to have presented itself. Ever since it
was known that I intended to renew my intercourse with society at
the ball to-morrow night, I have been persecuted by anonymous
letters--infamous letters, written from some motive which it is
impossible for me to understand. I want your advice on the best means
of discovering the writers; and I have also a very important question to
ask you. But read one of the letters first yourself; any one will do as
a sample of the rest."

Fixing his eyes searchingly on the priest, he handed him one of the
notes. Still a little paler than usual, Father Rocco sat down by the
nearest lamp, and shading his eyes, read these lines:

"COUNT FABIO---It is the common talk of Pisa that you are likely, as
a young man left with a motherless child, to marry again. Your having
accepted an invitation to the Melani Palace gives a color of truth to
this report. Widowers who are true to the departed do not go among all
the handsomest single women in a city at a masked ball. Reconsider your
determination, and remain at home. I know you, and I knew your wife, and
I say to you solemnly, avoid temptation, for you must never marry again.
Neglect my advice and you will repent it to the end of your life. I have
reasons for what I say--serious, fatal reasons, which I cannot divulge.
If you would let your wife lie easy in her grave, if you would avoid a
terrible warning, go not to the masked ball!"

"I ask you, and I ask any man, if that is not infamous?" exclaimed
Fabio, passionately, as the priest handed him back the letter. "An
attempt to work on my fears through the memory of my poor dead wife! An
insolent assumption that I want to marry again, when I myself have not
even so much as thought of the subject at all! What is the secret object
of this letter, and of the rest here that resemble it? Whose interest is
it to keep me away from the ball? What is the meaning of such a phrase
as, 'If you would let your wife lie easy in her grave'? Have you no
advice to give me--no plan to propose for discovering the vile hand
that traced these lines? Speak to me! Why, in Heaven's name, don't you
speak?"

The priest leaned his head on his hand, and, turning his face from the
light as if it dazzled his eyes, replied in his lowest and quietest
tones:

"I cannot speak till I have had time to think. The mystery of that
letter is not to be solved in a moment. There are things in it that are
enough to perplex and amaze any