e said, and I also knew, that there was nothing as yet,
except most frail and feeble evidence, to connect that nameless stranger
with the crime charged upon my father. Indeed, it might be argued well
that there was no evidence at all, only inference and suspicion. That,
however, was no fault of mine; and I felt as sure about it as if I had
seen him in the very act. And this conclusion was not mine alone; for
Mrs. Busk, a most clever woman, and the one who kept the post-office,
entirely agreed with me that there could be no doubt on earth about it.

But when she went on to ask me what it was my intention to do next, for
the moment I could do nothing more than inquire what her opinion was.
And she told me that she must have a good night's rest before advising
any thing. For the thought of having such a heinous character in her own
delivery district was enough to unhinge her from her postal duties, some
of which might be useful to me.

With a significant glance she left me to my own thoughts, which were sad
enough, and too sad to be worth recording. For Mrs. Busk had not the
art of rousing people and cheering them, such as Betsy Strouss, my
old nurse, had, perhaps from her knowledge of the nursery. My present
landlady might be the more sagacious and sensible woman of the two, and
therefore the better adviser; but for keeping one up to the mark she was
not in any way equal to Betsy.

There is no ingratitude in saying this, because she herself admitted it.
A clever woman, with a well-balanced mind, knows what she can do, and
wherein she fails, better than a man of her own proportion does. And
Mrs. Busk often lamented, without much real mortification, that she had
not been "born sympathetic."

All the more perhaps for that, she was born sagacious, which is a less
pleasing, but, in a bitter pinch, a more really useful, quality. And
before I had time to think much of her defects, in the crowd of more
important thought, in she came again, with a letter in her hand, and a
sparkle of triumph in her small black eyes. After looking back along the
passage, and closing my door, she saw that my little bay-window had its
old-fashioned shutters fastened, and then, in a very low whisper, she
said, "What you want to know is here, miss."

"Indeed!" I answered, in my usual voice. "How can you know that? The
letter is sealed."

"Hush! Would you have me ruined for your sake? This was at the bottom of
the Nepheton bag. It fell on the floo