en I doubted Him.
See, I have kept this hidden there every moment since it first came,
even on the stage in my changes of costume. I dared not part with it
for a single instant--it was far too precious." She sank back upon the
chair, holding out toward him the paper. "Read that yourself, if my
tears have not made the lines illegible."

He took it from her, his hands trembling, and drew forth the enclosure,
a single sheet of rough yellow paper. Once he paused, glancing toward
where she sat, her face buried in her arms across the chair-back. Then
he smoothed out the wrinkles, and read slowly, studying over each
pencil-written, ill-spelled word, every crease and stain leaving an
impression upon his brain:

"SAN JUAN, COL., DEC. 12, 1904.

"Deer Miss: I see your name agin in a Denver paper what Bill brought
out frum town ternight, an read thar that you wus goin ter play a piece
in Chicago. I aint seen yer name in ther papers afore fer a long time.
So I thot I 'd write yer a line, cause Bill thinks yer never got it
straight bout ther way Biff Farnham died. He ses thet you an Mister
Winston hes got ther whol affair all mixed up, an that maybe it's a
keepin ther two of yer sorter sore on each other. Now, I dont wanter
butt in none in yer affairs, an then agin it aint overly plisent fer me
to make a clean breast ov it this way on paper. Not that I 'm afeard,
er nothin, only it dont just look nice. No more do I want enything
whut I did ter be makin you fokes a heep o trouble. That aint my
style. I reckon I must a bin plum crazy whin I did it, fer I wus
mighty nigh that fer six months after--et least Bill ses so. But it
wus me all right whut killed Farnham. It wan't no murder es I see it,
tho I was huntin him all right, fer he saw me furst, an hed his gun
out, when I let drive. Enyhow, he got whut wus comin ter him, an I
aint got no regrets. We're a doin all right out yere now, me an
Bill--ther claim is payin big, but I never aint got over thinkin bout
Mercedes. I shore loved her, an I do yit. You was awful good to her,
an I reckon she 'd sorter want me to tell you jist how it wus. Hopin
this will clar up som ov them troubles between you an Mister Winston, I
am Yours with respects,

"WILLIAM BROWN."

Winston stood there in silence, yet holding the paper in his hand.
Almost timidly she glanced up at him across the back of the chair.

"And you have never suspected who I was until to-night?"

"No, nev