easily with a gentle pull, and appeared at
first sight to be quite empty.

"It is large enough to hold a good many of my treasures," thought Elsie,
putting in her hand. "And here are some old papers, quite at the back! I
will take them out to make room for other things."

The papers were not old nor discoloured by time, although the dust had
settled upon them pretty thickly. They looked like pages torn out of a
diary, and were covered with writing which struck Elsie with a sense of
familiarity. This handwriting, firm, black, legible, was like her own.

"How interesting!" she said to herself. "I have always flattered myself
that mine was an uncommon hand. But somebody--a woman evidently--has
stolen my e's and b's and g's and y's. I should like to know a little
more about her."

She forgot all about the open desk and unanswered letters, and sat down
on the edge of the sofa near the window with the papers on her lap. The
shadow had vanished from the delicate expressive face; the dark eyes had
brightened. Elsie had the happy temperament which is charmed with every
little bit of novelty that it can find. She loved, as she had often
said, to investigate things, and always caught eagerly at the slightest
clue which might lead to a delightful labyrinth of mystery.

The manuscript began abruptly. The first words on which Elsie's glance
rested were these: "If I could only be sure that some one would be kind
to little Jamie!"

This sentence was written at the top of the first page, and then came a
vacant space. Lower down, in the middle of the leaf, the writer had gone
on: "What a new life came to me all at once when I met Harold for the
first time! The path was so flowery and bright that I had no fear of the
turnings of the way. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that
we should meet, and walk on together all our lives. No, we did not meet;
he overtook me as I was sauntering along, and looked into my face with
that look which a man gives the woman who is to belong to him for ever
and ever."

Elsie paused in her reading and lifted her gaze thoughtfully to the
evening sky. Her face had changed again; the expression of eyes and
mouth was wistful and tender.

"No man has ever loved me in that fashion," she mused. "I've had lovers,
but I was never meant for them nor they for me. I wonder why this
unknown woman had the joy of finding her spirit-mate when such a joy has
been denied to me? Are they married? Where is s