ry Slinn," with an unintelligible scrawl
following for the direction. If Don Caesar's mind had not been lately
preoccupied with the name of the editor, he would hardly have guessed
the superscription.

In his cruel disappointment and fully aroused indignation, he at once
began to suspect a connection of circumstances which at any other
moment he would have thought purely accidental, or perhaps not have
considered at all. The cavity in the tree had evidently been used as a
secret receptacle for letters before; did Mamie know it at the time,
and how did she know it? The apparent age of the letter made it
preposterous to suppose that it pointed to any secret correspondence of
hers with young Mr. Slinn; and the address was not in her handwriting.
Was there any secret previous intimacy between the families? There was
but one way in which he could connect this letter with Mamie's
faithlessness. It was an infamous, a grotesquely horrible idea, a
thought which sprang as much from his inexperience of the world and his
habitual suspiciousness of all humor as anything else! It was that the
letter was a brutal joke of Slinn's--a joke perhaps concocted by Mamie
and himself--a parting insult that should at the last moment proclaim
their treachery and his own credulity. Doubtless it contained a
declaration of their shame, and the reason why she had fled from him
without a word of explanation. And the enclosure, of course, was some
significant and degrading illustration. Those Americans are full of
those low conceits; it was their national vulgarity.

He had the letter in his angry hand. He could break it open if he
wished and satisfy himself; but it was not addressed to HIM, and the
instinct of honor, strong even in his rage, was the instinct of an
adversary as well. No; Slinn should open the letter before him. Slinn
should explain everything, and answer for it. If it was nothing--a
mere accident--it would lead to some general explanation, and perhaps
even news of Mamie. But he would arraign Slinn, and at once. He put
the letter in his pocket, quickly retraced his steps to his horse, and,
putting spurs to the animal, followed the high road to the gate of
Mulrady's pioneer cabin.

He remembered it well enough. To a cultivated taste, it was superior
to the more pretentious "new house." During the first year of
Mulrady's tenancy, the plain square log-cabin had received those
additions and attractions which only a tenan