Marcus caught up the letter, and read the following:
NEW YORK, Wednesday Forenoon.
MR. MINFORD:
RESPECTED SIR: Allow a true friend and well wisher to ask a few questions. Who is this Mr. Marcus Wilkeson that has suddenly taken such an interest in your family affairs? What is his private history? Why is he relieving you from all trouble and expense in the education of your beautiful child? What are the man's real motives? Would it not be well to spare your eyes from your invention long enough to look into these matters a little? Pardon the suggestion. The office of a spy, and a secret accuser, is an unpleasant, and, perhaps, a thankless one. I should never have assumed it, but for the fact that your ardent devotion to science may render you the easy dupe--and your daughter the innocent victim--of a designing and heartless man of the world. I do not ask you to believe the writer of an anonymous note, and therefore I make no specific charges against this Wilkeson; but merely ask you to inquire into his private character, and, above all, his MOTIVES, for yourself.
ONE OF MANY.
Though Marcus Wilkeson was as innocent as a child, in deed and thought, of the baseness hinted at in this letter, he felt that he was looking guilty. Astonishment and indignation kindled in his eyes; but a flush of shame mounted at the same time to his cheeks. Marcus had often said, that if he were tapped on the shoulder in the street, and charged with a petty theft, he would look guilty of grand larceny until he could regain command of his feelings. This diseased sensitiveness, inherited from his mother, was the curse of his physical and mental organization.
His shame was increased by a consciousness that the inventor was stealthily watching him, and studying the enlargement of those horrid red spots on his cheeks.
"When Marcus finished the letter, he put on an expression of outraged innocence--which matched poorly with the flaming tokens of guilt--and said:
"These are infernal lies, sir; and, if I knew the coward who wrote them, I would cram them down his throat."
"Of course they are lies," returned Mr. Minford. "Every anonymous letter writer is a liar--until it is proved that he tells the truth. I shall believe none of these low aspersions on your honor, Mr. Wilkeson, without conclusive evidence." As the inventor said this, not emphatically, Marcus saw that he believed all that the letter had insinuated.
By this time, Marcus had got his constitutional devil a little under control. There was something of real boldness and honesty in his eyes, as he answered:
"This is a distressing subject to talk or think of. But now that it has been brought before us, I demand a full investigation. Go, wherever you will, among those who know me, and inquire into my character. Recall everything that has occurred between us since the beginning of our acquaintance. Ask your daughter if I have ever spoken a word to her, or cast a look at her, which could justify these infamous insinuations. Thus much I ask of you, in justice to me."
"And I refuse, sir," said the inventor. "I will not insult you by an unworthy suspicion. The world is full of impertinent people, and we can no more stop their gabble, than that of swallows in the air. This nameless fellow signs himself 'One of Many,' That is probably a lie. But if there were thousands like himself prying into your and my affairs, I should not care. As for motives, none but fools and misanthropes trouble themselves about them."