"I know," he said, with the elation of a new conjecture. "It must be behind something!" Miss Sally gasped, but in an instant recovered herself sufficiently to say: "Of course. It surely _must_ be--behind something." Harry went and looked behind the spinet, then examined the small spaces between other objects and the wall. This search was longer than any he had made before, as some of the pieces of furniture had to be moved slightly out of position. Miss Sally felt her proximity to the object of this search becoming unendurable. She therefore profited by Peyton's present occupation to conduct pretended endeavors towards the closet west of the fireplace. She noiselessly opened one of the narrow doors, quickly tossed the hat inside, closed the door, and turned with ineffable relief towards Peyton. To her consternation she found him looking at her. "What are you doing there?" he asked. "Why,--looking in this closet," she stammered, guiltily. "Oh, no, it couldn't be in there," said Peyton, lightly. "But, yes. One of the servants might have laid it on the shelf." And he made for the closet. "Oh, no!" Miss Sally stood against the closet doors and held out her hands to ward him off. "No harm to look," said he, passing around her and putting his hand on the door. Miss Sally felt that, by remaining in the position of a physical obstacle to his opening the closet, she would betray all. Acting on the inspiration of the instant, she ran to the centre of the room, and cried: "Oh, come away! Come here!" and essayed a well-meant, but feeble and abortive, scream. "What's the matter?" asked Peyton, astonished. "Oh, I'm going to faint!" she said, feigning a sinkiness of the knees and a floppiness of the head. "Oh, pray don't faint!" cried Peyton, running to support her. "I haven't time. Let me call some one. Let me help you to the sofa." By this time he held her in his arms, and was thinking her another sort of burden than Tom Jones found Sophia, or Clarissa was to Roderick Random. The lady shrank with becoming and genuine modesty from the contact, gently repelled him with her hands, saying, "No, I'm better now,--but come," and took him by the arm to lead him further from the fatal closet. But Peyton immediately released his arm. "Ah, thank you for not fainting!" he said, with complete sincerity, and stalked directly back to the closet. Before she could think of a new device, he had opened the door, beheld the hat, and seized it in triumph. "By George, I was right! I bid you farewell, Miss Williams!" He very civilly saluted her with the hat, and turned towards the west door of the parlor. Must, then, all her previous ingenuity be wasted? After having so far exerted herself, must she suffer the ignominious consequences of failure? She ran to intercept him. Desperation gave her speed, and she reached the west door before he did. She closed it with a bang, and stood with her back against it. "No, no!" she cried. "You mustn't!"