name; so, after a moment's holding my hand, while- the tears began to flow fast, Mary unclasped my fingers, and went up stairs. I saw .Mr. Hurton hide those blue- gray eyes of his in his handkerchief; my respect for him deepened as I felt that thovc eye-, sharp and pene- trating as they were, ucrc not too cold to warm with ft sudden mi-t at the vision he had beheld. " Ah !" murmured I to myself, " if he could see Elea- nor!" When dinner was over, Mr. Argyll went up to see his children, giving me permission to show the house and grounds to the detective. James went on the por- ti. to smoke a cigar. Mr. Uurton sat a short time in the library, taking an impression of it on his mind, \- amined the lock of the desk, and noticed the arrange- ment of the one window, \\hidi was a large bay-\\ indo\v opening to the floor and projecting over tin- lb.\\er- n which lay behind the house and bordcivd ihe la\\ n to the right. It was about three feet to the ground, ilthough quite accessible, as a mode of entrance, Jo any one compelled to that resource, the \\ indow WE8 not ordinarily used as a mode of ingress or egress. I had Hometimes chased Mary, when she Was not SO old as now, and sent her flying through the open .:.-. muit. THE HANDKERCHIEF. 81 into the mignonette and violets beneath, and I after ; but since we had both grown more sedate, such pi-anks were rare. We then went out upon the lawn. I took my com- panion to the tree beneath which I had stood, when that dark figure had approached, and passed me, to crouch beneath the window from which the death-candles shone. From this spot, the bay-window was not visi- ble, that being at the back of the house and this on the side. Mr. Burton looked carefully about him, walking all over the lawn, going up under the parlor windows, and thence pursuing his way into the garden and around to the bay-window. It was quite natural to search closely in this precinct for some mark or footsteps, some crushed flowers, or broken branches, or scratches upon the wall, left by the thief, if he or she had made his or her entrance at this spot. Going over the ground thus, inch by inch, I observed a bit of white lawn, soiled and weather-beaten, lying under a rose-bush a few feet from the window. I picked it up. It was a woman's hand- kerchief, of fine lawn, embroidered along the edge with a delicate running vine, and a spray of flowers at the corner. " One of the young ladies has dropped it, some time ago," I said, " or it has blown across from the kitchen grass-plot, where the linen is put out to dry." Then I examined the discolored article more closely, and, involved in the graceful twinings of the spray of flowers, I saw worked the initials " L. S." " Leesy Sullivan," said my companion, taking it from my hand. " It seems too dainty an article for her ownership," I said, at last, for, at first, I had been quite stupefied. "A woman's vanity will compass many things beyond her means. This thing she has embroidered with her own needle you remember, she is a proficient in the art." 82 THE DEAD LETTER. " Yes, I remember. She may have lost it Sunday niirht, during that visit which I observed; and the wind has blown it over into this spot." " You forget that there has been no rain since that nielli. This handkerchief has been beaten into the grass and earth by a violent rain. A thorn upon this bush has pulled it from her pocket as she passed, and the rain has set its mark upon it, to be used as a toti- mony against her." " The evidence seems to conflict. She can not be a man and woman both." Why not ?" was the quiet reply. " There may be a principal and an accomplice. A woman is a safer ac- complice for a man than one of his own sex and vice versa." The lace which I had seen, in its despair, the lace of Leesy Sullivan, rose in my memory, full of pa->ion, marked in every soft yet impressive lineament with slumbering power " such a nature," I thought, "can be maddened into crime, but it will not con>ort with villa i, Mr. Hurt on put the handkerchief in the inside pocket of his coat, and we returned into the house, lie in- quired the name-; of the servanN, none s Sullivan ; that she hal been employed in the family, for a few days at a time, THE SERVANTS QUESTIONED. 83 on several different occasions, but none of them recent. " We liked her sewing very much, and wanted to en- gage her for the next six weeks," she added, with a sigh, " but on inquiring for her, learned that she was now employed in New York." " She must, then, have been perfectly familiar with the arrangement of the house, and with the habits of the family ; as for instance, at what hour you dined. She might enter Avhile the family were at table, since, had she been surprised by the entrance of a servant, or other person, she could affect to have called on an er- rand, and to be waiting for the young ladies," remarked Mr. Burton. The servants were then summoned, one at a time, and questioned as to whether they had observed any suspicious persons whatever about the house or grounds within a week. They were, of course, in a national state of high excitement, and immediately upon a ques- tion being put to