At the very moment when this thought was rising ominously in his mind, Valentine was expounding anew the whole scope and object of “Columbus” to a fresh circle of admiring spectators--while his wife was interpreting to Madonna above stairs Zack’s wildest jokes about his friend’s love-stricken condition; and all three were laughing gaily at a caricature, which he was maliciously drawing for them, of “poor old Mat” in the character of a scalped Cupid. Even the little minor globe of each man’s social sphere has its antipodes-points; and when it is all bright sunshine in one part of the miniature world, it is all pitch darkness, at the very same moment, in another. Mat’s face had grown suddenly swarthier than ever, while he walked across his room, and said those words to himself which have just been recorded. It altered again, though, in a minute or two, and turned once more to the cold clay-color which had overspread it in the hosier’s shop at Dibbledean, as he returned to his bear-skins and opened the box that had belonged to “Mary Grice.” He took out first the letter with the enclosure of hair, and placed it carefully in the breast pocket of his coat. He next searched a moment or two for the letter superscribed and signed by Joanna Grice; and, having found it, placed it on one side of him, on the floor. After this he paused a moment, looking into the box with a curious, scowling sadness on his face; while his hand vacantly stirred hither and thither the different objects that lay about among the papers--the gaily-bound album, the lace-collar, the dried flower-leaves, and the other little womanly possessions which had once belonged to Mary Grice. Then he began to collect together all the letters in the box. Having got them into his hands--some tied up in a packet, some loose--he spread them out before him on his lap, first drawing up an end of one of the bear-skins over his legs for them to lie on conveniently. He began by examining the addresses. They were all directed to “Mary Grice,” in the same clear, careful, sharply-shaped handwriting. Though they were letters in form, they proved to be only notes in substance, when he opened them: the writing, in some, not extending to more than four or five lines. At least fifteen or twenty were expressed, with unimportant variations, in this form: “MY DEAREST MARY--Pray try all you can to meet me to-morrow evening at the usual place. I have been waiting and longing for you in vain to-day. Only think of _me,_ love, as I am now, and always, thinking of _you;_ and I know you will come. Ever and only yours, “A. C.”