"Dearest," he replied, very gravely, very earnestly, "in the absence of the sunken cheeks, the hollow eyes, the lank hair, the slouching gait, the rags, dirt, and youth, can you not—will you not understand? Gunny, I'm Dumps!"
In a moment I was upon my feet and he upon his. I seized him by the lapels of his coat and peered into his handsome face in the deepening darkness. I was breathless with excitement.
"And you are not dead?" I asked, hardly knowing what I said.
"Only dead in love, dear. I recovered from the road agent's bullet, but this, I fear, is fatal."
"But about Jack—Mr. Raynor? Don't you know—"
"I am ashamed to say, darling, that it was through that unworthy person's suggestion that I came here from Vienna."
Irene, they have roped in your affectionate friend,
MARY JANE DEMENT.
P.S.—The worst of it is that there is no mystery; that was the invention of Jack Raynor, to arouse my curiosity. James is not a Thug. He solemnly assures me that in all his wanderings he has never set foot in Sepoy.