Burn it." He pushed the point of a steel erasing-knife through the piece of folded paper and held it over the flame.

It turned brown, crackled and burst into a little blaze, and in a moment the black ashes fell fluttering to the table.
"What do you suppose it was ?" asked Dolores innocently, as Don John brushed the ashes away.
"Dear--it is very ridiculous--I am ashamed of it, and I do not quite know how to explain it to you." Again he blushed a little.

"It seems strange to speak of it--I never even told my mother.

At first I used to open them, but now I generally burn them like this one." "Generally! Do you mean to say that you often find women's letters with flowers in them on your table ?" "I find them everywhere," answered Don John, with perfect simplicity.

"I have found them in my gloves, tied into the basket hilt of my sword--often they are brought to me like ordinary letters by a messenger who waits for an answer.