Arriving at the cottage, Doctor Allday discovered a gentleman,who was just closing the garden gate behind him.

"Has Miss Emily had a visitor?" he inquired, when the servantadmitted him.

"The gentleman left a letter for Miss Emily, sir."

"Did he ask to see her?"

"He asked after Miss Letitia's health. When he heard that she wasdead, he seemed to be startled, and went away immediately."

"Did he give his name?"

"No, sir."

The doctor found Emily absorbed over her letter. His anxiety toforestall any possible discovery of the deception which hadconcealed the terrible story of her father's death, kept DoctorAllday's vigilance on the watch. He doubted the gentleman who hadabstained from giving his name; he even distrusted the otherunknown person who had written to Emily.

She looked up. Her face relieved him of his misgivings, beforeshe could speak.

"At last, I have heard from my dearest friend," she said. "Youremember what I told you about Cecilia? Here is a letter--a longdelightful letter--from the Engadine, left at the door by somegentleman unknown. I was questioning the servant when you rangthe bell."

"You may question me, if you prefer it. I arrived just as thegentleman was shutting your garden gate."

"Oh, tell me! what was he like?"

"Tall, and thin, and dark. Wore a vile republican-looking felthat. Had nasty ill-tempered wrinkles between his eyebrows. Thesort of man I distrust by instinct."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't shave."

"Do you mean that he wore a beard?"

"Yes; a curly black beard."

Emily clasped her hands in amazement. "Can it be Alban Morris?"she exclaimed.

The doctor looked at her with a sardonic smile; he thought itlikely that he had discovered her sweetheart.

"Who is Mr. Alban Morris?" he asked.

"The drawing-master at Miss Ladd's school."

Doctor Allday dropped the subject: masters at ladies' schoolswere not persons who interested him. He returned to the purposewhich had brought him to the cottage--and produced the Handbillthat had been sent to him in Emily's letter.

"I suppose you want to have it back again?' he said.

She took it from him, and looked at it with interest.

"Isn't it strange," she suggested, "that the murderer should haveescaped, with such a careful description of him as thiscirculated all over England?"

She read the description to the doctor.

"'Name not known. Supposed age, between twenty-five and thirtyyears. A well-made man, of small stature. Fair complexion,delicate features, clear blue eyes. Hair light, and cut rathershort. Clean shaven, with the exception of narrow half-whiskers.Small, white, well-shaped hands. Wore valuable rings on the twolast fingers of the left hand. Dressed neatly--'"

"That part of the description is useless," the doctor remarked;"he would change his clothes."

"But could he change his voice?" Emily objected. "Listen to this:'Remarkably good voice, smooth, full, and persuasive.' And hereagain! 'Ingratiating manners.' Perhaps you will say he could puton an appearance of rudeness?"

"I will say this, my dear. He would be able to disguise himselfso effectually that ninety-nine people out of a hundred wouldfail to identify him, either by his voice or his manner."

"How?"

"Look back at the description: 'Hair cut rather short, cleanshaven, with the exception of narrow half-whiskers.' The wretchwas safe from pursuit; he had ample time at his disposal--don'tyou see how he could completely alter the appearance of his headand face? No more, my dear, of this disagreeable subject! Let usget to something interesting. Have you found anything else amongyour aunt's papers?"

"I have met with a great disappointment," Emily replied. "Did Itell you how I discovered the Handbill?"

"No."

"I found it, with the scrap-book and the newspaper cuttings,under a collection of empty boxes and bottles, in a drawer of thewashhand-stand. And I naturally expected to make far moreinteresting discoveries in this room. My search was over in fiveminutes. Nothing in the cabinet there, in the corner, but a fewbooks and some china. Nothing in the writing-desk, on thatside-table, but a packet of note-paper and some sealing-wax.Nothing here, in the drawers, but tradesmen's receipts, materialsfor knitting, and old photographs. She must have destroyed allher papers, poor dear, before her last illness; and the Handbilland the other things can only have escaped, because they wereleft in a place which she never thought of examining. Isn't itprovoking?"

With a mind inexpressibly relieved, good Doctor Allday askedpermission to return to his patients: leaving Emily to devoteherself to her friend's letter.

