idedly. "I
will write to Eliza and ask her if I may open the chest to see if the
moths have got into it. If she refuses, well and good. I have no doubt
that she _will_ refuse. She will cling to her old sentimental ideas as
long as the breath is in her body."

I rather avoided the old chest after this. It took on a new
significance in my eyes and seemed to me like the tomb of
something--possibly some dead and buried romance of the past.

Later on a letter came to Grandmother; she passed it over the table to
Mrs. DeLisle.

"That is from Eliza," she said. "I would know her writing
anywhere--none of your modern sprawly, untidy hands, but a fine
lady-like script, as regular as copperplate. Read the letter,
Winnifred; I haven't my glasses and I dare say Eliza's rhapsodies
would tire me very much. You need not read them aloud--I can imagine
them all. Let me know what she says about the chest."

Aunt Winnifred opened and read the letter and laid it down with a
brief sigh.

"This is all she says about the chest. 'If it were not for one thing
that is in it, I would ask you to open the chest and burn all its
contents. But I cannot bear that anyone but myself should see or touch
that one thing. So please leave the chest as it is, dear Aunt. It is
no matter if the moths do get in.' That is all," continued Mrs.
DeLisle, "and I must confess that I am disappointed. I have always had
an almost childish curiosity about that old chest, but I seem fated
not to have it gratified. That 'one thing' must be her wedding dress.
I have always thought that she locked it away there."

"Her answer is just what I expected of her," said Grandmother
impatiently. "Evidently the years have not made her more sensible.
Well, I wash my hands of her belongings, moths or no moths."

It was not until ten years afterwards that I heard anything more of
the old chest. Grandmother Laurance had died, but Aunt Winnifred still
lived at the Grange. She was very lonely, and the winter after
Grandmother's death she sent me an invitation to make her a long
visit.

When I revisited the garret and saw the old blue chest in the same
dusty corner, my childish curiosity revived and I begged Aunt
Winnifred to tell me its history.

"I am glad you have reminded me of it," said Mrs. DeLisle. "I have
intended to open the chest ever since Mother's death but I kept
putting it off. You know, Amy, poor Eliza Laurance died five years
ago, but even then Mother would not hav