d over again.

Then one day, along with the other letters in the mail, there arrived an
important looking document from New York addressed to Allen.

The latter was out at the gold diggings at the time, and the girls
fairly lassoed him, bringing him home protesting but helpless.

"I say, what's the row?" he demanded, and for answer Mollie thrust the
important missive into his hand.

"Read!" she commanded dramatically. "And tell us what lies within."

Allen tore the envelope open and read the letter hastily through while
the girls crowded around him and tried to read over his shoulder.

Then he jumped to his feet and waved the paper at them excitedly.

"By Jove!" he cried, "this proves that Betty was right. The man didn't
kill his brother--simply injured him. He was taken to the hospital and
he recovered long since. The manager says he has been trying to locate
Paul Loup for weeks. He is losing a fortune every day----"

But Betty could wait no longer. She snatched the letter from him and
read it through aloud while the girls gaped at her.

"Come on," she cried, reaching for her sailor hat and pushing it down on
her shapely little head. "Don't stand there like wooden Indians. We've
got to take this news to Paul Loup."

Bent on their joyful mission, the girls approached the lonely little
cabin in the woods swiftly. As they came near they heard again that same
hauntingly sweet melody that had so moved them the first time they had
heard it.

Yet now that they understood the pain that prompted the rendering of
that exquisite harmony, it seemed too bitterly sad to be beautiful, and
their hearts ached dully in sympathy with Paul Loup's despair.

Tears were in Betty's eyes, but there was a smile on her lips, as she
pushed open the door of the little shack and stood waiting on the
threshold.

The musician saw her, ended the throbbing melody with a crash of
discord, and gazed at her mutely. In all his tall, gaunt body only his
glowing eyes seemed really alive, but in those eyes there was a welcome
that gave Betty courage.

"Look!" she cried, holding out the paper to him. "This is from your
manager. Read it--and see that you are innocent."

Slowly the man laid down his violin and bow, slowly he took the paper
from Betty's trembling fingers. Like a man in a daze he read it
through--then read it through again.

"I did not kill him--my brother," he murmured aloud. "My brother--that I
love--I did not kill him. He is