On his way out, he noticed that the door of the bed-chamber onthe opposite side of the passage stood open. Since Miss Letitia'sdeath the room had not been used. Well within view stood thewashhand-stand to which Emily had alluded. The doctor advanced tothe house door--reflected--hesitated--and looked toward the emptyroom.

It had struck him that there might be a second drawer which Emilyhad overlooked. Would he be justified in setting this doubt atrest? If he passed over ordinary scruples it would not be withoutexcuse. Miss Letitia had spoken to him of her affairs, and hadasked him to act (in Emily's interest) as co-executor with herlawyer. The rapid progress of the illness had made it impossiblefor her to execute the necessary codicil. But the doctor had beenmorally (if not legally) taken into her confidence--and, for thatreason, he decided that he had a right in this serious matter tosatisfy his own mind.

A glance was enough to show him that no second drawer had beenoverlooked.

There was no other discovery to detain the doctor. The wardrobeonly contained the poor old lady's clothes; the one cupboard wasopen and empty. On the point of leaving the room, he went back tothe washhand-stand. While he had the opportunity, it might not beamiss to make sure that Emily had thoroughly examined those oldboxes and bottles, which she had alluded to with some littlecontempt.

The drawer was of considerable length. When he tried to pull itcompletely out from the grooves in which it ran, it resisted him.In his present frame of mind, this was a suspicious circumstancein itself. He cleared away the litter so as to make room for theintroduction of his hand and arm into the drawer. In anothermoment his fingers touched a piece of paper, jammed between theinner end of the drawer and the bottom of the flat surface of thewashhand-stand. With a little care, he succeeded in extricatingthe paper. Only pausing to satisfy himself that there was nothingelse to be found, and to close the drawer after replacing itscontents, he left the cottage.

The cab was waiting for him. On the drive back to his own house,he opened the crumpled paper. It proved to be a letter addressedto Miss Letitia; and it was signed by no less a person thanEmily's schoolmistress. Looking back from the end to thebeginning, Doctor Allday discovered, in the first sentence, thename of--Miss Jethro.

But for the interview of that morning with his patient he mighthave doubted the propriety of making himself further acquaintedwith the letter. As things were, he read it without hesitation.

"DEAR MADAM--I cannot but regard it as providential circumstancethat your niece, in writing to you from my house, should havementioned, among other events of her school life, the arrival ofmy new teacher, Miss Jethro.

"To say that I was surprised is to express very inadequately whatI felt when I read your letter, informing me confidentially thatI had employed a woman who was unworthy to associate with theyoung persons placed under my care. It is impossible for me tosuppose that a lady in your position, and possessed of your highprinciples, would make such a serious accusation as this, withoutunanswerable reasons for doing so. At the same time I cannot,consistently with my duty as a Christian, suffer my opinion ofMiss Jethro to be in any way modified, until proofs are laidbefore me which it is impossible to dispute.

"Placing the same confidence in your discretion, which you haveplaced in mine, I now inclose the references and testimonialswhich Miss Jethro submitted to me, when she presented herself tofill the vacant situation in my school.

"I earnestly request you to lose no time in instituting theconfidential inquiries which you have volunteered to make.Whatever the result may be, pray return to me the inclosureswhich I have trusted to your care, and believe me, dear madam, inmuch suspense and anxiety, sincerely yours,

AMELIA LADD."

It is needless to describe, at any length, the impression whichthese lines produced on the doctor.

If he had heard what Emily had heard at the time of her aunt'slast illness, he would have called to mind Miss Letitia'sbetrayal of her interest in some man unknown, whom she believedto have been beguiled by Miss Jethro--and he would have perceivedthat the vindictive hatred, thus produced, must have inspired theletter of denunciation which the schoolmistress had acknowledged.He would also have inferred that Miss Letitia's inquiries hadproved her accusation to be well founded--if he had known of thenew teacher's sudden dismissal from the school. As things were,he was merely confirmed in his bad opinion of Miss Jethro; and hewas induced, on reflection, to keep his discovery to himself.

"If poor Miss Emily saw the old lady exhibited in the characterof an informer," he thought, "what a blow would be struck at herinnocent respect for the memory of her aunt!"