t of the
house only opened on great occasions or for large receptions; and so
I strayed on, lost in wonderment at the extent and splendor of a scene
which, to my untutored senses, seemed of an actually royal magnificence.
Having reached what I believed to be the limit of the suite of rooms,
I was about to retrace my steps, when I saw that a small octagon tower
opened from an angle of the room, though no apparent doorway led into
it. This puzzle interested me at once, and I set about to resolve it,
if I might. I opened one of the windows to inspect the tower on
the outside, and saw that no stairs led up to it, nor any apparent
communication existed with the rest of the house. I bethought me of the
sliding mirror which in my own room concealed the bookcase, and set to
work to see if some similar contrivance had not been employed here; but
I searched in vain. Defeated and disappointed, I was turning away when,
passing my hand along the margin of a massive picture-frame, I touched
a small button; and as I did so, with a faint sound like a wail, the
picture moved slowly, like an opening door, and disclosed the interior
of the tower. I entered at once, my curiosity now raised to a point of
intensity to know what had been so carefully and cunningly guarded from
public view. What a blank disappointment was mine! The little room,
about nine or ten feet in diameter, contained but a few straw-bottomed
chairs, and a painted table on which a tea-service of common blue-ware
stood. A Dutch clock was on a bracket at one side of the window, and a
stuffed bird--a grouse, I believe--occupied another. A straight-backed
old sofa, covered with a vulgar chintz, stood against the wall; an open
book, with a broken fan in the leaves, to mark the place, lay on the
sofa. The book was "Paul and Virginia". A common sheet almanac was nailed
against the wall, but over the printed columns of the months a piece of
white paper was pasted, on which, in large letters, was written "June
11, 18--. Dies infausta."

I started. I had read that date once before in my mother's prayer-book,
and had learned it was her marriage-day. As a ray of sunlight displays
in an instant every object within its beam, I at once saw the meaning of
every detail around me. These were the humble accessories of that modest
home from which my dear mother was taken; these were the grim reminders
of the time my father desired to perpetuate as an undying sorrow. I
trembled to think what