ble to put my finger upon the guilty man, or doubt
if I will be able to bring him to justice?"

"I doubt," she said with strong effort, "if any one ever knows who is
the guilty person in this case."

"There is one who knows," I said with a desire to test her.

"One?"

"The girl Hannah is acquainted with the mystery of that night's evil
doings, Miss Leavenworth. Find Hannah, and we find one who can point out
to us the assassin of your uncle."

"That is mere supposition," she said; but I saw the blow had told.

"Your cousin has offered a large reward for the girl, and the whole
country is on the lookout. Within a week we shall see her in our midst."

A change took place in her expression and bearing.

"The girl cannot help me," she said.

Baffled by her manner, I drew back. "Is there anything or anybody that
can?"

She slowly looked away.

"Miss Leavenworth," I continued with renewed earnestness, "you have no
brother to plead with you, you have no mother to guide you; let me then
entreat, in default of nearer and dearer friends, that you will rely
sufficiently upon me to tell me one thing."

"What is it?" she asked.

"Whether you took the paper imputed to you from the library table?"

She did not instantly respond, but sat looking earnestly before her with
an intentness which seemed to argue that she was weighing the question
as well as her reply. Finally, turning toward me, she said:

"In answering you, I speak in confidence. Mr. Raymond, I did."

Crushing back the sigh of despair that arose to my lips, I went on.

"I will not inquire what the paper was,"--she waved her hand
deprecatingly,--"but this much more you will tell me. Is that paper
still in existence?"

She looked me steadily in the face.

"It is not."

I could with difficulty forbear showing my disappointment. "Miss
Leavenworth," I now said, "it may seem cruel for me to press you at this
time; nothing less than my strong realization of the peril in which you
stand would induce me to run the risk of incurring your displeasure by
asking what under other circumstances would seem puerile and insulting
questions. You have told me one thing which I strongly desired to know;
will you also inform me what it was you heard that night while sitting
in your room, between the time of Mr. Harwell's going up-stairs and the
closing of the library door, of which you made mention at the inquest?"

I had pushed my inquiries too far, and I saw it immedia