y waste-basket next caught his eye, and here again were
several sheets of paper written over with words and phrases, words which
at once he recognized as part of the letter Mrs. Tanner had given him.
He emptied the waste-basket out on the desk, thinking perhaps there
might be something there that would give a clue to where the elopers had
gone; but there was not much else in it except a little yellowed note
with the signature "Hazel Brownleigh" at the bottom. He glanced through
the brief note, gathered its purport, and then spread it out
deliberately on the desk and compared the writing with the others, a
wild fear clutching at his heart. Yet he could not in any way explain
why he was so uneasy. What possible reason could Rosa Rogers have for
forging a letter to Margaret from Hazel Brownleigh?

Suddenly Rogers stood behind him looking over his shoulder. "What is it,
Gardley? What have you found? Any clue?"

"No clue," said Gardley, uneasily, "but something strange I cannot
understand. I don't suppose it can possibly have anything to do with
your daughter, and yet it seems almost uncanny. This morning I stopped
at the Tanners' to let Miss Earle know I had returned, and was told she
had gone yesterday with a couple of Indians as guide to meet the
Brownleighs at Keams or somewhere near there, and take a trip with them
to Walpi to see the Hopi Indians. Mrs. Tanner gave me this letter from
Mrs. Brownleigh, which Miss Earle had left behind. But when I reached
here and was waiting for you some papers blew out of your daughter's
window. When I picked them up I was startled to find that one of them
was an exact copy of the letter I had in my pocket. See! Here they are!
I don't suppose there is anything to it, but in spite of me I am a
trifle uneasy about Miss Earle. I just can't understand how that copy of
the letter came to be here."

Rogers was leaning over, looking at the papers. "What's this?" he asked,
picking up the note that came with the Testament. He read each paper
carefully, took in the little Testament with its fluttering fly-leaf
and inscription, studied the pages of words and alphabet, then suddenly
turned away and groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

"What is it?" asked Gardley, awed with the awful sorrow in the strong
man's attitude.

"My poor baby!" groaned the father. "My poor little baby girl! I've
always been afraid of that fatal gift of hers. Gardley, she could copy
any handwriting in the world perfe