and for all. I remain yours, very
truly,

"OBED CHUTE.

"Capt. O. N. POMEROY."

Gualtier read these letters several times in deep and thoughtful
silence. Then he sat in profound thought for some time.

"Well," said Hilda at length, with some impatience, "what do you
think of these?"

"What do _you_ think?" asked Gualtier.

"I?" returned Hilda. "I will tell you what I think; and as I have
brooded over these for eight months now, I can only say that I am
more confirmed than ever in my first impressions. To me, then, these
papers seem to point out two great facts--the first being that of the
forgery; and the second that of the elopement. Beyond this I see
something else. The forgery has been arranged by the payment of the
amount. The elopement also has come to a miserable termination. Lady
Chetwynde seems to have been deserted by her lover, who left her
perhaps in New York. She fell ill, very ill, and suffered so that on
her recovery she had grown in appearance twenty years older.
Broken-hearted, she did not dare to go back to her friends, but
joined the Sisters of Charity. She is no doubt dead long ago. As to
this Chute, he seems to me perhaps to have been a kind of tool of the
lover, who employed him probably to settle his forgery business, and
also to take care of the unhappy woman whom he had ruined and
deserted. He wrote these few letters to keep the recreant lover
informed about her fate. In the midst of these there is the last
despairing farewell of the unhappy creature herself. All these the
conscience-stricken lover has carefully preserved. In addition to
these, no doubt for the sake of easing his conscience, he wrote out a
confession of his sin. But he was too great a coward to write it out
plainly, and therefore wrote it in cipher. I believe that he would
have destroyed them all if he had found time; but his accident came
too quickly for this, and he has left these papers as a legacy to the
discoverer."

As Hilda spoke Gualtier gazed at her with unfeigned admiration.

"You are right," said he. "Every word that you speak is as true as
fate. You have penetrated to the very bottom of this secret. I
believe that this is the true solution. Your genius has solved the
mystery."

"The mystery," repeated Hilda, who showed no emotion whatever at the
fervent admiration of Gualtier--"the mystery is as far from solution
as ever."

"Have you not solved it?"

"Certainly not. Mine, after all, are merely conj