CHAPTER II. A STRANGE LETTER. "They name thee before me, A shudder comes o'er me- BYRON. FOR a long time Charles Ross sat on motionless and silent, gazing vacantly before him, one hand pressed hard to his side, the other clenched, and resting upon his left knee. 66 "Is it all a hoax?" he murmured at length, an impudent attempt to extort money? a vile, heartless, mischievous lie? a cruel slander on his dear name?" He paused, rose hurriedly, and walked to the window. He stood there leaning out, watching the lovely prospect before him. He stood there waiting-wondering—trembling! For what was he waiting? He scarcely knew. Was it for the shadow of evening to fall upon the little isle-the gloom that is darkness only when compared with the brightness of an Italian day-the calm, and peacefulness, and silence of approaching night-the exquisite repose of the after-sunset moments-the sweet, delicious breathing of the evening air-the hushed subdued murmurings of tired nature-the last, faint notes of a solitary bird? Wondering? what his future life would be -whether he would ever again behold the dear face of her he loved-whether happiness would once more be his; happiness-that bright, heaven-born, delicious halo, which had so long overshadowed him; that angel from paradise, fair and yet invisible, costing nought, and yet of priceless value; a very little thing and yet of more account than all the world, present to-day and gone to-morrow, eagerly sought and hard to find, never completely present, never entirely absent; ever despised when at hand, ever longed for when unknown; the consoler of all ills; man's joy! man's hope! man's staff! the guide to heaven; the oasis in the desert; the Sirius star shining out of blackest night; the bright light on life's gloomy path, such is happiness, indescribable, and yet that may be realized, unknown and yet known. Trembling? knowing not what terrible misfortune might still be in store for him— feeling that a dire calamity threatened him -conscious that a dark cloud was even now overshadowing him, the dark cloud of misery and despair! He stood at the window of his little room in the primitive hotel on that rocky isle, feeling a great sadness creeping over him, and burning tears filling his eyes. He stood there long and silent! Presently a sound of merry laughter startled him. He listened. A party of Italian contadini were carousing and singing and laughing. For a moment a warm flush mounted to his cheek, then died away. For a moment the happy voices filled him with hope-he forgot; the next he remembered, and his gleam of sunshine vanished. He strode back to the chair, near which the mysterious letter had fallen. He stooped and picked it up. He spread it out on a table before him and sat down to study a second time its contents. This was what he read "17, Red Alley, D—, "HONERED SIR, 66 31, januari, 18—. "I was an old servant of your Father's and was much respected by him. I was in his service about the time you was born, and by chance I found out an important secret of his. I told him as I knew it, and he was angry of course, but very kind and promised me if I would only say nothing about it to no one, he would pay me a pay me a yearly sum, enough to keep me comfortable for the rest of my days. He has always He has always adone this, and now that he is gone, I suppose as you will do the same. I don't know as whether he has told you anything about it or not, but I hope, sir, as you wont forget after this letter, which I trust you will get as I send it to the postoffice, Naples, which one of my friends at Woodland Hall says is the direction. 66 Sir, the secret is very important to you, and I know as you would not like it told, so I hope as you will send me a little money to keep me going until you comes home, because your father did forget to send me that allowance at Christmas time, and I wants it very much, having been very ill and weak all this winter. "Sir, if you don't believe what I says, you can come here and ask me any questions as you may please to make sure, and you will see as it is true. "Your obedient servant, "C. HOPKINS." "The letter bears the impress of truth," murmured Ross, "surely the writer would not say that I may go and ask any questions if it is a hoax? No, no, there is some terrible secret connected with my poor father's past life, which-which-I must go and interrogate this Hopkins," he cried, starting up. " I will set out instantly for England. I shall not be able to rest till I have found out the truthbut shall I then ?" ད Again he walked to the window, again he leaned out, again he thought and wondered. "Would it not be better for me to be content to remain in ignorance of the past? Why should I try to lift the veil, surely it can conceal only what I had much rather not know? I will send Hopkins some money, and |