do so, but was as often deterred by the thought
that everybody would think that he had intended to hide it and suspect
his motive. So he kept quiet and saw them examine the book, the blank
page of which had been torn half off, leaving only the last three
letters of what must have been the owner's name, '----ich'--that was
all, and might as well not have been there, for any light it shed upon
the matter.

Opening the book by chance at 1st Corinthians, 2nd chapter, Mr. St.
Claire, who could read German much better than he could speak it, saw
pencil-marks around the ninth verse, and read aloud:

'Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the
heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love
Him.'

On the margin opposite this verse was written, in a girlish hand:

'Think of me as there when you read this, and do not be sorry.'

A lock of soft, golden hair, which might have been cut from a baby's
head, and a few faded flowers, which still gave forth a faint perfume
like heliotrope, were tied with a bit of thread, and lying between the
leaves. And except that the book was full of marked passages, chiefly
comforting and conciliatory, there was nothing more to indicate the
character of the owner.

'If this Bible were hers, she was a good woman,' Mr. St. Claire said,
laying his hand reverently upon the forehead of the dead, while Frank,
who saw another meaning between the lines, shook like one in an ague
fit, for he did not believe that those hands, so pulseless and cold, had
ever traced the words, 'Think of me as there when you read this, and do
not be sorry.' She who wrote them might be, and probably was dead, but
her grave was far away, and the fact did not at all change the duty
which he owed to her and him for whom the message was intended.

'What shall I say to Arthur, and how shall I tell him,' he was wondering
to himself, when Mr. St. Claire roused him by saying:

'You seem greatly unstrung by what has happened. I never saw you look so
ill.'

'Yes, I feel as if I had murdered her by not sending John to the
station,' Frank stammered, glad to offer this as an excuse for his
manner, which he knew must seem strange and unnatural.

'You are too sensitive altogether. John might not have seen her, she
hurried off so fast, and you have no particular reason to think she was
coming here,' Mr. St. Claire said, adding: 'We'd better leave her now.
We can do nothing more u