them, answered every other imaginary case in the world but that, blessed themselves, called on the Virgin Mary, gave an account of all the beggars as called at the kitchen last year and the year afore, cried abundantly, and gave no coherent information. " Ah, sure J" said Norah, the cook, " there was the blackin'-and-bluin' man come around last Wednesday, and I tuk a bottle of the blue for the clothes. It's a poor mimiry I have, sure, since I came across the say. Afore that I could recollect beyond any thing, and the praste used to praise my rading. I think it was the tossin' an' rollin' ov the ship upsot my brain. It was Saturday, it wur, and oh, Lordy, it is setting me all of a trimble a-thinkin' of that day, and I see a little yeller dog a-stickiu' his nose into the kitching door, which was open about half, and nays I, there/ s vagabonds ' around str^nghv, I knew by the dog, and I wint and looked out, and sure as me name's Norah, there was an 84 THE DEA.D LETTER. old lame man wid a stick a-prct hiding to look for rags an' bones in the alley to the stable, which I niver allows such about, as it's against the master's orthers, and I druv him off imniajetly and that, I think, Mas Saturday two weeks no\v, but I won't be sure ; nml I don't mind nobody else but the chany-wonlan, wid her basket, which I don't think it could have been her as done any thin' bad, for she's been round rig'ler, for a good while, and is a dacent-spoken body that I've had some dalin's wid myself. I sowld her my old plaid gown for the match-box of ebony that sits on the kitch- ing-mantcl now, and oh dear! but my heart's dead broke, sure ! Margaret and I daren't set in the kitehing of nights no more, unless Jim's there, an' I've woke up Bcr'aming two nights now oeh hone! and if I'.i any thing, I'd a told it Ion-; afore, which I wih I had, . d me, sir. It don't do no good a-cook- ing delicacies whieh nobody eats no longer I wish I had never eome to Amyrik\ . DC Mi-s Kleanor BO tuk down !" and having relieved herself of the sym- pathy which slie had been aching to express, without the Opportunity, -lie threw her apron over her head, and sobbed after the manner of her people. Margaret's testimony was no more to the point than it's. Mr. Burton let each one go on after her own .putting up \\ith the tedious circumlocution, in the hope of some kernel of wheat in the hii>hel of chatV. Artt-r a deluge of tears and intcrjcetions, Maggie did finally come out with a statement which arrested the attention of her li-tcii. " I've never seen none gawking about as didn't be- long here not a living sowl. The howly Virgin pre- vii't that iver I should see what Jim did it wasn't a human being at all, hut a wraith, and ho seen it that very night. He nivi-r told us of it, till the Tuesday night, as we sot talking about the funeral, and it A WKAITH. 85 frightened us so, we niver slept a wink till morning. Poor Jim's worried with it, too ; he pretinds he isn't afraid of the livin' nor dead, but it's no shame to the best to stand in awe of the sperits, and I see he's backward about going about the place, alone, after dark, and no wonder ! Sure, he saw a ghost !" " What was it like ?" " Sure, you'd best call him, and let him describe it for hisself it'll make your blood run cold to think of sich things in a Christian family." Jim was summoned. His story, weeded out, was this: On Saturday evening, after tea, his mistress, Miss Eleanor, had asked him to go to the post-office for the evening mail. It was very dark and rainy. He lighted the lantern. As he went out the back gate, he stopped a minute and lifted his lantern to take a look about the premises, to see if there was any thing left out which ought to be taken in from the storm. As he waved the light about, he saw something in the flower- garden, about six feet from the bay-window. It had the appearance of a woman ; its face was white, its hair hung down on its shoulders ; it stood quite still in the rain, just as if the water was not coming down by bucketfuls. It had very large, bright eyes, which shone when the candle threw the light on them, as if they had been made of fire. He was so frightened that he let his lantern fall, which did not happen to extinguish the candle, but when he lifted it up again, the wraith had vanished. He felt very queer about it, at the time ; and next day, when the bad news came, he knew it was a warning. They often had such in the old country. We did not undeceive Jim as to the character of the phantom. With the assurance that it probably would not come again, since its mission had been accomplished, and a caution not to make the girls in the kitchen too nervous about it, we dismissed him. 86 THE DEAD LETTER. CHAPTER VII. ELEANOR. ONE week, another a third a fourth, passed by. Our village was as if it had never been shaken by :i tit-ive agitation. Already the tr.. M if it had not been, except to the household whose fairest flower it had blighted. People no longer looked over their shoul- ders as they walked ; the story now only served to en- I'm-n the history of the little place, when it was told to a stranger. Kvery limit; that human energy could accomplish had been done to track the murder to its origin : yel not, one step had been gained since \ve sat, that Wednesday afternoon, in the parlor, holding a council over the handkerchief. Yoim^and healthful as 1 was, I f,-lt my spirits breaking down under mv constant, unavailing ions. The time for mv examination came, which could not be unsuccessful, I had so lon^ been thorou^lily >>]. but I had \<>-l my keen interest in this era of my lite, while my ambition L MVW torpid. To excel in my prifi-*ioii had become. f,.r the time, <|iiite the seo- ondary object ,.f my life; my brain grew feverish \\ith the h:ira-s!ii,.