Rough on him, perhaps; but that sort of fellow doesn't deserve much letting down." The reader has heard already how in the course of her visits of mercy Raby happened to find Jonah Trimble very near his end, and how she was able to cheer and lighten his dying hours.

Little dreamed she, as she sat by the death-bed that morning, and wrote those few dying words, into whose hands her little letter would fall, or what a spell they would work on the life of him who received them.

From the other neighbours she heard not a little about "John," and sometimes wished she might chance to see him.

But he was away from early morning till late at night, and they never met.

Mrs Pratt in the room below, and her little dying daughter, had many a tale of kindness and devotion to tell about him; and when presently the little life fled, she heard with grateful tears of his act of mercy to the poor overwrought mother, and thanked God for it.
The time passed on, and one day early in December, when she returned home, she found her father in an unwonted state of excitement.
"There's a clue, Raby, at last!" he said.
"A clue, father--you mean about young Forrester ?" "About both.