Mr. Culpepper then opened the red box, and took out from beneath the will and several other documents that lay under it, a folded paper, which he held in his hand for some moments in silence. He then gave it to Colonel Brigham, saying, "Do you open it; I cannot. It is more than twenty years since I have seen it." The Colonel unfolded the paper. It contained a small miniature of a beautiful young lady, in a rich but old-fashioned dress of blue satin, with lace cuffs and stomacher, her hair being drest very high, and ornamented with a string of pearls, arranged in festoons. Colonel Brigham looked at the miniature, and exclaimed in a voice of astonishment: "This is the likeness of Oliver's mother!" "Oliver's mother!" ejaculated Mr. Culpepper, in equal amazement; "Oliver--what, the young man that lives with you--that you call your adopted son? This is the miniature of my daughter, Elizabeth Osborne." "Then," replied the Colonel, "your daughter was Oliver's mother." "Where is she?" exclaimed Culpepper, wildly. "Is she alive, after all?--When I heard of her death I believed it.--Do you know where she is?" "She is dead," said Colonel Brigham, passing his hand over his eyes.--"I saw her die;--I was at her funeral.--I can bring you proof enough that this is the likeness of Oliver's mother.--Shall I tell my wife of this discovery?" "You may tell it to your whole family," answered Mr. Culpepper, throwing himself back in his chair.--"You are all concerned in it.--Why, indeed, should it be a secret?" Colonel Brigham left the room, and shortly after returned, conducting his wife, who was much flurried, and carried an enormously large pocket-book, worked in queen-stitch with coloured crewels. She was followed by Fanny, looking very pale, and bringing with her some sewing, by way of "having something in her hands." They found Mr. Culpepper with his face covered, and evidently in great agitation. "See," said Mrs. Brigham, sitting down before him, and untying the red worsted strings of the pocket-book, "here's the very fellow to that likeness." She then took out an exact copy of the miniature. There were also some letters that had passed between the father and mother of Oliver, previous to their marriage. "I keep these things in my best pocket-book," continued Mrs. Brigham; "husband gave them into my keeping, and when Oliver is twenty-one (which will not be till next spring), they are all to go to him."