e possibility
that Mrs. Belden's conclusions were correct? That all the detectives
interested in the affair would regard the question as settled, I did not
doubt; but need it be? Was it utterly impossible to find evidence yet
that Henry Clavering was, after all, the assassin of Mr. Leavenworth?

Filled with the thought, I looked across the room to the closet where
lay the body of the girl who, according to all probability, had known
the truth of the matter, and a great longing seized me. Oh, why could
not the dead be made to speak? Why should she lie there so silent, so
pulseless, so inert, when a word from her were enough to decide the
awful question? Was there no power to compel those pallid lips to move?

Carried away by the fervor of the moment, I made my way to her side. Ah,
God, how still! With what a mockery the closed lips and lids confronted
my demanding gaze! A stone could not have been more unresponsive.

With a feeling that was almost like anger, I stood there, when--what
was it I saw protruding from beneath her shoulders where they crushed
against the bed? An envelope? a letter? Yes.

Dizzy with the sudden surprise, overcome with the wild hopes this
discovery awakened, I stooped in great agitation and drew the letter
out. It was sealed but not directed. Breaking it hastily open, I took
a glance at its contents. Good heavens! it was the work of the girl
herself!--its very appearance was enough to make that evident! Feeling
as if a miracle had happened, I hastened with it into the other room,
and set myself to decipher the awkward scrawl.

This is what I saw, rudely printed in lead pencil on the inside of a
sheet of common writing-paper:

"I am a wicked girl. I have knone things all the time which I had ought
to have told but I didn't dare to he said he would kill me if I did I
mene the tall splendud looking gentulman with the black mustash who I
met coming out of Mister Levenworth's room with a key in his hand the
night Mr. Levenworth was murdered. He was so scared he gave me money and
made me go away and come here and keep every thing secret but I can't do
so no longer. I seem to see Miss Blenor all the time crying and asking
me if I want her sent to prisun. God knows I 'd rathur die. And this is
the truth and my last words and I pray every body's forgivness and hope
nobody will blame me and that they wont bother Miss Elenor any more but
go and look after the handsome gentulman with the black mushtash.