Mr. Kenyon's face darkened, especially when his attention was drawn to the signature.
"Conrad! So she discards my name!" he muttered. "Fortunately the object of this accursed letter will not be attained, nor will Oliver have an opportunity of making mischief by showing it to the neighbors."
Mr. Kenyon lighted a candle and deliberately held the dangerous letter in the flame till it was consumed.
"There," he said, breathing a sigh of relief, "that peril is over. But suppose she should write another?"
Again his face wore an expression of nervous apprehension.
"I must write to Dr. Fox at once," he mused, "and warn him to keep close guard over his patient. Otherwise I may have to dread an explosion at any time."
He threw himself into an easy chair and began to think over the situation.
The man was alert and watchful. Danger was at hand, and he resolved to head it off at any hazard.
Meanwhile Oliver had occasion to pass the post-office on his way home from school. Thinking there might be a letter or paper for his step-father, he entered and made enquiry.
"Is there anything for us, Mr. Herman?" he said.
"No," said the postmaster, adding jocularly: "Isn't one letter a day enough for you?"
"I have received no letter," answered Oliver, rather surprised.
"I gave a letter to Mr. Kenyon for you this morning."
"Oh, I haven't been home from school yet," said Oliver. "I suppose it is waiting for me there."
"Very likely. It looked to be in a lady's handwriting," added the postmaster, disposed to banter Oliver, who was a favorite with him.
"I can't think who can have written it, then," said our hero.
At first he thought it might be from an intimate boy friend of about his own age, but the postmaster's remark seemed to render that unlikely.
We all like to receive letters, however disinclined we may be to answer them. Oliver was no exception in this respect. His desire to see the letter was increased by his being quite unable to conjecture who could have written to him in a feminine handwriting. As soon, therefore, as he reached home, he enquired for Mr. Kenyon.
"He's in his room, Mr. Oliver," said the servant.
"Did he leave any letter for me, Maggie?"
Oliver went up the stairs and knocked at Mr. Kenyon's door. The latter had now recovered his wonted composure, and called out to him to enter.
