he little black trunk, which was open also, and the letter was
dropped on the floor, and I knew she had been there, and thought perhaps
it was something she had left, so I read--only a part of it, and--oh,
mama!"

Mrs. Dering vouchsafed no explanation, as Bea paused with a sob; but
looked out of the window with a world of puzzled inquiry in her face,
and murmured to herself:

"How did it ever come out of the box?"

"Papa," answered Bea, catching the words, "He was up there the day
before he--died, and I remember when he came down with what he wanted,
he said that he had gone clear to the bottom of the big box for it, and
that he would put things back, and nail it up when he came back home,
and they were all left just that way, mama; and oh--please tell me--is
it true?"

"Yes, Beatrice, it is true, too true," answered Mrs. Dering, sadly, then
went up stairs, and left Bea sobbing on the lounge.

In just a few minutes Kittie came running in, and paused astonished at
the sitting-room door, but as she surveyed her sister, and heard how
bitterly she was sobbing, she went in and knelt by the lounge.

"Bea, can't you tell me yet, what the matter is?"

"No-o," sobbed Bea.

"Well, please tell me just one thing: I'm so frightened about something,
I don't know what. But, is Ernestine very very sick, and is that what
you are crying about? or--or, _has_ something happened that we don't
know anything about? Please tell me just this, Bea, and I won't ask any
more."

"Yes, something has," was Bea's answer; and Kittie went sorrowfully away
to tell Kat and Olive not to rejoice so much, yet.

It was quite late that night, and every one had gone to bed, except Mrs.
Dering, who sat sleeplessly beside the bed, holding Ernestine's hot
hand, and Bea, who nestled quietly in a large rocking chair, equally
sleepless, and looking alternately from the loving, watchful face of
mother, to the flushed, restless one on the pillow, while the big tears
dropped unheeded down her cheeks.

The doctor had said, on leaving in the evening, that when Ernestine
awoke, she would be herself, and for some time Mrs. Dering had been
watching the feverish flush give way to pallor, and the restless, uneasy
tossing to quiet slumber, and she knew, that before long, Ernestine
would be herself, and ask a dreaded question. The house was painfully
still. Bea shivered as the clock's ticking sounded loudly through the
halls, and thought of last night when they all