handed me as an introduction at our late interview, I laid it underneath the last line of writing on the second page. One glance was sufficient. Henry Ritchie Clavering on the card; Hchie—in the same handwriting on the letter.
"Clavering it is," said he, "without a doubt." But I saw he was not surprised.
"And now," I continued, "for its general tenor and meaning." And, commencing at the beginning, I read aloud the words as they came, with pauses at the breaks, something as follows: "Mr. Hor—Dear—a niece whom yo—one too who see—the love and trus—any other man ca—autiful, so chars she in face foconversation. ery rose has itsrose is no exceptionely as she is, chartender as she is, spable of tramplinone who trustedheart. him tohe owes ahonorance.
"Ift believe her tocruelface, what isble servyours
"H—tchie"
"It reads like a complaint against one of Mr. Leavenworth’s nieces," I said, and started at my own words.
"What is it?" cried Mr. Gryce; "what is the matter?"
"Why," said I, "the fact is I have heard this very letter spoken of. It is a complaint against one of Mr. Leavenworth’s nieces, and was written by Mr. Clavering." And I told him of Mr. Harwell’s communication in regard to the matter.
"Ah! then Mr. Harwell has been talking, has he? I thought he had forsworn gossip."
"Mr. Harwell and I have seen each other almost
