tch. He is wounded, but not dangerously, and I write this on my way
to the train, for I am going to him; that is, if I can get through. All
is different now. I trust you. But I love him too much not to try and
make him love _me_ the most, if I possibly can.

HELEN."

* * * * *

This was evidence clear and decided. It was no longer Anne's word, but
Helen's own. Whatever else the listeners continued to believe, they must
give up the idea that the wife and this young girl had parted in anger
and hate; for if the locket as proof could be evaded, the note could
not.

But this was not all. An excitement more marked than any save that
produced when Anne acknowledged the confession arose in the court-room
when the lawyers for the defense announced that they would now bring
forward a second letter--a letter written by Mrs. Heathcote to the
witness in the inn at Timloesville on the evening of her death--her last
letter, what might be called her last utterance on earth. It had been
shown that Mrs. Heathcote was seen writing; it would be proved that a
letter was given to a colored lad employed in the hotel soon after
Captain Heathcote left the room, and that this lad ran across the street
to the post-office and dropped it into the mail-box. Not being able to
read, he had not made out the address.

When the handwriting of this letter also had been identified, it was,
amid eager attention, read aloud. The feeling was as if the dead wife
herself were speaking to them from the grave.

* * * * *

"TIMLOESVILLE, _June 10, half past 8_ P.M.

"DEAR ANNE,--I sent you a few lines from New York, written on my way to
the train, but now that I have time, I feel that something more is due
to you. I found Ward at a little hospital, his right arm injured, but
not seriously. He will not be able to use it readily for some time; it
is in a sling. But he is so much better that they have allowed us to
start homeward. We are travelling slowly--more, however, on my account
than his. I long to have the journey over.

"Dear Anne, I have thought over all our conversation--all that you told
me, all that I replied. I am so inexpressibly happy to-night, as I sit
here writing, that I can and will do you justice, and tell all the
truth--the part that I have hitherto withheld. And that is, Anne, that
your influence over him _was_ for good, and that your pain and effort
have not been thrown a