"Well, Joy," answered Cynthia, "you've a theory about what happened, and it certainly sounds sensible. Now, have you any about what relative it was? That's the next most interesting thing." "I don't think it could have been her father or mother," replied Joyce, thoughtfully. "Parents aren't liable to cause that kind of trouble, so we'll count them out. She looks very young, not nearly old enough to have a son or daughter who would do anything very dreadful, so we'll count _them_ out. (Isn't this just like the 'elimination' in algebra!)' That leaves only brother, sister, or husband to be thought about." "You forget aunts, uncles, and cousins!" interposed Cynthia. "Oh, Cyn! how absurd! They are much too distant. It _must_ have been some one nearer than that, to matter so much!" "I think it's most likely her husband, then," decided Cynthia. "He'd matter most of all." "Yes, I've thought of that, but here's the objection: her husband, supposing she had one would probably have owned this house. Consequently he wouldn't be likely to allow it to be shut up forever in this queer way. He'd come back after a while and do what he pleased with it. No, I don't think it was her husband, or that she was married at all. It must have been either a sister or brother,--a younger one probably,--and the Lovely Lady loved her--or him--better than any one else in the world." "Look here!" interrupted Cynthia, suddenly. "There's the easiest way to decide all this!" "What is it?" cried Joyce, opening her eyes wide. "Why, just go in there and turn that picture in the drawing-room around!" "Oh, Cynthia, you jewel! Of _course_ it will be the easiest way! What geese we are to have waited so long! Only it will be a heavy thing to lift. But the time has come when it must be done. Let's go right away!" Full of new enthusiasm, they scrambled to their feet, approached the cellar window by a circuitous route (they were always very careful that they should not be observed in this), and were soon in the dim cellar lighting their candles. Then they scurried up-stairs, entered the drawing-room, and set their candlesticks on the table. After that they removed all the breakable ornaments from the mantel and drew another chair close to the fireplace. "Now," commanded Joyce, stepping on the seat of one while Cynthia mounted the other, "be awfully careful. That red silk cord it hangs by is perfectly rotten. I'm surprised it hasn't given way before this. Probably, as soon as we touch the picture the cord will break. If so, let the picture down gently to rest on the mantel. Ready!" They reached out and grasped the heavy frame. True to Joy's prediction, the silk cord snapped at once, and the picture's whole weight rested in their hands. "Quick!" cried Cynthia. "I can't hold it any longer!" And with a thud, the heavy burden slipped to the mantel. But there was no damage done and, feeling on the other side Joyce discovered that it had no glass. "Now what?" asked Cynthia.