t out of the room? Oh! Suddenly
she remembered that there was some music on one of the tables up-stairs,
and she acted upon that excuse for absence.

"Oh, Dick, please lie still a moment. There is a piece up-stairs that I
must bring down and play for you. I know you will like it. One of
Gottschalk's--'Las Ojos Criollos.'" She had caught sight of that
composition lying at the top of the heap of music near her, and without
being observed by Crawford she caught the sheet, rolled it up in her
hand, and was out of the room in a moment.

"Tut! tut! what a pity that that girl _never_ can be still a moment and
do exactly what any one asks her to do!" was the mental comment of that
gentleman as her flying skirts disappeared through the door.

Of course Josephine Harris did not go up stairs. She had no real errand
whatever in that direction. There was a door opening from Richard's
little bed-room, adjoining his study, into the hall; and her hope was to
find that door unlocked. If not, some other excuse must be made to get
into his room, to invent which she must play a few more tunes, and run a
little more risk of being interrupted. She stepped very lightly to the
door, with a repetition of that cat-step which seemed that day suddenly
to have come to her. She turned the knob--it _was_ unlocked--it opened.
One dart through the other door and to the sofa. The cushion was a
moveable one, as she knew, and very likely to be made a temporary
hiding-place for any small article, by one lying upon it. She lifted the
edge of the cushion, her heart beating at trip-hammers again, and her
whole being almost as much excited as it had been half an hour before.
Human life is full of blunders, but happily there are some movements
that are _not_ blunders; and this was one of them. A small, round roll
of linen, three or four inches wide, was stuck a little distance under
the edge. She drew it out, hastily unrolled it until she saw that a dark
plaster lay in the middle, then, with a "Whew!" of triumph, quite as
hastily rolled it up again and thrust it into her pocket. Half a minute
more, and she had softly ascended a dozen steps of the stairs, and
descended again with plenty of noise, springing down with a decided bump
on the landing. Then she burst into the parlor with her _piece of
music_, and sat down once more to the piano.

"Excuse my running away, Dick. Haven't been long--have I?"

"No, not very long," answered Crawford, whose impressions o