ered in a flutter of emotion springing from more
than one cause.

"The young lady thinks that we should remove the books," Hetty observed,
as her mistress's eye wandered to hers from Violet's abstracted
countenance.

"Useless. If we were to undertake to do that, Carlos would be here
before half the job was finished. Besides, Hetty must have told you my
extreme aversion to nicely bound books. I will not say that when awake
I never place my hand on one, but once in a state of somnambulism, when
every natural whim has full control, I am sure that I never would. There
is a reason for my prejudice. I was not always rich. I once was very
poor. It was when I was first married and long before Clement had begun
to make his fortune. I was so poor then that frequently I went hungry,
and what was worse saw my little daughter cry for food. And why? Because
my husband was a bibliomaniac. He would spend on fine editions what
would have kept the family comfortable. It is hard to believe, isn't
it? I have seen him bring home a Grolier when the larder was as empty as
that box; and it made me hate books so, especially those of extra fine
binding, that I have to tear the covers off before I can find courage to
read them."

O life! life! how fast Violet was learning it!

"I can understand your idea, Mrs. Quintard, but as everything else has
failed, I should make a mistake not to examine these shelves. It is just
possible that we may be able to shorten the task very materially; that
we may not have to call in help, even. To what extent have they been
approached, or the books handled, since you discovered the loss of the
paper we are looking for?"

"Not at all. Neither of us went near them." This from Hetty.

"Nor any one else?"

"No one else has been admitted to the room. We locked both doors the
moment we felt satisfied that the will had been left here."

"That's a relief. Now I may be able to do something. Hetty, you look
like a very strong woman, and I, as you see, am very little. Would you
mind lifting me up to these shelves? I want to look at them. Not at the
books, but at the shelves themselves."

The wondering woman stooped and raised her to the level of the shelf she
had pointed out. Violet peered closely at it and then at the ones just
beneath.

"Am I heavy?" she asked; "if not, let me see those on the other side of
the door."

Hetty carried her over.

Violet inspected each shelf as high as a woman of Mrs. Quintard's