suspect my sister of a
dishonorable act as this noble, self-sacrificing woman."

"The third person?" suggested Taylor.

I got up and crossed the floor. When my back was to him I said quietly:

"Was Mrs. Walworth."

The silence that followed was very painful. I did not dare to break it,
and he doubtless found himself unable to do so. It must have been five
minutes before either of us spoke, then he suddenly cried:

"Where is that detective, as you call him? I want to see him."

"Let me see him for you," said I. "I should hardly wish Sudley, discreet
as I consider him, to know you had any interest in this affair."

Taylor rose and came to where I stood.

"You believe," said he, "that she, the woman I am about to marry, is the
one who wrote you that infamous letter?"

I faced him quite frankly. "I do not feel ready to acknowledge that," I
replied. "One of those three women took my letter from out the Bible
where I placed it; which of them wrote the lines that provoked it, I do
not dare conjecture. You say it was not Mrs. Couldock. I say it was not
Miss Dawes, but----"

He broke in upon me impetuously.

"Have you the letter?" he asked.

I had and showed it to him.

"It is not Helen's handwriting," he said.

"Nor is it that of Mrs. Couldock or Miss Dawes."

He looked at me for a moment in a wild sort of way.

"You think she got some one to write it for her?" he cried. "Helen! my
Helen! But it is not so; it cannot be so. Why, Huntley, to have sent
such a letter as that over the name of an innocent young girl, who but
for the happy chance of your meeting her as you did, might never have
had the opportunity of righting herself in your estimation, argues a
cold and calculating selfishness closely allied to depravity. And my
Helen is an angel--or so I have always thought her."

The depth to which his voice sank in the last sentence showed that for
all his seeming confidence he was not without his doubts. I began to
feel very uncomfortable, and not knowing what consolation to offer, I
ventured upon the suggestion that he should see Mrs. Walworth and
frankly ask her whether she had been to the hotel on Main Street on such
a day, and if so, if she had seen a letter addressed to Miss N. lying on
the table of the small parlor. His answer showed how much his confidence
in her had been shaken.

"A woman who, for the sake of paying some unworthy debt, or of
gratifying some whim of feminine vanity, could make use of