ith a slipper-pattern worked on it; and a black dress
waistcoat with some unfinished embroidery on the collar. It was plain to
him, at a first glance, that these things had been thrown into the box
anyhow, and had been left just as they were thrown. For a moment or
two, he kept his eyes fixed on the sad significance of the confusion
displayed before him; then turned away his head, whispering to himself,
mournfully and many times, that name of "Mary," which he had already
pronounced while in the presence of Joanna Grice. After a little, he
mechanically picked out the letters that lay scattered about the
box; mechanically eyed the broken seals and the addresses on each;
mechanically put them back again unopened, until he came to one which
felt as if it had something inside it. This circumstance stimulated
him into unfolding the enclosure, and examining what the letter might
contain.

Nothing but a piece of paper neatly folded. He undid the folds, and
found part of a lock of hair inside, which he wrapped up again the
moment he saw it, as if anxious to conceal it from view as soon as
possible. The letter he examined more deliberately. It was in a woman's
handwriting; was directed to "Miss Mary Grice, Dibbledean:" and was only
dated "Bond Street, London. Wednesday." The post-mark, however, showed
that it had been written many years ago. It was not very long; so he set
himself to the task of making it all out from beginning to end.

This was what he read:--

"MY DEAREST MARY,

"I have just sent you your pretty hair bracelet by the coach, nicely
sealed and packed up by the jeweler. I have directed it to you by your
own name, as I direct this, remembering what you told me about your
father making it a point of honor never to open your letters and
parcels; and forbidding that ugly aunt Joanna of yours, ever to do so
either. I hope you will receive this and the little packet about the
same time.

"I will answer for your thinking the pattern of your bracelet much
improved since the new hair has been worked in with the old. How slyly
you will run away to your own room, and _blush unseen,_ like the flower
in the poem, when you look at it! You may be rather surprised, perhaps,
to see some little gold fastenings introduced as additions; but this,
the jeweler told me, was a matter of necessity. Your poor dear sister's
hair being the only material of the bracelet, when you sent it up to
me to be altered, was very different from