“You received a letter from Miss Mary Leavenworth yesterday, I hear.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This letter?” he continued, showing it to her.
“Yes, sir.”
“Now I want to ask you a question. Was the letter, as you see it, the only contents of the envelope in which it came? Wasn’t there one for Hannah enclosed with it?”
“No, sir. There was nothing in my letter for her; but she had a letter herself yesterday. It came in the same mail with mine.”
“Hannah had a letter!” we both exclaimed; “and in the mail?”
“Yes; but it was not directed to her. It was”—casting me a look full of despair, “directed to me. It was only by a certain mark in the corner of the envelope that I knew——”
“Good heaven!” I interrupted; “where is this letter? Why didn’t you speak of it before? What do you mean by allowing us to flounder about here in the dark, when a glimpse at this letter might have set us right at once?”
“I didn’t think anything about it till this minute. I didn’t know it was of importance. I——”