"That is quite sufficient, my dear—quite sufficient, I am perfectly satisfied; but is it not strange?"
"It is, indeed, extraordinary."
"Some one must have practised your style of writing with zeal, to be enabled to give so close an imitation," observed the reverend gentleman, who was still extremely sceptical on the point.
"I certainly," said Sylvester, "never before saw two hands so much alike. But who sent this note?"
"I found it in the arbour," replied his aunt. "It was lying on the table."
"In the arbour! And do you not know who this Rosalie is?"
"I have not the least idea who she can be."
"Nor have I. I do not remember to have heard the name of Rosalie before."
"But the crest, my dear madam," said the reverend gentleman; "you have not mentioned the crest."
"The crest," said Sylvester, looking at it. "Why, it is our crest! I have one exactly like it," he added, producing a seal attached to his watch-chain, and placing it in the wax. "Why it fits to a nicety! How very, very odd. The impression would seem to have been made by this very seal! You had one aunt: you haven't lost it?"
"No, my love: I have it here: but mine is much smaller."
"Well! this surpasses all I ever heard of! This seal was given to me by my poor father the very day on which he died, and as I have not corresponded with any one since, I have never had occasion to use it. How, therefore, this impression of it could have been made, I am utterly unable to conceive, being certain that it has never been out of my possession."
When Sylvester alluded to his father, tears sprang into the eyes of Aunt Eleanor on the instant, and the reverend gentleman—who up to that moment had regarded the denial as a falsehood—felt that as no human being could be guilty of an act of wickedness so awful as that of deliberately associating a falsehood with the name of a parent so recently deceased, Sylvester—however strong the evidence against him might appear—must have spoken the truth. He therefore observed that in heaven, and on earth, and in the waters under the earth, there were mysteries which set all human understanding at defiance, and having made this remarkable observation, he put an end to the discussion, by saying distinctly, and that with great firmness and point, that all he could say on the subject was this, that the thing was excessively odd.
But although he permitted the subject to drop for the time being thus, he would not suffer the investigation of that subject to rest there. No; he felt himself bound, as a minister and as a man, to find out who Rosalie was, with the view of ascertaining beyond all doubt, whether Sylvester had spoken the truth or not. He, therefore, on leaving the cottage, started on this affectionate expedition, and as he proceeded, he carefully prepared a touching lecture to be delivered with appropriate solemnity to Sylvester in the event of its being proved—satisfactorily
