[Illustration:
Page 183.
THE PORTRAIT.]
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THE
DEAD LETTER:
AN AMERICAN ROMANCE.
BY SEELEY REGESTER.
NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND COMPANY,
_118 WILLIAM STREET_.
1867.
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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by
BEADLE AND COMPANY.
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.
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CONTENTS--PART I.
CHAPTER I.
THE LETTER, 9
CHAPTER II.
EVENTS OF A NIGHT, 11
CHAPTER III.
THE FIGURE BENEATH THE TREES, 23
CHAPTER IV.
MORELAND VILLA, 34
CHAPTER V.
MR. BURTON, THE DETECTIVE, 49
CHAPTER VI.
TWO LINKS IN THE CHAIN, 72
CHAPTER VII.
ELEANOR, 86
CHAPTER VIII.
THE HAUNTED GRAVE, 94
CHAPTER IX.
THE SPIDER AND THE FLY, 114
CHAPTER X.
THE ANNIVERSARY, 132
CHAPTER XI.
THE LITTLE GUEST AND THE APPARITION, 154
CHAPTER XII.
THE NIGHT IN MORELAND VILLA, 176
CHAPTER XIII.
THE SHADOW ASSUMES SHAPE, 188
PART II.
CHAPTER I.
THE LETTER, 199
CHAPTER II.
OUR VISITS, 212
CHAPTER III.
THE CONFESSION, 228
CHAPTER IV.
EMBARKED FOR CALIFORNIA, 243
CHAPTER V.
ON THE TRAIL, 252
CHAPTER VI.
AT LAST--AT LAST, 261
CHAPTER VII.
NOW FOR HOME AGAIN, 278
CHAPTER VIII.
THE RIPE HOUR, 383
CHAPTER IX.
JOINING THE MISSING LINKS, 296
CHAPTER X.
THE NEW LIFE, 305
ILLUSTRATIONS.
BAFFLED, 64
ELEANOR, 90
"WELL, HOW DO YOU LIKE MY LOOKS?" 161
THE PORTRAIT--Frontispiece, 183
IN THE OAK, 223
"I NEVER ACCUSED YOU," 297
THE DEAD LETTER.
PART I.
CHAPTER I.
THE LETTER.
I paused suddenly in my work. Over a year's experience in the Dead
Letter office had given a mechanical rapidity to my movements in
opening, noting and classifying the contents of the bundles before me;
and, so far from there being any thing exciting to the curiosity, or
interesting to the mind, in the employment, it was of the most
monotonous character.
Young ladies whose love letters have gone astray, evil men whose plans
have been confided in writing to their confederates, may feel but
little apprehension of the prying eyes of the Department; nothing
attracts it but objects of material value--sentiment is below par; it
gives attention only to such tangible interests as are represented by
bank-bills, gold-pieces, checks, jewelry, miniatures, et cetera.
Occasionally a grave clerk smiles sardonically at the ridiculous
character of some of the articles which come to light; sometimes,
perhaps, looks thoughtfully at a withered rosebud, or bunch of pressed
violets, a homely little pin-cushion, or a book-mark, wishing it had
reached its proper destination. I can not answer for other employees,
who may not have even this amount of heart and imagination to invest in
the dull business of a Government office; but when I was in the
Department I was guilty, at intervals, of such folly--yet I passed for
the coldest, most cynical man of them all.
The letter which I held in my paralyzed fingers when they so abruptly
ceased their dexterous movements, was contained in a closely-sealed
envelope, yellowed by time, and directed in a peculiar hand to "John
Owen, Peekskill, New York," and the date on the stamp was "October
18th, 1857"--making the letter two years old. I know not what magnetism
passed from it, putting me, as the spiritualists say, _en rapport_ with
it; I had not yet cut the lappet; and the only thing I could fix upon
as the cause of my attraction was, that at the date indicated on the
envelope, I had been a resident of Blankville, twenty miles from
Peekskill--and something about that date!
Yet this was no excuse for my agitation; I was not of an inquisitive
disposition; nor did "John Owen" belong to the circle of my
acquaintance. I sat there with such a strange expression upon my face,
that one of my fellows, remarking my mood, exclaimed jestingly:
"What is it, Redfield? A check for a hundred thousand?"
"I am sure I don't know; I haven't opened it," I answered, at random;
and with this I cut the wrapper, impelled by some strongly-defined,
irresistible influence to read the time-stained sheet inclosed. It ran
in this wise:
"DEAR SIR--It's too bad to disappoint you. Could not execute your
order, as everybody concerned will discover. What a charming
day!--good for taking a picture. That old friend I introduced you
to won't tell tales, and you had not better bother yourself to
visit him. The next time you find yourself in his arms, don't feel
in his left-hand pocket for the broken tooth-pick which I lent him.
He is welcome to it. If you're at the place of payment, I shan't be
there, not having fulfilled the order, and having given up my
emigration project, much against my will; so, govern yourself
accordingly. Sorry your prospects are so poor, and believe me, with
the greatest possible esteem,
"Your disappointed NEGOTIATOR."
To explain why this brief epistle, neither lucid nor interesting in
itself, should affect me as it did, I must go back to the time at which
it was written.