Scarcely legible, in the lower left-hand corner, was:

"_Dead. Try Paul, No. --, W. 20th_."

Being unfamiliar with the handwriting, Mr. Henley carried the letter
to his room. It was nearly dark, and he lighted the gas, exchanged
the coat he had been wearing for a gaudy smoking jacket, glancing
momentarily at the mirror, at a young and gentlemanly face with good
features; complexion rather florid; hair and moustache neither fair
nor dark, with reddish lights.

Seating himself upon a table directly under the gas, he proceeded
with the letter. Evidently the document was not intended for him, but
it proved sufficiently interesting to hold his attention.

GUIR HOUSE, 16TH SEPT., 1893.

MY DEAR MR. HENLEY:

Although we have never met, I feel sure that you are the man for
whom I am looking, which conclusion has been reached after
carefully considering your letters. Why have I taken so long to
decide? Perhaps I can answer that better when we meet. Do not
forget that the name of our station is the same as that of the
house--Guir. Take the evening train from New York, and you will be
with us in old Virginia next day, not twenty-four hours. I shall
meet you at the station, where I shall go every day for a month, or
until you come. You will know me because--well, because I shall
probably be the only girl there, and because I drive a piebald
horse in a cart with red wheels--but how shall I know you? Suppose