have been a habit of Ralph
Harding to keep his letters, though he probably set no great value upon
them.

Bert opened fifteen or twenty, and glanced over them, only to find that
they related to matters in which he felt no interest whatever. He began
to doubt whether they were even worth the small sum he had paid for
them, when all at once he made a discovery. He found a letter dated
Lakeville.

"Who can have written him from Lakeville?" he asked himself, and
naturally turned the page to read the signature.

His heart beat quickly when he read the name of the writer--Albert
Marlowe. It was dated about two years previous, and ran as follows:

DEAR SIR: I have received your letter, and am surprised
that you should have the boldness to write to me for money. I am
sorry to hear that you have been in bad luck, but I presume it is
your own fault. You are able to earn good wages, and ought to pay
your own way without depending on anybody. Look at me! I was once a
common workman like you, but, thanks to my energy and enterprise, I
am now the owner of a large factory, and able to live in
comparative luxury. I don't know why you should expect me to
support you. I have a family of my own to care for, and my first
duty is to them.

You intimate that you are in possession of a secret which, if made
known, will injure me. I suppose I know what you mean. I don't
think, however, that you will find any one to believe what you may
say to my disadvantage, and I warn you to be careful what you do,
or I may testify that you yourself took the missing bonds. Don't
trouble yourself to write to me again, for it will be time thrown
away.

ALBERT MARLOWE.

Underneath the signature were a few lines, evidently written by Ralph
Harding:

Who would believe that the writer of this letter is a thief, and
that the capital on which he started in business was stolen? I
bitterly repent that I was induced to join in the plot against poor
Barton. He--poor fellow--is in exile, afraid to return to his own
country, while the man who committed the crime which has shadowed
his life, is rich and prosperous, and holds up his head in society.
And I--miserable tool that I was--by my testimony helped him to
fasten the crime on an innocent man. I don't know whether it will
do any good to write again. I am a po