er. He declares it
so earnestly that I cannot doubt his veracity. To-morrow I intend
plying him closely with questions, and by a rigid system of cross
examination will detect the false-hood, if there is one, in his
statement. He gives chapter after chapter that others never knew. I
cannot say more to-night, but desire that you write me (at the
Cosmopolitan) any questions you might wish me to ask Keseberg, and
if I have not already asked them, I will do so on my return from San
Francisco.

C.F. MCGLASHAN.

After his second interview with Keseberg and in response to my urgent
appeal for full details of everything relating to my parents, Mr.
McGlashan wrote:

I wish you could see him. He will talk to either you or me at any
time, unless other influences are brought to bear upon him. If I
send word for him to come to Sacramento, he will meet me on my
return. If you and your husband could be there on Thursday or Friday
of this week, I could arrange an interview at the hotel that would
be all you could wish. I asked him especially if he would talk to
you, and he said, "Yes."

I dared not tell you about my interview until I had your permission.
Even now, I approach the task tremblingly.

Your mother was not murdered. Your father died, Keseberg thinks,
about two weeks after you left. Your mother remained with him until
the last and laid him out tenderly, as you know.

The days--to Keseberg--were perfect blanks. Mrs. Murphy died soon
after your departure with Eddy, and he was left alone--alone in his
cabin--alone with the dead bodies which he could not have lifted
from the floor, because of his weakness, even had he desired. The
man sighs and shudders, and great drops of agony gather upon his
brows as he endeavors to relate the details of those terrible days,
or recall their horrors. Loneliness, desolation was the chief
element of horror. Alone with the mutilated dead!

One night he sprang up in affright at the sound of something moving
or scratching at a log outside his cabin. It was some time before he
could understand that it was wolves trying to get in.

One night, about two weeks after you left, a knock came at his door,
and your mother entered. To this lonely wretch her coming seemed
like an angel's. She was cold and wet and freezing, yet her first