He did not want his bear.  He did not want to be known as the man who had been going about with a bear.  One thing he wanted, and that was to get back to Italy, where he would be safe.  He was going back very soon in a ship.  He had changed his name.  He could not be found any more.  But he knew his soul would never have any peace if he did not send the paper to the wife of the man he had made a mistake about.  But he could not write a letter to her, so he sent it to me, for me to give her the paper and to tell her what he had written in the letter.  He left America forever.  Nobody in this country would ever see him again.  He was gone.  He was lost to all people in this country, but his soul felt better now that he had done that which would make the lady whose husband he had killed know how it had happened.  The bear he would give to her.  That was all that he could do for her.

There was no formal close to the letter; the writer had said what he had to say and stopped.

Miss Edith and I looked at each other.  Her eyes had grown large and bright.  “Now, shall we examine the paper?”

“I do not know that we have a right to do so,” I said.  I know my voice was trembling, for I was very much agitated.  “That belongs to—­to her!”

“I think,” said Miss Edith, “that we ought to look at it.  It is merely a folded paper.  I do not think we ought to thrust information upon Mrs. Chester without knowing what it is.  Perhaps the man made a mistake in the name.  We may do a great deal of mischief if we do not know exactly what we are about.”  And so saying she took the paper and opened it.

It was nothing but a grocery bill, but it was made out to—­Godfrey Chester, Dr. Evidently it was for goods supplied to the inn.  It was receipted.

For a few moments I said nothing, and then I exclaimed, in tones which made my companion gaze very earnestly at me:  “I must go to her immediately!  I must take these papers!  She must know everything!”

“Excuse me,” said Miss Edith, “but don’t you think that something ought to be done about apprehending this man—­this Italian?  Let us go and question his messenger.”  We went out together, she carrying, tightly clasped, both the letter and the bill.

The black man could tell us very little.  An Italian he had never seen before had given him the letter to take to Holly Sprig Inn, and give to the gentleman who had had his tire eaten by a bear.  If the gentleman was not there, he was to ask to have it sent to him.  That was everything he knew.

“Did the Italian give you money to go back with?” asked Miss Edith, and the man rather reluctantly admitted that he did.

“Well, you can keep that for yourself,” said she, “and we’ll pay your passage back.  But we would like you to wait here for a while.  There may be some sort of an answer.”

The man laughed. “‘Taint no use sendin’ no answer,” said he; “I couldn’t find that Dago again.  They’re all so much alike.  He said he was goin’ away on a ship.  You see it was yesterday he gave me that letter.  I ’spect he’ll be a long way out to sea before I get back, even if I did know who he was and what ship he was goin’ on.  But if you want me to wait, I don’t mind waitin’.”