a far higher value on his cigars than on his shells. I searched
this lower compartment carefully for any object interesting to me which
might be hidden in it. Nothing was to be found in any part of it besides
the shells.

As I opened the second cupboard it struck me that the light was
beginning to fail.

I looked at the window: it was hardly evening yet. The darkening of the
light was produced by gathering clouds. Rain-drops pattered against
the glass; the autumn wind whistled mournfully in the corners of the
courtyard. I mended the fire before I renewed my search. My nerves were
in fault again, I suppose. I shivered when I went back to the book-case.
My hands trembled: I wondered what was the matter with me.

The second cupboard revealed (in the upper division of it) some really
beautiful cameos--not mounted, but laid on cotton-wool in neat cardboard
trays. In one corner, half hidden under one of the trays, there peeped
out the whit e leaves of a little manuscript. I pounced on it eagerly,
only to meet with a new disappointment: the manuscript proved to be a
descriptive catalogue of the cameos--nothing more!

Turning to the lower division of the cupboard, I found more costly
curiosities in the shape of ivory carvings from Japan and specimens of
rare silk from China. I began to feel weary of disinterring the Major's
treasures. The longer I searched, the farther I seemed to remove myself
from the one object that I had it at heart to attain. After closing the
door of the second cupboard, I almost doubted whether it would be worth
my while to proceed farther and open the third and last door.

A little reflection convinced me that it would be as well, now that I
had begun my examination of the lower regions of the book-case, to go on
with it to the end. I opened the last cupboard.

On the upper shelf there appeared, in solitary grandeur, one object
only--a gorgeously bound book.

It was of a larger size than usual, judging of it by comparison with
the dimensions of modern volumes. The binding was of blue velvet, with
clasps of silver worked in beautiful arabesque patterns, and with a lock
of the same precious metal to protect the book from prying eyes. When I
took it up, I found that the lock was not closed.

Had I any right to take advantage of this accident, and open the book?
I have put the question since to some of my friends of both sexes. The
women all agree that I was perfectly justified, considering the ser