found
herself ignorant of the secret by which it was opened, but she had
scruples about using the means, even had she been in possession of
them. At first she thought of carrying the thing to Beulah, and of
asking if she knew any way of getting at the spring; then she shrunk
from the exposure that might possibly attend such a step. The more she
reflected, the more she felt convinced that Robert Willoughby would not
have sent _her_ that particular box, unless it were connected with
herself, in some way more than common; and ever since the conversation
in the painting-room she had seen glimmerings of the truth, in relation
to his feelings. These glimmerings too, had aided her in better
understanding her own heart, and all her sentiments revolted at the
thought of having a witness to any explanation that might relate to the
subject. In every event she determined, after a few minutes of thought,
not to speak of the message, or the present, to a living soul.

In this condition of mind, filled with anxiety, pleasing doubts,
apprehensions, shame, and hope, all relieved, however, by the secret
consciousness of perfect innocence, and motives that angels might avow,
Maud stood, in the very spot where Mike had left her, turning the box
in her hands, when accidentally she touched the spring, and the lid
flew open. To glance at the contents was an act so natural and
involuntary as to anticipate reflection.

Nothing was visible but a piece of white paper, neatly folded, and
compressed into the box in a way to fill its interior. "Bob has
written," thought Maud--"Yet how could he do this? He was in the dark,
and had not pen or paper!" Another look rendered this conjecture still
more improbable, as it showed the gilt edge of paper of the quality
used for notes, an article equally unlikely to be found in the mill and
in his own pocket. "Yet it must be a note," passed through her mind,
"and of course it was written before he left the Hut--quite likely
before he arrived--possibly the year before, when he spoke of the box
as containing the evidence of the great secret of his life."

Maud now wished for Mike, incoherent, unintelligible, and blundering as
he was, that she might question him still further as to the precise
words of the message. "Possibly Bob did not intend me to open the-box
at all," she thought, "and meant merely that I should keep it until he
could return to claim it. It contains a great secret; and, because he
wishes to