Brandon read this in silence, and handed it back.

"A strange letter," said Compton mournfully. "At first it gave a bitter
pang to think of my Mary thus giving me up forever, so coldly, and for
no reason: but afterward I began to understand why she wrote this.

"My belief is, that these villains kept my son in their clutches for
some good reason, and that they had some equally good reason for keeping
her. There's some mystery about it which I can't fathom. Perhaps she
knew too much about the Colonel's affairs to be allowed to go free. They
might have detained her by working upon her love for her son, or simply
by terrifying her. She was always a timid soul, poor Mary. That letter
is not her composition: there is not a word there that sounds like her,
and they no doubt told her what to write, or wrote out something, and
made her copy it.

"And now," said Compton, after another long pause, "I have got to the
end of my story. I know nothing more about them. I have lived here ever
since, at first despairing, but of late more resigned to my lot. Yet
still if I have one desire in life it is to get some trace of these dear
ones whom I still love as tenderly as ever. You, my dear boy, with your
ability may conjecture some way. Besides, you will perhaps be traveling
more or less, and may be able to hear of their fate. This is the
condition that I make. I implore you by your pity for a heart-broken
father to do as I say and help me. Half! why, I would give all that I
have if I could get them back again."

Brandon shuddered perceptibly at the words "heart-broken father;" but he
quickly recovered himself. He took Compton's hand and pressed it warmly.