nting with
his umbrella. "We shall be there directly."

"Ministers don't want no talk neither," proceeded Stamps. "Ef a minister
had made a slip an' tried hard to hide it an' then hed it proved on him
he wouldn't like it--an' his church members wouldn't like it--an' his
high class friends. There'd be a heap er trouble."

"Number 89," said Latimer. "You see I was speaking the truth. This is the
gate; I am going in."

His tone and method were so unsatisfactory and unmoved that--remembering
Abner Linthicum--Stamps became desperate. He clutched Latimer's arm and
held it.

"It'd be worth money fur him to git safe hold of them letters. Thar was
two on 'em. I didn't let on to Tom. I wasn't gwine to let on to him till
I found out he'd go in with me. Them as knowed the man they was writ by
'ud be able to see a heap in 'em. They'd give him away. Ye'd better get
hold of 'em. They're worth five hundred. They're yourn--ye wrote 'em
yourself. Ye ain't jest like him--ye're _him_--I'll sw'ar to ye!"

Latimer suddenly saw his mother's mild New England countenance, with its
faded blue eyes. He remembered the hours he had spent telling her the
details of the sunny days in Italy, where Margery had lain smiling in the
sunset. He looked down the long wet street, the lamps gleaming on its
shining surface. He thought of Baird, who would not return until the day
on which he was to deliver a farewell lecture before leaving Washington.
He recalled his promptness of resource and readiness for action. If Baird
were but in the room above in which the light burned he would tell him!
His mind seemed to vault over all else at this instant--to realise the
thing which it had not reached at the first shock. He turned on Stamps.

"You say there were letters?" he exclaimed, forgetting his previous
unresponsiveness.

"Two. Not long 'uns, an' wrote keerful--without no name. But they say a
heap. They was wrote when he had to leave her."

Latimer's heart seemed physically to turn over in his side. He had never
known she had had a line of handwriting in her possession. This must be
some scrap of paper, some last, last words she clung to with such anguish
of desperation that she could not tear herself from them, and so had died
leaving them in their secret hiding-place. The thought was a shock. The
effort it cost him to regain his self-control was gigantic. But he
recovered his outward calm.

"You had better go home and change your clothing," he said, a