Bright Arrows (Musaicum Romance Classics). Grace Livingston Hill

half shyly she put out her hand to take the first letter of her unknown mother, whom she could scarcely remember, except as a sweet presence; she was always smiling. How glad that mother must be now that her dear husband had come to be with her in heaven. But it was all so vague. Did people live and feel and think and rejoice in heaven as they did on earth? Sometime when she found some very wise person who had studied about heaven she would ask about that.

      Then her glance came down to the letter, as she took it out of the delicate envelope and scanned the beautiful writing. Oh, she had seen her mother's writing before of course. There was a lovely little white book, her own baby record written in this same charming penmanship, but somehow this was different. The book was a formal record with an occasional little merry account of some quaint child saying or bright idea.

      But this letter was different. It was going to be like listening to her darling mother talking with her precious father.

      "Dear Charlie."

      The words thrilled the heart of the young girl, and for the first time some faint realization came to her of what it must have been to her mother to be in love with her father, as he must have been when he was young. Then she settled down breathlessly to read that sweet wonderful letter, the first real love letter that Eden had ever read. Oh, she had read love letters in novels of course, just fiction. But this was real life. This love letter had been lived, and by special dispensation was so linked to her life that she had a right not only to read it but to cherish it as a very part of herself.

      Breathlessly she read the lovely girl-thoughts. More beautiful than all the dreams of romance that had ever visited her imagination–waking or dreaming.

      On she read through the sweet impassioned words, which grew only more tender and delicate in expression as she went from one charming letter to the next. Reading a rare continued love story, through the first days of the beautiful courtship and on to the wedding day.

      Then came a letter that told of a visit to relatives. It was most enlightening–Aunt Phoebe in a pale gray silk with blush roses in her little gray bonnet tied under her sweet little trembly chin. Eden remembered her only as a little old woman with tired eyes and skin like old parchment and a way of falling asleep in her chair. Grandma Haybrook with snapping black eyes that couldn't brook a fault in any but herself. She almost laughed aloud as she read about Uncle Pepperill, who would continue to take a pinch of snuff, even at a wedding.

      There were fewer letters after that, save now and then a note written just for the joy of saying, "I love you." For she sensed that the two were continually together now, seldom separated except for a day or two occasionally for some business reason. But ever was that perfect flow of harmony and love in the very atmosphere, even of the brief silences between the letters.

      There were little notations on the envelopes to mark these absences of letter. One read: "The first letter after Eden was born, while I was absent for a day at a banking conference."

      Eagerly she opened that letter and found a wee snapshot of herself as a tiny baby, and a tender line:

      I never knew or even dreamed what it would be like to have a little soul entrusted to our care! And to think our little Eden has such a wonderful father! I shall ever thank God for that! Oh, how can we ever hope to find a man as good as you, my beloved, as fine and strong and tender, and worthy to marry her? We must ask God Himself to prepare one for her.

      It was just then that Janet's quiet footsteps came down the hall with a tinkle of silver and china from the tray she carried. She tapped softly at Eden's door, and Eden was suddenly recalled to the present from a very faraway past that represented her own beginning on the earth.

      "Yes, Janet, what is it?" said Eden quickly.

      "It's joost a wee drap o' tay an' a scone, my lambkin. Ye mustna make yersel' sick wie yer grievin'!"

      Eden sprang to the door and let in her faithful friend.

      "But I'm not grieving, you dear faithful friend," she said, taking the tray from Janet's eager hands. "But the tea smells good, and I really believe I'm hungry. Thank you, Janet! But you didn't need to worry about me. I have been having a wonderful time reading these letters that my father prepared for me for this evening. Letters from my own dear mother, Janet. See what pretty writing. And they are wonderful letters. Someday I'll read you some bits of them, especially those about my coming. You were here before I was, Janet. You knew my mother."

      Janet stooped and looked sharply at the envelope Eden held out.

      "Aye! Weel, I knew yer dear mither, my lambkin. An' thet's her writin'. I had several letters from her mysel', afore I came tae her while I was still in the auld country."

      "Oh, did you, Janet? How nice. You never told me about that."

      "Didna I tell you? Weel, ye were a wee mite, an' ye missed yer momma somethin' terrible. I didna wantae worry ye. And noo, ma bairnie, let me holp ye tae undress an' get intae yer bed. It's verra late, an' ye've had a hard day."

      "No, I want to finish reading the rest of the letters," said Eden, looking wistfully toward the drawer beside her that still had more letters remaining.

      "Why not let thim remain until the morn?" asked Janet practically. "Ye're lookin' verra tired, an' I'm quite sure yer feyther would advise thet."

      Eden looked up and drew a long breath.

      "Why, yes, I suppose Daddy would tell me to go to bed now. But it's been so wonderful to read letters from my own mother to my father, and to think he planned for me to read them now so I wouldn't feel so lost and alone."

      "Yes, my bairn. He was a wonnerfoo feyther, an' she were a rare mither. Ye're greatly blest thet ye had them, even though ye air lonely the noo. But noo, let me brush yer hair for ye and get ye tae yer cooch. There'll be people coomin' in the morn perhaps, an' ye'll wantae be good an' rested tae meet them."

      "Yes, I suppose you're right, Janet," said the girl, yawning wearily.

      And soon Janet had her tucked comfortably in her bed, the light out and the door shut for the night. So thinking the pleasant thoughts about those letters, as her thoughtful father had known she would do if she read them before she went to her bed, she soon fell asleep.

      Then the faithful Janet went quietly to her bed, and Tabor, on his makeshift bed across the library door, planned to be quietly alert to any sound.

      So the moon rose, then sailed behind a cloud, and later drew heavier storm clouds about itself and slipped down its way to rest also, and the world was very dark.

      Then when the night was at its darkest, a dim figure stole across into the deepest shrubbery at the side of the Thurston house and disappeared near a little-used window of the old library. But the family slept on, and not even Tabor with all his wakefulness heard a sound.

      In the morning, however, when Tabor opened the shutters and dusted the room, he found the other drawers in the master's big desk had been thoroughly searched, the contents stirred up and everything left in heaps!

      He studied the whole situation thoroughly and then went to the kitchen telephone and called up the police station. It was early and no one upstairs was stirring yet. This was something that must be settled without the young lady's knowledge, if possible. He had promised his beloved master that he would guard Miss Eden as his own.

      So Mike and Tabor went into the library and examined everything very carefully and very silently. Then all the papers were put back, the drawers locked, and they went around searching for the place where the entrance to the house had been made. They found it soon enough in the long window on the side patio that opened into the library. It was always kept locked. Ellery must have been the intruder and had probably unfastened the window as he stood by it during the last brief altercation before he left.

      A few questions Mike asked of Tabor, and then he took himself away to start a search for Ellery Fane.

      CHAPTER II

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