xpected to go into the details
of his search, but, evidently, they were not now needed.

"I guess my plan will work all right," he said to himself, as he walked
home rapidly. "It's a pity I must hurry matters so, but unless I do that
valuable piece of property may slip through my fingers."

Not for one moment did the squire's conscience trouble him for what he had
done. He thought only of the end to be gained--of the money he intended to
make.

Of course, he imagined that Ralph was really dead. He would have been
furious had he known the real truth.

But an awakening was close at hand. It came on the following day, when the
squire was at the post office.

He was standing in a corner looking over the various letters he had
received when he heard Henry Bott, the clerk, address a few words to a
laboring man who had come in to post a letter.

"Kind of mysterious about Ralph Nelson?" remarked the man, whose name was
Fielder.

"It is," returned Bott.

"Any news of him yet?"

"None, excepting that he fell over the cliff on Three Top Island and his
body was washed away."

"The widow must feel bad about it."

"Sure."

"I was going to stop at the cottage, but I must get over to Eastport."

"There's a letter just came in for Mrs. Nelson from New York," went on
Bott. "I suppose I might send it to her. It might have some sort of news
she might want to hear."

At these words the squire became more attentive than ever. Who knew but
what the letter might refer to the missing papers that the widow had
advertised for?

"Did you say you had a letter for Mrs. Nelson?" he asked, stepping to the
window.

"Yes."

"I am going down to the place. I'll take it to her if you wish."

"All right, squire; here it is," returned Bott, and handed over the
epistle.

Squire Paget at once hurried from the building, and in the direction of the
Nelson cottage. But once beyond the village proper he turned into a
by-path.

Here he stopped to examine the letter. It was not sealed very tightly, and
by breathing upon the mucilage in the back he soon managed to get it open
without tearing the envelope.

It was Ralph's letter to his mother, and for the moment Squire Paget was so
stunned that he was in danger of collapsing then and there. He staggered to
a stone and fell upon it.

"Alive!" he muttered to himself. "Alive! and the rascals said he was dead!"

He read the letter carefully, not once, but several times. He saw how
Martin a