rigly scrawley like dis one; 'pears 's if I'd seen 'em afore, but
'twasn't in a bounden book, golly knows."

"You have seen the writing--very well--where was it?"

"Up in Master James' room, the day he went off. Them's the same marks,
Lor' knows."

"In Mr. James Harrington's room!" exclaimed Mabel, white as snow.

"Please, missus, tell jus' what the book was outside and in."

Mabel held up the sheet of paper on which she had written, but it
trembled like a plucked leaf in her hand.

"This size, with a white cover, edged with gold. The lock was clasped
with a trinket like this on my watch, only larger, and with red sparks
set in it."

"Like dis, with little red stuns--the cover white, and shut wid a thing
like this. Yes, missus, Master James had a book jus' like de one you
mean in his room, de berry morning afore he done and went off!"

"Go," said Mabel, shivering, "go search for it!"

The woman shuffled herself out of the room; directly she returned, with
several leaves of crumpled writing in one hand, and some small object
clenched in the other.

"The book's done gone, missus; but here's something dat I found on his
table, 'sides dis what I sifted out of de ashes."

She handed Mabel some crumpled pages of her journal, evidently torn from
the book; the half of a broken heart, dulled with fire, and the corner
of what had once been a vellum cover, burned almost away, but with a
gleam of the tarnished gold and white upon the edge.

"Sakes alive, how white you is, missus!" exclaimed the woman, and a
disagreeable gleam broke from under her half-shut eyelids, as she saw
Mabel stagger and sink faintly back into her chair, grasping the
fragments of her journal as she fell.

"No, no!" she gasped, repulsing the mulatto with her hand: "I am not
white--I am not ill. These--these--you found them in Mr. James
Harrington's room!"

"Them papers was on his table wid his cigar-case, an' pipe, an' dem
tings. De gol' heart, and dat oder, dis chile fished out o' de grate,
for de Lord just as 'tis dare."

"Go!" commanded Mabel, hoarsely. "I know where the book went to; that is
enough!"

"'Pears like you is goin' to faint," answered the woman, who seemed
reluctant to leave her.

"No, I am well--very well. Leave me."

The woman turned away, and, as she went forth, the disagreeable smile we
have before mentioned, crept slowly across her mouth.

As the door closed, the fragments of her journal dropped from Mabel's
hand;