MY FATHER'S LETTER
I heard Ray's heavy footsteps ascending the stairs to his room. In a few moments he returned, bearing in his hand a letter.
"Guy," he said thoughtfully, "I am a man who is slow to place trust in any one. For that reason, and perhaps because ignorance was better for you, I have told you little of the events of that night. Now my first opinion of you has undergone some modifications. You are stronger than I thought, you have shown faith in me too, or I should not be here practically a guest under your roof to-night. Listen! The man whom you found dead in the marshes was not your father!"
I was not surprised. Always I had doubted it.
"Who was he, then?" I asked calmly.
"When your father went mad at Gibraltar," Ray said, "he needed help. This man, Clery by name, supplie
