But I couldn’t restrain myself. “Mrs. Belden, where is this letter?” I demanded. “Have you got it?”
“No,” said she; “I gave it to the girl yesterday; I haven’t seen it since.”
“It must be up-stairs, then. Let us take another look.” and I hastened towards the door.
“You won’t find it,” said Mr. Gryce at my elbow. “I have looked. There is nothing but a pile of burned paper in the corner. By the way, what could that have been?” he asked of Mrs. Belden.
“I don’t know, sir. She hadn’t anything to burn unless it was the letter.”
“We will see about that,” I muttered, hurrying up-stairs and bringing down the wash-bowl with its contents. “If the letter was the one I saw in your hand at the post-office, it was in a yellow envelope.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yellow envelopes burn differently from white paper. I ought to be able to tell the tinder made by a yellow envelope when I see it. Ah, the letter has been destroyed; here is a piece of the envelope,” and I drew out of the heap of charred scraps a small bit less burnt than the rest, and held it up.
“Then there is no use looking here for what the letter contained,” said Mr. Gryce, putting the wash-bowl aside. “We will have to ask you, Mrs. Belden.”
“But I don’t know. It was directed to me, to be sure; but Hannah told me, when she first requested me to teach her how to write, that she expected such a letter, so I didn’t open it when it came, but gave it to her just as it was.”