to be buried in her grave."

"That is impossible in its present state. The contents must be removed."

"But how?" Mrs. Clayton demanded, in surprise. "It is locked and double
locked, and there is no key."

"_I_ have the key," he answered, gravely.

"Oh! Mr. Laurence," exclaimed his hostess, trembling, "there is some
dreadful mystery here. For heaven's sake tell me what it is! What
connection can you possibly have with this box of my poor cousin's, if
you have only met her once in your life?"

"Did she say so?" he asked.

"No; but I fancied so. Have you known her? When? where? and why did you
not tell us so before?"

"How can I tell you now?" he said, gazing into the pure womanly face
upraised to his own, bearing an expression which was half-surprise and
half-fear but which seemed as though it could never dream of anything
like shame.

"You are too good and too happy, Mrs. Clayton, to know of, or be able to
sympathize with, the troubles and temptations which preceded our fatal
friendship and her fall."

"Blanche's _fall_!" ejaculated Bella Clayton, in a voice of horror.

"Don't interrupt me, please, Mrs. Clayton," he said, hurriedly, covering
his face with his hands, "or I shall never be able to tell you the
wretched story. I knew your cousin years ago. Had you any suspicion that
she was unhappy in her marriage?"

"No! none!" replied Bella, with looks of surprise.

"She _was_ then, thoroughly unhappy, as scores of women are, simply
because the hearts of the men they are bound to are opposed to theirs in
every taste and feeling. I met her when she first returned to England,
and--it is the old story, Mrs. Clayton--I loved her, and was mad enough
to tell her so. When a selfish man and an unselfish woman have mutually
confessed their preference for each other, the result is easily
anticipated. I ruined her--forgive my plain speaking--and she still
loved on, and forgave me."

"Oh, Blanche!" exclaimed Bella Clayton, hiding her hot face in her
hands.

"We lived in a fool's paradise for some months, and then one day she
left her house and went to the Continent, without giving me any warning
of her intention. I was thunderstruck when I heard it, and deeply hurt,
and as soon as I had traced her to Paris, I followed and demanded an
explanation of her conduct. But she refused to see me, and when she
found me pertinacious, left the city as suddenly as she had done that of
London. Since which time she has answered n