p, was thrown across a chair.

The drawer that stood open was her private drawer, in which she kept
all her trinkets, and little matters particularly her own. Its
contents her husband had never seen, and had never desired to see.
Now, however, something more than mere curiosity prompted him to
look somewhat narrowly into its contents. In one corner of this
drawer he found a small casket, beautifully inlaid, that had never
before come under his notice. Its workmanship was costly and
exquisite. He lifted it and examined it carefully, and then taking
the bunch of keys that lay before him, tried the smallest in the
lock. The lid flew open. A few letters, and a small braid of hair,
were its only contents. These letters were addressed to her under
her maiden name. The husband was about unfolding one of them, when
he let it fall suddenly into the casket, saying, as he did so--

"No, no! I have no right to read these letters. They were not
addressed to my wife." With an effort he closed the drawer and
forced himself from the room. But the fact that Westfield had been a
suitor for the hand of Anna, and was now on terms of the closest
intimacy with her, coming up vividly in his mind, he came, after
some reflection, to the firm conclusion that he ought to know the
contents of letters treasured so carefully--letters that he had
every reason now to believe were from Westfield. Their post-mark he
had noticed. They were from New Orleans.

After again hesitating and debating the question for some time, he
finally determined to know their contents. He read them over and
over again, each sentence almost maddening him. They were from
Westfield. The reader already knows their contents. From their
appearance, it was evident that they had been read over very many
times; one of them bore traces of tears. For some time the feelings
of Miller were in a state of wild excitement. While this continued,
had his wife or Westfield appeared, he would have been tempted to
commit some desperate act. But this state gradually gave way to a
more sober one. The letters were replaced carefully, the casket
locked, and every thing restored to its former appearance. The
husband then sat down to reflect, as calmly as was in his power,
upon the aspect of affairs. The more he thought, the more closely he
compared the sentiments of the letters so carefully treasured with
the subsequent familiarity of his wife with Westfield, the more
satisfied was he that he ha