en he began to collect together all the letters in the box. Having
got them into his hands--some tied up in a packet, some loose--he spread
them out before him on his lap, first drawing up an end of one of the
bear-skins over his legs for them to lie on conveniently. He began by
examining the addresses. They were all directed to "Mary Grice," in
the same clear, careful, sharply-shaped handwriting. Though they were
letters in form, they proved to be only notes in substance, when he
opened them: the writing, in some, not extending to more than four or
five lines. At least fifteen or twenty were expressed, with unimportant
variations, in this form:

"MY DEAREST MARY--Pray try all you can to meet me to-morrow evening at
the usual place. I have been waiting and longing for you in vain to-day.
Only think of _me,_ love, as I am now, and always, thinking of _you;_
and I know you will come. Ever and only yours,

"A. C."

All these notes were signed in the same way, merely with initial
letters. They contained nothing in the shape of a date, except the day
of the week on which they had been written; and they had evidently
been delivered by some private means, for there did not appear to be a
post-mark on any of them. One after another Mat opened and glanced at
them--then tossed them aside into a heap. He pursued this employment
quietly and methodically; but as he went on with it, a strange look
flashed into his eyes from time to time, giving to them a certain
sinister brightness which altered very remarkably the whole natural
expression of his face.

Other letters, somewhat longer than the note already quoted, fared no
better at his hands. Dry leaves dropped out of some, as he threw them
aside; and little water-color drawings of rare flowers fluttered out
of others. Hard botanical names which he could not spell through, and
descriptions of plants which he could not understand, occurred here and
there in postscripts and detached passages of the longer letters. But
still, whether long or short, they bore no signature but the initials
"A. C.;" still the dates afforded no information of the year, month, or
place in which they had been written; and still Mat quietly and quickly
tossed them aside one after the other, without so much as a word or a
sigh escaping him, but with that sinister brightness flashing into his
eyes from time to time. Out of the whole number of the letters, there
were only two t