find,
not only in the general aspect of the room, but in each trivial object
I encountered, of the character, disposition, and history of the woman
with whom I now had to deal. It was for this reason I studied the
daguerreotypes on the mantel-piece, the books on the shelf, and the
music on the rack; for this and the still further purpose of noting if
any indications were to be found of there being in the house any such
person as Hannah.

First then, for the little library, which I was pleased to see occupied
one corner of the room. Composed of a few well-chosen books, poetical,
historical, and narrative, it was of itself sufficient to account
for the evidences of latent culture observable in Mrs. Belden's
conversation. Taking out a well-worn copy of _Byron,_ I opened it. There
were many passages marked, and replacing the book with a mental comment
upon her evident impressibility to the softer emotions, I turned towards
the melodeon fronting me from the opposite wall. It was closed, but on
its neatly-covered top lay one or two hymn-books, a basket of russet
apples, and a piece of half-completed knitting work.

I took up the latter, but was forced to lay it down again without a
notion for what it was intended. Proceeding, I next stopped before
a window opening upon the small yard that ran about the house, and
separated it from the one adjoining. The scene without failed to attract
me, but the window itself drew my attention, for, written with a diamond
point on one of the panes, I perceived a row of letters which, as
nearly as I could make out, were meant for some word or words, but which
utterly failed in sense or apparent connection. Passing it by as the
work of some school-girl, I glanced down at the work-basket standing on
a table at my side. It was full of various kinds of work, among which I
spied a pair of stockings, which were much too small, as well as in too
great a state of disrepair, to belong to Mrs. Belden; and drawing them
carefully out, I examined them for any name on them. Do not start when I
say I saw the letter H plainly marked upon them. Thrusting them back,
I drew a deep breath of relief, gazing, as I did so, out of the window,
when those letters again attracted my attention.

What could they mean? Idly I began to read them backward, when--But try
for yourself, reader, and judge of my surprise! Elate at the discovery
thus made, I sat down to write my letters. I had barely finished them,
when Mrs.