|it. of restless project- ! of thwarteil ideas. There WO8 not one in the family group (always excepting that un-cen and cloistered Millerer) who betrayed the wear-and-tear of our trouble so much as I. James remarked once that I u:i- impi\<t circled the hori/.on with a /one of purple. I ciiuldiiot stay in theoflice that afternoon, so infinitely sad, so infinitely lovely. I put aside the I aw -papers which I had been arranging for a case in which I first to appear before a jury and make my maiden argu- ment. The air, soft as that of summer and scented THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE. with the indescribable perfume of perishing leaves, came to me through the open window, with a message call- ing me abroad ; I took up my hat, stepped out upon the pavement, and wandering along the avenue in the direction of the house, went in upon the lawn. I had thought to go out into the open country for a long walk ; but my heart drew me and held me here. The language of all beauty, and of infinity itself, is love. The divine melancholy of music, the deep tranquillity of summer noons, the softened splendor of autumn days, haunting one with ineffable joy and sadness what is the name of all this varying demonstration of beauty, but love ? I walked beneath the trees, slowly, my feet nestling among the thickly-strewn leaves, and pressing a faint aroma from the moist earth. To and fro for a long time I rambled, thinking no tangible thoughts, but my soul silently filling, all the time, like a fountain fed by secret springs. To the back of the lawn, extending around and behind the flower-garden, was a little ascent, covered by a grove of elms and maples, in the midst of which was a summer-house which had been a favor- ite resort of Eleanor's. Hither I finally bent my steps, and seating myself, looked musingly upon the lovely prospect around and beneath me. The rustic temple opened toward the river, which was visible from here, rolling in its blue splendor across the exquisite land- scape. There is a fascination in water w.hich will keep the eyes fixed upon it through hours of reverie ; I sat there, mindful of the near mountains, the purple mist, the white ships, the busy village, but gazing only at the blue ripples forever slipping away from the point of my observation. My spirit exhaled like the mist and ascended in aspiration. My grief aspired, and arose in passionate prayers to the white throne of the eternal justice it arose in tears, etherealized and drawn up by 90 THE DEAD LETTER. the rays from the one great source and sun the spirit of Love. I prayed and wept for her. No thought of [' mingled with these emotions. Suddenly a slight fhill fell upon me. I started to per- ceive that the sun had set. A band of orange belted the west. As the sun dropped behind the hills the moon came up in the east. It seemed as if her silver light frosted what it touched ; the air grew sharp; a thin, white cloud spread itself over tin river. I hud sat there long enough, and I was forcing myself t. a consciousness of the fact, when I saw one coming through the flower-garden and approaching the' summer- My blood paused in my veins when 1 saw that it was Eleanor. The sunset yet lingered, and the cold moon- light shone full on her face. I remembered how I had seen her, that last time but on.-, glowing and flushing in triumphant beauty, attired with the most skill. jaetry of a young, beloved woman, who is glad of her charms because another pri/.cs them. Now she came alonir the loMMNM path, between the withered llow.-r-beds. clothed in deepest black, walking with a feeble step, one small white hand hoi. ling the gable shawl across her chest, a long crape vail thrown ,T head, from which her face looked ,,ut, white and still. A |ang like that of death Iran-fixed me, as I | at her. Not one rose left in the garden of her young life! The ruin through which she walked was not RO comjih-te but this garden \\ ..ill. I -,!(' in the months of another spring while for her there was no Spring on this side of the _- A !y she threaded her way, with bent -a/e. thr..ugh the garden, out upon the hillside, and up to the little ru-tic temple in which she had spent so many happy hours with him. When she had reached the grassy SWEET UNSELFISHNESS. 