mistake the description. That book is missing."

"Well, madam!" answered the girl, with cold composure; "is it of me you
demand that book? I have not seen it. This is the first time I ever saw
your desk open. I believe the key has always been in your own
possession!"

"I thought so," answered Mabel, feeling once more among the charms
attached to her watch, to be sure the key was still there; "I thought
so, but the book is gone."

"Shall I call the servant, madam? The new chambermaid possibly knows
something of it; she has taken charge of this room lately."

"Indeed, I have not observed," said Mabel. "Yes, send her here."

CHAPTER LXXII.

FRAGMENTS OF MABEL'S JOURNAL.

Agnes went out quietly, as if there had been neither anger nor suspicion
in Mrs. Harrington's voice. The poor lady sat trembling from head to
foot, still searching the room wildly with her eyes, till the mulatto
chambermaid came in.

"What's de matter wid de chile; she's white as snow, and seems a'most as
cold; 'pears like something 'stresses her," said the woman, casting a
sidelong glance at the lady from under the half-closed lids of her eyes,
which never seemed capable of opening themselves fully in Mabel's
presence.

"Woman!" said Mabel, sharply, for her anxiety was like a pain. "Woman, I
have lost a book from my escritoire yonder--a white book, clasped with
gold--what has become of it?"

"Goodness knows, missus! I don't know nothin' 'bout no book, praise de
Lor'! I dussent know one kind of readin' from t'other. Books ain't no
kind o' use to dis colored pusson, no how; so t'ain't I as has gone and
tuk it."

"No, no, but you may have seen it. Possibly the desk may have been left
open, and you, not knowing it from other books, have put it away among
those of the library. See, it was filled with writing like this."

Here Mabel took up a pen, and hastily dashed off a line or two on a
loose sheet of paper. The woman took the paper, turned it wrong end up,
and began to examine it with serious scrutiny, as if she were striving
to make out its meaning.

"'Pears like the inside was like this, miss?" she said at last, with
another glance at the pale face of her mistress.

Mabel took the paper impatiently from her. "No, like this," she cried,
reversing the page. "You should be able to understand the peculiarities
of the marks, even though you cannot read."

"Like dis is it--de high marks shootin' up so, and the long one running
out sc