nce, she started as if
in terror. "Letters," she said, very distinctly, "Go!"

He went to her and tried to soothe her, but failed. "No," she said
again, "letters--Ruth--chest."

"She wants some letters that are in the sandal wood chest," he said to
Ruth, and Miss Ainslie nodded. "Yes," she repeated, "letters."

Ruth went into the sitting-room, where a light was burning dimly, but
the chest was locked. "Do you know where the key is, Carl?" she asked,
coming back for a moment.

"No, I don't, dear," he answered. Then he asked Miss Ainslie where the
key was, but she only murmured: "letters."

"Shall I go and help Ruth find them?"

"Yes," she said, "help--letters."

Together, they broke open the lock of the chest, while Miss Ainslie was
calling, faintly: "Carl, Carl, dear! Where are you? I want you!"

"We'd better turn the whole thing out on the floor," he said, suiting
the action to the word, then put it back against the wall, empty. "We'll
have to shake everything out, carefully," returned Ruth, "that's the
only way to find them."

Wrapped carefully in a fine linen sheet, was Miss Ainslie's wedding
gown, of heavy white satin, trimmed simply with priceless Venetian
point. They shook it out hurriedly and put it back into the chest. There
were yards upon yards of lavender taffeta, cut into dress lengths,
which they folded up and put away. Three strings of amethysts and two of
pearls slipped out of the silk as they lifted it, and there was another
length of lustrous white taffeta, which had changed to an ivory tint.

Four shawls of Canton crepe, three of them lavender and one ivory
white, were put back into the chest. There were several fans, of fine
workmanship, a girdle of oxidized silver, set with amethysts and pearls,
and a large marquetry box, which contained tea. "That's all the large
things," he said; "now we can look these over."

Ruth was gathering up great quantities of lace--Brussels, Point
d'Alencon, Cluny, Mechlin, Valenciennes, Duchesse and Venetian point.
There was a bridal veil of the Venetian lace, evidently made to match
that on the gown. Tiny, dried petals rustled out of the meshes, for Miss
Ainslie's laces were laid away in lavender, like her love.

"I don't see them," she said, "yes, here they are." She gave him a
bundle of yellowed letters, tied with lavender ribbon. "I'll take them
to her," he answered, picking up a small black case that lay on the
floor, and opening it. "Why, Ruth!" he gas