There was nothing to show from whom the note came, or the sex or age or special source of spiritual discomfort or anxiety of the writer.  The handwriting was delicate and might well be a woman’s.  The clergyman was not aware of any particular affliction among his parishioners which was likely to be made the subject of a request of this kind.  Surely neither of the Venners would advertise the attempted crime of their relative in this way.  But who else was there?  The more he thought about it, the more it puzzled him; and as he did not like to pray in the dark, without knowing for whom he was praying, he could think of nothing better than to step into old Doctor Kittredge’s and see what he had to say about it.

The old Doctor was sitting alone in his study when the Reverend Mr. Fairweather was ushered in.  He received his visitor very pleasantly, expecting, as a matter of course, that he would begin with some new grievance, dyspeptic, neuralgic, bronchitic, or other.  The minister, however, began with questioning the old Doctor about the sequel of the other night’s adventure; for he was already getting a little Jesuitical, and kept back the object of his visit until it should come up as if accidentally in the course of conversation.

“It was a pretty bold thing to go off alone with that reprobate, as you did,” said the minister.

“I don’t know what there was bold about it,” the Doctor answered.  “All he wanted was to get away.  He was not quite a reprobate, you see; he didn’t like the thought of disgracing his family or facing his uncle.  I think he was ashamed to see his cousin, too, after what he had done.”

“Did he talk with you on the way?”

“Not much.  For half an hour or so he didn’t speak a word.  Then he asked where I was driving him.  I told him, and he seemed to be surprised into a sort of grateful feeling.  Bad enough, no doubt,—­but might be worse.  Has some humanity left in him yet.  Let him go.  God can judge him,—­I can’t.”

“You are too charitable, Doctor,” the minister said.  “I condemn him just as if he had carried out his project, which, they say, was to make it appear as if the schoolmaster had committed suicide.  That’s what people think the rope found by him was for.  He has saved his neck,—­but his soul is a lost one, I am afraid, beyond question.”

“I can’t judge men’s souls,” the Doctor said.  “I can judge their acts, and hold them responsible for those,—­but I don’t know much about their souls.  If you or I had found our soul in a half-breed body, and been turned loose to run among the Indians, we might have been playing just such tricks as this fellow has been trying.  What if you or I had inherited all the tendencies that were born with his cousin Elsie?”

“Oh, that reminds me,”—­the minister said, in a sudden way,—­“I have received a note, which I am requested to read from the pulpit to-morrow.  I wish you would just have the kindness to look at it and see where you think it came from.”