"I have kept them all. You may read the whole case if you care about
it."

"I should like to, very much," said Brandon, with great calmness.

"When I heard of this before the mail was opened I felt an agony of fear
lest my miserable boy might be implicated in some way. To my immense
relief his name did not occur at all."

"You got a letter from your wife?" said Brandon, interrogatively.

"Yes," said the old man, with a sigh. "The last that I ever received
from her. Here it is." And, saying this, he opened his pocket-book and
took out a letter, worn and faded, and blackened by frequent readings.

Brandon took it respectfully, and read the following:

"CALCUTTA, August 15, 1828.

"MY DEAREST HENRY,--By the papers that I send you, you will see what has
occurred. Our dear Edgar is well, indeed better than usual, and I would
feel much cheered if it were not for the sad fate of the poor Colonel.
This is the last letter that you will ever receive from me. I am going
to leave this country never to return, and do not yet know where I will
go. Wherever I go I will be with my darling Edgar. Do not worry about me
or about him. It will be better for you to try and forget all about us,
since we are from this time the same as dead to you. Good-by forever, my
dearest husband; it shall be my daily prayer that God may bless you.

"Your affectionate wife, MARY."