s in it."

They take the hint, and remain silent.

But when the envelope is laid open, and a photograph drawn out, showing
the portrait of a young lady, recognised by all as a likeness of Helen
Armstrong, there is a fresh outburst of exclamations which betoken
increased surprise; this stronger still, after Spence reads out the
inscript upon the picture:

"Helen Armstrong--for him she loves."

The letter is addressed to Charles Clancy; to him the photograph must
have been sent. A love-affair between Miss Armstrong and the man who
has been murdered! A new revelation to all--startling, as pertinent to
the case.--

"Go on, Spence! Give us the contents of the letter!" demands an
impatient voice.

"Yes, give them!" adds another. "I reckon we're on the right track
now."

The epistle is taken out of the envelope. The schoolmaster, unfolding
it, reads aloud:--

"Dear Charles,--

"When we last met under the magnolia, you asked me a question. I told
you I would answer it in writing. I now keep my promise, and you will
find the answer underneath my own very imperfect image, which I herewith
send in closed. Papa has finally fixed the day of our departure from
the old home. On Tuesday next we are to set out in search of a new one.
Will it ever be as dear as that we are leaving behind? The answer will
depend upon--need I say whom? After reading what I have written upon
the _carte_, surely you can guess. There, I have confessed all--all
woman can, could, or should. In six little words I have made over to
you my heart. Accept them as its surrender!

"And now, Charles, to speak of things prosaic, as in this hard world we
are too oft constrained to do. On Tuesday morning--at a very early
hour, I believe--a boat will leave Natchez, bound up the Red River.
Upon it we travel, as far as Natchitoches. There to remain for some
time, while papa is completing preparations for our farther transport
into Texas, I am not certain what part of the `Lone Star' State he will
select for our future home. He speaks of a place upon some branch of
the Colorado River, said to be a beautiful country; which, you, having
been out there, will know all about. In any case, we are to remain for
a time, a month or more, in Nachitoches; and there, _Carlos mio_, I need
not tell you, there is a post-office for receiving letters, as also for
delivering them. Mind, I say for _delivering_ them! Before we leave
for the far frontier, where t