But there was no room in Dorothy's mind just then for musings either on nature or Ruskin, and it is to be feared that the dancing blue of the water and the purple shadows on the hills and golden glow of the sunset made little impression on her wholly preoccupied mind. What could Theodore Harris be writing to Marie-Celeste about, and who could the other two letters be from? Those were the absorbing questions of the hour; and at last Marie-Celeste is back again on the little seat beside her, ready to unlock her precious secrets, and with the three mysterious letters spread, one upon the other, open in her lap.