spin it out too long, Lumley," said I; "you know when
men set their hearts on some magnificent plan or scheme they are apt to
become prosy. I suppose you'll also take the writing class, as before?"

"I suppose I must," returned my friend, with a sigh, "though it goes
against the grain, for I was never very good at penmanship, and we have
lost our best scholars too, now that Waboose and her mother are gone."

"By the way, that reminds me," said I, "that Waboose gave me the packet
which she received from her father not long before he was drowned. Here
it is."

I drew it from my breast-pocket and held it up. "She told me her father
had said it was no use her opening it, as she could not read it, but
that she was to give it to the first white man whom she could trust; you
remember my mentioning that to you? she gave it to me only yesterday,
and I have not yet found time to read it."

"Did she say she could trust _you_, Max!"

"Of course she did. Why not?"

"Oh, certainly, why not?" repeated my friend, with a peculiar look.
"Did she say you might communicate its contents to _me_?"

"Well, no, she did not," I replied, feeling rather perplexed. "But I am
quite sure that, if she meant to trust me at all, she meant to trust to
my discretion in the whole matter; and--Jack Lumley," I added, getting
up and grasping my friend's hand, "if I cannot trust _you_ I can trust
nobody."

"That will do," he said, returning the squeeze. "You are safe. Go
ahead."

The packet was wrapped in a piece of birch-bark, and tied with a bit of
fibrous root. This covering removed, I found a white cambric
handkerchief, inside of which was something hard. It turned out to be
the miniature of a handsome man, somewhere between forty and fifty.
Beside it was a manuscript in English. On one corner of the kerchief
was marked in faded ink the name "Eve."

Holding out the portrait I said,--"You see. I knew he was a gentleman.
This must be her father."

"No doubt," replied Lumley--"but what says this letter?"

Unfolding the manuscript I spread it carefully on my knee and began to
read.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

OPENING OF THE MYSTERIOUS PACKET.

The manuscript was without date or preface, and its contents interested
as well as surprised us not a little. It began at once as follows:--

"Whoever receives this packet and letter from my daughter receives a
sacred trust which he dare not shake off, and which I solemnly charge
him in the