“Ah, ha! ‘E. H.,’ that does not stand for Mehetabel Douglas!” she said, with a sinister smile. She took them out, one by one, removing their gold stoppers and inhaling the delicious perfume with which they were filled. Suddenly her attention was attracted by a folded paper in the bottom of the case. She took it up, opened it, and read, in a gentleman’s handwriting: “My Darling: To-morrow will be our wedding day. I cannot come to you to-day, as I promised, but I send my little gift to help grace your table. I pray Heaven that the fragrance which this little case contains may be but the emblem of your future life with me. Ever thine, “WILLIAM.” Could it be that Miss Douglas had been rich, and about to be married, and then disappointed? There was no date, and no name but that of William, to give the prying girl any clew as to the author of the note. No, this could have been no wedding gift intended for her, or the initials would have been different. She replaced the note, also the bottles, and then turned her attention to other things, but becoming more and more convinced of Brownie’s dishonesty. She opened the bureau drawers, and was surprised to find several other articles marked with the same initials. Two or three sets of undergarments, trimmed with costly laces and embroideries, a couple of handkerchiefs, which made her eyes water to look at them, an emerald ring and a pearl pin. She found Brownie’s jewel-box, containing only a few plain articles of jewelry, and one or two sets of jet, which she had purchased since her aunt’s death, and the cuff button, the mate of which was in Adrian Dredmond’s possession. But the jeweled cross and hair ornament were not to be found there. “I wonder where she keeps them?” Miss Coolidge soliloquized, as, after examining all the drawers, she turned her gaze about the room. Her eye fell upon a large writing-desk, which stood upon a table at the further side of the room. She went over to it, and tried to raise the lid. It was locked, and the key removed. Brownie’s keys, which were held together in a bunch by a steel ring, hung by one of their number in the trunk from which she had taken her evening dress on the night of the opera. Isabel’s quick eye soon caught sight of them, and, with a cry of pleasure, she darted across the room to secure them, then returned to the desk, and finally succeeded in fitting the right key in its lock. The desk, in itself, was nothing remarkable, for it had seen long usage, but its contents were rare and lovely. A golden penholder and pen lay within; also an elaborate paper knife of the same metal; a silver paper weight of exquisite workmanship and design; a seal of onyx, in which blazed a huge ruby; besides several other things; and all these were marked with the same initials, “E. H.”