reabouts being discovered.

With fingers trembling with excitement, she undid the fastenings of
the heavy cord and slowly lifted the cover, not knowing exactly what
she expected or hoped to find, but certain that the key for which she
had searched was close at hand.

Within the box lay a large parcel wrapped in a newspaper, worn and
yellow with age, and pinned to the parcel was a letter, addressed in a
cramped, almost illegible hand:

"To Lyle,
to be read after my death."

Lyle recognized the writing,--it was Mrs. Maverick's, whose
educational advantages, though exceedingly limited, were yet superior
to those of her husband, in that she could read and write, though she
had little idea of the rules of grammar or orthography.

Lyle unpinned the letter and turned it over curiously in her hands for
a moment; then she laid it aside, saying to herself:

"I will first see what this package contains, and will probably open
that later."

She lifted the parcel and began removing the paper wrappings, which
burst like tissue and dropped in pieces, leaving a mass of fine
cambric and dainty laces and embroideries, from which was exhaled a
perfume, faint and subtle, and yet which recalled to Lyle so vividly
the memories of that long-ago forgotten time, that she seemed like one
awakening from a long oblivion to the scenes of a once familiar life.
For a moment, she grew faint and dizzy, and, closing her eyes, leaned
against the wall for support, while she tried to grasp the vision that
seemed just ready to open up before her. But it passed, and with a
sigh she opened her eyes, her gaze falling on the contents of the
package which had fallen open.

She saw the dress of a little child,--apparently about two years of
age,--a marvelous creation of the finest of white linen and the
daintiest of embroideries; lying within it was a broad sash of blue
silk, neatly folded together, a pair of tiny, blue silk stockings,
and little kid shoes of the same delicate shade; but the shoes and
sash, as well as the dress, were soiled and blackened as if they had
come in contact with charred wood.

The dress and the little undergarments each and all bore the initials
"M. L. W.," and Lyle pondered over them with wondering eyes, while
handling with reverent touch these relics of her childhood,--a
childhood which she could not recall.

As she unrolled the blue sash, there dropped from within its