now obsolete carrying service as by the discoloration of time and
atmosphere. Its weight, which was heavier than that of any
ordinary letter of the same size and thickness, was evidently due
to some loose enclosures, that slightly rustled and could be felt
by the fingers, like minute pieces of metal or grains of gravel.
It was within Don Caesar's experience that gold specimens were
often sent in that manner. It was in a state of singular
preservation, except the address, which, being written in pencil,
was scarcely discernible, and even when deciphered appeared to be
incoherent and unfinished. The unknown correspondent had written
"dear Mary," and then "Mrs. Mary Slinn," with an unintelligible
scrawl following for the direction. If Don Caesar's mind had not
been lately preoccupied with the name of the editor, he would
hardly have guessed the superscription.

In his cruel disappointment and fully aroused indignation, he at
once began to suspect a connection of circumstances which at any
other moment he would have thought purely accidental, or perhaps
not have considered at all. The cavity in the tree had evidently
been used as a secret receptacle for letters before; did Mamie know
it at the time, and how did she know it? The apparent age of the
letter made it preposterous to suppose that it pointed to any
secret correspondence of hers with young Mr. Slinn; and the address
was not in her handwriting. Was there any secret previous intimacy
between the families? There was but one way in which he could
connect this letter with Mamie's faithlessness. It was an
infamous, a grotesquely horrible idea, a thought which sprang as
much from his inexperience of the world and his habitual
suspiciousness of all humor as anything else! It was that the
letter was a brutal joke of Slinn's--a joke perhaps concocted by