The editor followed, and Mr. Hamlin laid the note before him on the
table. "Bob's all right," he said, "for I'll bet a thousand dollars that
note is genuine."

It was delicately written, in a cultivated feminine hand, utterly unlike
the scrawl that had first excited the editor's curiosity, and ran as
follows:--


He who brought me the bounty of your friend--for I cannot call a
recompense so far above my deserts by any other name--gives me also to
understand that you wished for an interview. I cannot believe that this
is mere idle curiosity, or that you have any motive that is not kindly
and honorable, but I feel that I must beg and pray you not to seek to
remove the veil behind which I have chosen to hide myself and my
poor efforts from identification. I THINK I know you--I KNOW I
know myself--well enough to believe it would give neither of us any
happiness. You will say to your generous friend that he has already
given the Unknown more comfort and hope than could come from any
personal compliment or publicity, and you will yourself believe that you
have all unconsciously brightened a sad woman's fancy with a Dream and a
Vision that before today had been unknown to

WHITE VIOLET.


"Have you read it?" asked Mr. Hamlin.

"Yes."