91 platform in front of it, she raised her eyes and swept a glance around upon the familiar scene. There were no tears in her blue eyes, and her lips did not quiver. It was not until she had encircled the horizon with that quiet, beamless look, that she perceived me. I rose to my feet, my expression only doing reverence to her sor- row, for I had no words. She held out her hand, and as I took it, she said with gentleness as if her sweetness must excuse the absence of her former smiles, " Are you well, Richard ? You look thin. Be care- ful of yourself is it not too chilly for you to be sitting here at this hour ?" I pressed her hand, and turned away, vainly endeav- oring to command my voice, /had changed! but it was like Eleanor to put herself aside and remember others. " Nay, do not go," she said, as she saw that I was leaving her out of fear of intruding upon her visit, " I shall remain here but a few moments, and I will lean upon your arm back to the house. I am not strong, and the walk up the hill has tired me. I wanted to see you, Richard. I thought some of coming down-stairs a little while this evening. I want to thank you." The words were just whispered, and she turned im- mediately and looked away at the river. I understood her well. She Avanted to thank me for the spirit which had prompted me in my earnest, though unsuccessful efforts. And coming down to the family-group a little while in the evening, that was for Mary's sake, and her poor father's. Her own light had expired, but she did not wish to darken the hearthstone any more than was unavoidable. She sunk down upon the seat I had va- cated, remaining motionless, looking upon the river and the sky. After a time, with a long, tremulous sigh, she arose to go. A gleam from the west fell upon a 92 THE DEAD LETTER. single violet which, protected from the frost by the pro- jecting roof, smiled up at us, near the door of tin 4 sum- mer-house. With a wild kind of pa>-i.n breaking through her quiet, Eleanor stooped, gathered it. pr* it to her lips, and burst into tears it was her favorite flower Henry's favorite. It was agony to see her cry, yet better, perhaps, than such marble repose. She was too weak to bear this sudden shock alone ; she leaned upon 'my shoulder, sob which shook her frame echoed by me. ^ ! I am not ashamed to confe--- it ! When manhood is fresh and unsullied, it< tears are not wrung out in tlm-i; single drops of mortal BDgniah which the rock forth when time and the foot of the world have harden- ed it. I could still remember when I had kis>cd my mother, and wej>t my boyish troubles well upon her It, I should have been harder than the nether millstone, had I not wept tears with Kleanor then. I mastered myself in order to assist her to regain composure, for I was alarmed lest the violence of her emotion should break down the remnant of her Trail strength. She, too, struggled a^mM the storm, soon growing outwardly calm, and with the violet pi to her bosom with one hand, with the other she clung to my arm, and we returned to the house, where they were already looking for Kleanor. Under the full light of the hall-lamp we encountered James. It was his first meeting with his cousin as well as mine. He gave her a quick, penetrating look, held out his hand, his lips moved as if striving to form a greeting. It was evident that the change was greater than he expected; lie dropped his hand. Let.. re her fingers had touched it, and rushing past us through the open door, he closed it behind him, remaining out until long after tea. When he came in, Eleanor had retired to her chamber, GLOOM. 93 and Mary brought him the cup of tea which she had kept hot for him. " You are a good girl, Mary," he said, drinking it hastily, as if to get rid of it. " I hope nobody will ever make you look like that ! I thought broken hearts were easily mended that gii-ls usually had theirs bro- ken three or four times, and patched them up again but I have changed my mind." That gloomy look, which Mary declared she dreaded, clouded his face again. His countenance was most var- iable ; nothing could excel it in glitter and brilliant color when he was in his pleasing mood, but when sullen or sad, it was sallow and lusterless. Thus it looked that evening. But I must close this chapter now and here it is consecrated to that meeting with the object of my sorrow and adoration, and I will not prolong it with the details of other events. 94 THE DEAD LETTER. CHAPTER VIII. THE HAUNTED GRAVE. WHEX I returned to my boarding-house th.it evening, I found a telegram awaiting me from Mr. Bur- ton, asking me to come down to the city in the morning. I went down by the earlie>t train, and, soon after, ringing the lell at the door of his private residence in Twenty- third street, a servant ushered me into the library, where I found the master of the house so absorbed in thought, as he sat before the grate with his eyes bent upon the glowing coals, that he did not observe my en- trance until I spoke his name. Springing to his feet, he shook me heartily by the hand ; we had already be- come warm personal frier, >1<. " You are early," he said, " but so much the better. We will have the more time for business." M Have you heard any thing?" was ray first ques- tion. \Vell, no. Don't hope that I have called you here to satisfy you with any positive ,li-<-.)\ ei ie>. The work goes on slowly. I was never so baffled but once bet'.