The irregular nature of my later travels had made it impossible to forward the few letters that had arrived for me. They were neatly laid out on the library table.
The second letter that I took up bore the postmark of Genoa. I opened it, and discovered that the—
No! I cannot write of him by that mean name; and his own name is still unknown to me. Let me call him—and, oh, don't think that I am deceived again!—let me call him the Penitent.
The letter had been addressed to me from his deathbed, and had been written under dictation. It contained an extraordinary enclosure—a small torn fragment of paper with writing on it.
"Read the poor morsel that I send to you first" (the letter began). "My time on earth is short; you will save me explanations which may be too much for my strength."
On one side of the fragment, I found these words:
"... cruise to the Mediterranean for my wife's health. If Cristel isn't afraid of passing some months at sea..."
On the other side, there was a fragment of conclusion:
"... thoroughly understand. All ready. Write word what night, and what ... loving brother, Stephen Toller."
I instantly remembered the miller's rich brother; thinking of him for the first time since he had been in my mind for a moment, on the night of my meeting with Cristel. On the fourteenth page of this narrative Toller's brother will be found briefly alluded to in a few lines.