d room was at last to yield up
its secret to them. They experienced a delicious thrill of expectation,
as, with their candles raised above their heads, they peered eagerly
about.

Now, what they had expected to find within that mysterious room, they
could not perhaps have explained with any definiteness. Once they stood
within the threshold, however, they became slowly conscious of a vague
disappointment. Here was nothing so very strange, after all! The room
appeared to be in considerable disorder, and articles of clothing,
books, and boyish belongings were tossed about, as in a hurry of
packing. But beyond this, there was nothing much out of the ordinary
about it.

"Well," breathed Cynthia at length. "Is _this_ what we've been making
all the fuss about!"

"Wait!" said Joyce. "You can't see everything just at one glance. Let's
look about a little. Oh, what a dreadful hole we've made in the
wall-paper! Well, it can't be helped now, and it's the only damage we've
done." They commenced to tiptoe about the room, glancing curiously at
its contents.

It was plainly a boy's room. A pair of fencing-foils hung crossed on one
wall, a couple of boxing-gloves on another. College trophies decorated
the mantel. On a center-table stood a photograph or daguerreotype in a
large oval frame. When Cynthia had wiped away the veil of dust that
covered it, with the dust-cloth she had thoughtfully tucked in her belt,
the girls bent over it.

"Oh, Cynthia!" cried Joyce. "Here they are--the Lovely Lady and her boy.
He must have been about twelve then. What funny clothes he wore! But
isn't he handsome! And see how proudly she looks at him. Cynthia, how
_could_ he bear to leave this behind! I shouldn't have thought he'd ever
want to part with it."

"Probably he went in such a hurry that he couldn't think of everything,
and left this by mistake. Or he may even have had another copy," Cynthia
added in a practical after-thought.

Garments of many descriptions, and all of old-time cut, were flung
across the bed, and on the floor near it lay an open valise, half
packed with books.

"He had to leave that too, you see, or perhaps he intended to send for
it later," commented Joyce. "Possibly he didn't realize that his mother
was going to shut up the house and leave it forever. Here's his big,
businesslike-looking desk, and in pretty good order too. I suppose he
hadn't used it much, as he was so little at home. It's open, though."
She began to