e the chest opened. There is no
reason why it should not be examined now. If you like, we will go and
open it at once and afterwards I will tell you the story."

We went eagerly up the garret stairs. Aunt knelt down before the old
chest and selected a key from the bunch at her belt.

"Would it not be too provoking, Amy, if this key should not fit after
all? Well, I do not believe you would be any more disappointed than
I."

She turned the key and lifted the heavy lid. I bent forward eagerly. A
layer of tissue paper revealed itself, with a fine tracing of sifted
dust in its crinkles.

"Lift it up, child," said my aunt gently. "There are no ghosts for
you, at least, in this old chest."

I lifted the paper up and saw that the chest was divided into two
compartments. Lying on the top of one was a small, square, inlaid box.
This Mrs. DeLisle took up and carried to the window. Lifting up the
cover she laid it in my lap.

"There, Amy, look through it and let us see what old treasures have
lain hidden there these forty years."

The first thing I took out was a small square case covered with dark
purple velvet. The tiny clasp was almost rusted away and yielded
easily. I gave a little cry of admiration. Aunt Winnifred bent over my
shoulder.

"That is Eliza's portrait at the age of twenty, and that is Willis
Starr's. Was she not lovely, Amy?"

Lovely indeed was the face looking out at me from its border of
tarnished gilt. It was the face of a young girl, in shape a perfect
oval, with delicate features and large dark-blue eyes. Her hair,
caught high on the crown and falling on her neck in the long curls of
a bygone fashion, was a warm auburn, and the curves of her bare neck
and shoulders were exquisite.

"The other picture is that of the man to whom she was betrothed. Tell
me, Amy, do you think him handsome?"

I looked at the other portrait critically. It was that of a young man
of about twenty-five; he was undeniably handsome, but there was
something I did not like in his face and I said so.

Aunt Winnifred made no reply--she was taking out the remaining
contents of the box. There was a white silk fan with delicately carved
ivory sticks, a packet of old letters and a folded paper containing
some dried and crumpled flowers. Aunt laid the box aside and unpacked
the chest in silence. First came a ball dress of pale-yellow satin
brocade, made with the trained skirt, "baby" waist and full puffed
sleeves of a former gen