with all her thinking, had never yet
been able to solve--why had James Harrington found it needful to
persuade that inexperienced girl away from her home? There existed no
reason for it. He was wealthy--his own master--accountable to no one;
surely it was not fear of his younger brother, who would have given the
very heart from his bosom, had James desired it. If he loved Lina, a
single appeal to the noble young fellow's generosity would have been
enough--then why wound and insult him by a course so unnecessarily
cruel?

Mabel revolved these questions over and over in her mind, till they
threw her thoughts back upon herself. Had she anything to account
for--had James suspected the secret of her own weary life, and, fearing
to wound her by his love for another, fled to be alone with his
happiness?

This thought broke up the apathy into which she had fallen, with a
sudden shock, as we hear sheets of ice crack, and shoot a thousand
silver arrows over what has been a smooth surface the moment before. A
new thought seized upon her--a fear that made her tremble from head to
foot.

Mabel was alone in her boudoir, when this new terror fell upon her. She
arose suddenly, and going up to her escritoire, unlocked it, and
searched for the vellum book. It was nowhere to be found. She tore the
papers out in pale eagerness, opened drawers, unlocked secret
compartments, searched in other cabinets, till every nook and corner of
her apartments had been examined. Then she sat down, breathless, and so
pale that the face which looked back on her from the opposite mirror,
seemed that of another person. Where had the book gone--who had dared to
remove it from the place where, for years and years, it had been kept
sacred from all eyes, as the pulses of her own heart?

Breathless with anxiety, desperate with apprehension, determined to
question every servant of the house, she rang the bell.

Agnes Barker presented herself in answer to this summons. The girl had,
of late, seemed to find pleasure in forcing herself upon Mabel, and
would frequently make an excuse to seek her room in place of the
servant, whenever one was summoned. Though her presence was generally
unwelcome, Mabel was glad to see her then. Excitement had, for the
moment, swept away the nervous recoil with which she always regarded
her.

"Miss Barker, I had a book in this escritoire, bound in vellum, and
filled with manuscript notes. It had a curious gold clasp. You cannot