At the top stood Miss Axtell, fixed and statue-like, with fever-excited eyes. She looked not at us, but far away, through the rough wood inside, through the stone of the tower: her gaze seemed limitless. "Come, Lettie! come, sister! come home with me," her brother said. She heeded not; the only seeming effect was a convulsion of the muscles used in holding the lamp. I ventured to take it from her. "Where did you find it?" she asked, in determined tones; "will you tell me now?" "Whom is she speaking to?" asked Mr. Axtell. I answered,-- "Yes, Miss Axtell, it was in here." "Where is the rest?" and her beautiful eyes were coruscant. I handed to her the last of the trophies of my first visit. She seized it eagerly. "Don't do that," said Mr. Axtell, as she lighted it from the lamp he held. But she was not to be stayed; she held it aloft until the fire came down and touched her fingers; then she dropped it, burning still, down to the stone floor, far below. She seemed helpless then; she looked as she did when a few hours before she had said, "I want some one to help me." "Oh!--I've--lost--something!" and she tolled the words out, as slowly as the notes of the passing bell. "What is it, Lettie? Come home; the day is breaking"; and Mr. Axtell put his arm about her. I thought of the letter that I had picked up in the passage-way. "What have you lost, Miss Axtell? Is it anything that I could find for you?" and I laid my hand upon hers, as the only method of drawing away her eyes from their terrible immutation of expression. "You? No, I should think not; how could you? you only found a piece of it." "What is this?" I asked; and I held up the letter: the superscription was visible only to herself. What a change came over her! Soft, dewy tears melted in those burning eyes, and sent a mist of sweet effluence over her face. Mr. Axtell was still supporting her; she did not touch the letter I held; she reached out both of her hands, bent a little toward me,--for she was much taller than I am,--took my cold, shivering face in those two burning hands, and touched my forehead with her lips. "God has made you well," she said; "thank Him." She did not ask for the letter. I put it whence I had taken it. She evidently trusted me with it. "Abraham, I'm sick," she said; and she laid her head upon his shoulder, passively as an infant might have done. Her strength was gone; she could no longer support herself, and the day was breaking. Mr. Axtell, strong, vigorous, full-souled man as I knew him to be, looked at me, and his look said, "What am I to do with her?" I answered it by throwing off the shawl and putting it upon the floor where we were standing, and saying,-- "Let her rest here, until I come."