I returned home late that night, but by this time my people were accustomed to my eccentricities. My father and mother made no comment when I came in looking tired and yet excited. Even George was silent. He evidently thought it useless to continue to torment me. I scarcely slept at all that night. I had fitted all the keys into their locks, and to-morrow my search would begin. Lady Ursula Redmayne, Captain Valentine, and his brother had all arranged to come and see me on the morrow in the Chamber of Myths. "We will none of us disturb your search," Lady Ursula had said, "but the result we must--we really must know." I could not forbid them to come, for the Valentines were also Cousin Geoffrey's relations; but I was sorry. The secret had been in a measure confided to me alone, and I had an unreasonable feeling of jealousy in sharing it with any one. I was early at Cousin Geoffrey's house the following day, and everything being arranged now according to the most approved method, I began my search without a moment's delay. Oh! the pathos of the task. Oh! the strange, dreary, undefined sense of loneliness which came over me as one by one I opened those drawers, and looked into the secrets of the dead man's life. The drawers of the different cabinets in the Chamber of Myths were filled, not with rubbish, but with strange, foreign curiosities. A sweet scent came from them which brought me a waft of another and richer world. Sandal-wood and spices, old-fashioned silks, gorgeous brocades, boxes full of exquisite dyes, shawls from Cashmere, coloured beads from Japan, piles of embroidery, Indian muslins of the softest and finest texture, all lay neatly folded and put away in the drawers of the cabinets in the Chamber of Myths. Were these things myths? Were they myths in the life of a man who had gone down to his grave leaving the world no whit better for his presence? He had hoarded his wealth instead of using it. He, living in the richest of homes, had yet been practically homeless; he, with a long rent-roll and a heavy banker's account, had yet been poorest of the poor. He had never known children to love him or a wife to render his existence beautiful. On his tombstone only one word could be written--_Vanity_. I felt all these thoughts. They coursed through my brain as I opened the sacred drawers where the delicate riches from Eastern lands lay treasured up. No clue had I yet obtained to guide me in my search--no papers, no memoranda of any sort. The Eastern perfume began presently to intoxicate me--it seemed to get into my head, to put a light into my eyes and a flush of roses on my cheeks. I felt under a spell. I should not have been the least surprised if Cousin Geoffrey himself had opened the door of the Chamber of Myths and come up to my side and asked me what I did opening coffins. For in one sense these closed drawers were coffins. They held, I made no doubt, many buried hopes.