now what that meant. Oh, must I tell you what a weak,
weak girl I was? When I found out at Lenox, as I thought, that Bessie
did not care for you, I said to her that once I thought you _had_
cared for me, but that papa had offended you by his manner--you
weren't of an old Knickerbocker family, you know--and had given you to
understand that your visits were not acceptable.

"I am sure now that it was because I wanted to think so that I put
that explanation upon your ceasing to visit me, and because papa
always looked so decidedly _queer_ whenever your name was mentioned.

"I had always had everything in life that I wanted, and I believed
that in due time you would come back to me.

"Bessie knew well enough what that pilot-letter meant, for here is her
answer."

Pinned fast to the end of Fanny's letter, so that by no chance should
I read it first, were these words in my darling's hand:

"Got your pilot-letter. Aunt is much better. We shall be traveling
about so much that you need not write me the progress of your romance,
but believe me I shall be most interested in its conclusion. BESSIE
S."

It was all explained now. My darling, so sensitive and spirited, had
given her leave "to try."

CHAPTER IX.

But was that all? Was she wearing away the slow months in passionate
unbelief of me? I could not tell. But before I slept that night I had
taken my resolve. I would sail for home by the next steamer. The case
would suffer, perhaps, by the delay and the change of hands: D----
must come out to attend to it himself, then, but I would suffer no
longer.

No use to write to Bessie. I had exhausted every means to reach her
save that of the detectives. "I'll go to the office, file my papers
till the next man comes over, see Fanny Meyrick, and be off."

But what to say to Fanny? Good, generous girl! She had indeed done
what few women in the world would have had the courage to do--shown
her whole heart to a man who loved another. It would be an
embarrassing interview; and I was not sorry when I started out that
morning that it was too early yet to call.

To the office first, then, I directed my steps. But here Fate lay
_perdu_ and in wait for me.

"A letter, Mr. Munro, from D---- & Co.," said the brisk young clerk.
They had treated me with great respect of late, for, indeed, our claim
was steadily growing in weight, and was sure to come right before
long. I opened and read:

"The missing paper is found on this