ing, and pointed
to a morsel of paper attached to it, which contained this inscription:

"Philip's Letters To Me. Private. Helena Gracedieu."

"I have a favor to ask," she said, "and a proof of confidence in you
to offer. Will you be so good as to look over what you find in my
portfolio? I am unwilling to give up the hopes that I had founded on our
interview, when I asked for it. The letters will, I venture to think,
plead my cause more convincingly than I was able to plead it for myself.
I wish to forget what passed between us, to the last word. To the
last word," she repeated emphatically--with a look which sufficiently
informed me that I had not been betrayed to her father yet. "Will you
indulge me?" she asked, and offered her portfolio for the second time.

A more impudent bargain could not well have been proposed to me.

I was to read, and to be favorably impressed by, Mr. Philip Dunboyne's
letters; and Miss Helena was to say nothing of that unlucky slip of the
tongue, relating to her mother, which she had discovered to be a serious
act of self-betrayal--thanks to my confusion at the time. If I had not
thought of Eunice, and of the desolate and loveless life to which the
poor girl was so patiently resigned, I should have refused to read Miss
Gracedieu's love-letters.

But, as things were, I was influenced by the hope (innocently encouraged
by Eunice herself) that Philip Dunboyne might not be so wholly unworthy
of the sweet girl whom he had injured as I had hitherto been too hastily
disposed to believe. To act on this view with the purpose of promoting
a reconciliation was impossible, unless I had the means of forming a
correct estimate of the man's character. It seemed to me that I had
found the means. A fair chance of putting his sincerity to a trustworthy
test, was surely offered by the letters (the confidential letters) which
I had been requested to read. To feel this as strongly as I felt it,
brought me at once to a decision. I consented to take the portfolio--on
my own conditions.

"Understand, Miss Helena," I said, "that I make no promises. I reserve
my own opinion, and my own right of action."

"I am not afraid of your opinions or your actions," she answered
confidently, "if you will only read the letters. In the meantime, let me
relieve my sister, there, of my presence. I hope you will soon recover,
Eunice, in the country air."

If the object of the wretch was to exasperate her victim, she had