She looked relieved at sight of me, and, as soon as we were alone, plunged at once into her story, as if anxious to get it over, and hear what I might have to say.
This is what she told me in her own plain, concise, and very sensible language, interrupted now and then by my brief questions, and her occasional moments of silence, while I transferred something to my note-book.
"I presume you have wanted to know what I did with that letter I took," she began, smiling a little, probably in recollection of her adroit theft. "I will tell you why I took it. When you first showed it to me, the printed letters had a sort of familiar look, but I could not think where I had seen them. During the night it seemed to come to me, and I got up and went into the parlor." Here she hesitated for a moment, and then went on hurriedly: "Grace--my girl, you know--has a large autograph album; she brought it home when she came from the seminary, and everybody she meets that can scratch with a pen, must write in it. I found this precious album, and in it I found--this."
She took from her pocket-book a folded paper and put it in my hand. It was a leaf torn from an album, and it contained a sentimental couplet, _printed_ in large, bold letters.
I looked at the bit of paper, and then muttering an excuse, went hurriedly to the outer office. In a moment I was back; holding in my hand the printed letter of warning, which I had confided to the care of my Chief.
I sat down opposite Mrs. Ballou with the two documents before me, and scrutinized them carefully.
They were the same. The letter of warning was penciled, and bore evidence of having been hastily done; the album lines were in ink carefully executed and elaborately finished, but the lettering was the same. Making allowances for the shading, the flourishes, and the extra precision of the one, and looking simply at the formation of the letters, the height, width, curves, and spacing of both, and the resemblance was too strong to pass for a mere coincidence.
I studied the two papers thoughtfully for a few moments, then looked at Mrs. Ballou.
"You should have told me of this at once," I began; but she threw up her hand impatiently.
"Wait," she said, with almost her ordinary brusqueness, seeming to lose her nervousness as she became absorbed in the task of convincing me that she thoroughly understood _herself_. "There was no time to compare the writing that night. I had not decided what to do, and I was not sure then that they were the same. I left the album, just as I found it, and went out and harnessed the horses. While I was helping you with your coat, I managed to get the letter."