“Silver Voice, the Indian woman, the wife of Allacotah.”
“You have kept your promise, Silvia. I saw the paper by accident.”
“Then you know all, Rodger?”
“Yes, Silvia; but how came you to get the paper from the Indian woman, and where?”
Silvia told him all.
The ranger sighed painfully. He was silent for a moment, then said:
“But Silvia, that paper is a falsehood. I will admit that I have been married to a woman that was an angel, but were she living I would not be here. No, no, Silvia! God knows I loved my wife—yea, adored her, worshiped her; but a cruel fate separated us; death took my darling wife, and in you, Silvia, I had hoped to find her equal.”
“But you have no proof, Rodger, to prove to me that the statement in this paper is untrue—that your wife is dead.”
“I can procure evidence, Silvia, in an hour, yes, in a moment, to prove to you that my wife is dead. But, tell me, my dear Silvia, does the handwriting of this note resemble any person’s handwrite that you know?” and he handed her the note.
Silvia took the paper and examined the writing closely. A shade of sadness came over her face, as she replied: