"I am not going to tell you the story," said she. "I can not bear to
recall it. It is all here, and you may read it for yourself. It was all
public ten years ago, and in this package are the reports of the trial.
I have read them over so often that I almost know them by heart; and I
know, too, the haste of that trial, and the looseness of that evidence.
I have marked it in places--for your eyes only, dearest--for I prepared
it for you, to be handed to you in case of my death. My life, however,
has been preserved, and I now give this into your own hands. You must
take it to your own room, and read it all over by yourself. You will
learn there all that the world believes about your father, and will see
in his own words what he says about himself. And for my part, even if
the testimony were far stronger, I would still take the word of
Frederick Dalton!"

Miss Plympton held out the parcel, and Edith took it, though she was
scarce conscious of the act. An awful foreboding of calamity, the
mysterious shadow of her father's fate, descended over her soul. She was
unconscious of the kiss which Miss Plympton gave her; nor was she
conscious of any thing till she found herself seated at a table in her
own room, with the door locked, and the package lying on the table
before her. She let it lie there for a few moments, for her agitation
was excessive, and she dreaded to open it; but at length she mastered
her feelings, and began to undo the strings.

The contents of the parcel consisted of sheets of paper, upon which were
pasted columns of printed matter cut from some newspaper. It was the
report of the trial of Frederick Dalton, upon charges which ten years
before had filled the public mind with horror and curiosity. In these
days the most cursory reader who took up the report came to the work