Miriam shuddered, and hid her pale face in her hands.

“Here,” said Edith, taking a small packet of letters from under her pillow.  “Here, Miriam, is a portion of her correspondence with this man, Thomas Truman—­I found it in the secret drawer of her bureau.  There are several notes entreating her to give him a meeting, on the beach, at Mossy Dell, and at other points.  From the tenor of these notes, I am led to believe that she refused these meetings; and, more than that, from the style of one in particular I am induced to suppose that she might have been privately married to that man.  Why he should have enticed her to that spot to destroy her life, I do not know.  But this, at least, I know:  that our dearest Marian has been basely assassinated.  I see reason to suppose the assassin to have been her lover, or her husband, and that his real or assumed name was Thomas Truman.  These facts, and this little packet of notes and letters, are all that I have to offer as testimony.  But by following a slight clue, we are sometimes led to great discoveries.”

“Why didn’t you show them to the gentlemen, dear mamma?  They might have found out something by them.”

“I showed them to Thurston Willcoxen, who has been so energetic in the pursuit of the unknown murderer; but Thurston became so violently agitated that I thought he must have fallen.  And he wished very much to retain those letters, but I would not permit them to be carried out of my sight.  When he became calmer, however, he assured me that there could be no possible connection between the writer of these notes and the murderer of the unfortunate girl.  I, however, think differently.  I think there is a connection, and even an identity; and I think this packet may be the means of bringing the criminal to justice; and I leave it—­a sacred trust—­in your charge, Miriam.  Guard it well; guard it as your only treasure, until it has served its destined purpose.  And now, Miriam, do you know the nature of a vow?”

“Yes, mamma.”

“Do you understand its solemnity—­its obligation, its inviolability?”

“I think I do, mamma.”

“Do you know that in the performance of your vow, if necessary, no toil, no privation, no suffering of mind or body, no dearest interest of your life, no strongest affection of your soul, but must be sacrificed; do you comprehend all this?”

“Yes, mamma; I knew it before, and I have read of Jeptha and his daughter.”

“Now, Miriam, kneel down, fold your hands, and give them to me between my own.  Look into my eyes.  I want you to make a vow to God and to your dying mother, to avenge the death of Marian.  Will you bind your soul by such an obligation?”

The child was magnetized by the thrilling eyes that gazed deep into her own.  She answered: 

“Yes, mamma.”

“You vow in the sight of God and all his holy angels, that, as you hope for salvation, you will devote your life with all your faculties of mind and body, to the discovery and punishment of Marian’s murderer; and also that you will live a maiden until you become and avenger.”