orgive me, for I smart for it. I
have written fifteen letters to my darling Grace, and received no reply.
I wrote her one yesterday, but have now no hope she will ever get
it. This is terrible, but there is worse behind. This very day I have
learned that my premises were blown up within a few hours of my leaving,
and poor, faithful Jael Dence nearly killed; and then a report of my own
death was raised, and some remains found in the ruins that fools said
were mine. I suppose the letters I left in the box were all destroyed by
the fire.

"Now, mark my words, one and the same villain has put that dead man's
hand and arm in the river, and has stopped my letters to Grace; I
am sure of it. So what I want you to do is, first of all, to see my
darling, and tell her I am alive and well, and then put her on her guard
against deceivers.

"I suspect the postman has been tampered with. I write to Mr. Ransome
to look into that. But what you might learn for me is, whether any body
lately has had any opportunity to stop letters addressed to 'Woodbine
Villa.' That seems to point to Mr. Carden, and he was never a friend of
mine. But, somehow, I don't think he would do it.

"You see, I ask myself two questions. Is there any man in the world who
has a motive strong enough to set him tampering with my letters? and,
again, is there any man base enough to do such an act? And the answer
to both questions is the same. I have a rival, and he is base enough for
any thing. Judge for yourself. I as good as saved that Coventry's life
one snowy night, and all I asked in return was that he wouldn't blow me
to the Trades, and so put my life in jeopardy. He gave his word of honor
he wouldn't. But he broke his word. One day, when Grotait and I were
fast friends, and never thought to differ again, Grotait told me this
Coventry was the very man that came to him and told him where I was
working. Such a lump of human dirt as that--for you can't call him a
man--must be capable of any thing."

Here the reading of the letter was interrupted by an incident.

There was on the toilet-table a stiletto, with a pearl handle. It was a
small thing, but the steel rather long, and very bright and pointed.

The unfortunate bride, without lifting her head from the table, had
reached out her hand, and was fingering this stiletto. Jael Dence went
and took it gently away, and put it out of reach. The bride went on
fingering, as if she had still got hold of it.

Am