he had written:

"Hen Timms had locked me in the room and was forcing me when
Gabe broke in and got me away from him. He had to bust his
head with a flatiron to make him let go of me. I am a good
woman.
Mary Brown"

"Yes, good Mary, this will shield Timms from that knife, I feel a
certainty, and I will send for you and see that you go to an interview
with him at ten o'clock of the to-morrow morning. And now good night,
with great respect to you for a brave woman," I said as I rose to my
feet.

"Who are you, Mister, that have spoke to my heart like they ain't
nobody spoke to its suffering yet, though you ain't said many words
and them is curious like?" she asked of me as I prepared to take a
hurried departure.

"I am the secretary of the Gouverneur Faulkner, Mary, and--and--I
know--how women--love--men. I--"

"I bet a many of 'em have loved you, God bless your sweet eyes. Good
night, sir!"

And with those kind words from the poor female, who was beginning
again to sob but with another motive in her weeping, I took my
departure down the street--or up--I did not know in just which
direction. I had the intention of returning to the house of Madam
Taylor to obtain the Cherry, which I had left standing before her
door, and in it convey the message to my Gouverneur Faulkner that
should bring relief to his anxiety, but I soon found that I had lost
myself upon streets that I had never seen before.

What was it that I should do? My heart suffered that my Gouverneur
Faulkner should not know the relief of that paper I had in the pocket
of my dinner coat, but I could not find myself and I did not know
exactly what questions I should ask. Then I bethought me of that
telephone, which in America is so much used, but not in France. I
entered into a store for medicines upon the corner of one of the
streets in my wandering, looked diligently in a book to find the
number for the Mansion of the Gouverneur, and after many tellings of
my desire, at last my Gouverneur Faulkner made an answer in my ear
that was as beautiful in voice as the words he spoke to me in his
presence.

"Well?" he asked of me.

"This is Robert Carruthers who speaks."

"Oh, all right, youngster. How did the fatted pie go?"

"That was a very nice pie, Your Excellency, and I have a paper from
that Mary Brown concerning the murder of the brother of good Timms for
cruelty to Mary. I wish to give it to you."

"What do you mean, b