I think it was at the same moment that the minds of both of us turned to Gregory Hall. Her eyes fell, and as for me, I was nearly stunned with the thoughts that came rushing to my brain. If the late newspaper had seemed to point to Hall's coming out on that late train, how much more so this bag, which had been left on that very train. We were silent for a time, and then, lifting her sweet eyes bravely to mine, Florence said, “I have something to tell you.” “Yes,” I replied, crushing down the longing to take her in my arms and let her tell it there. “Mr. Hall had a talk with me this morning. He says that he and the others have searched everywhere possible for the will, and it cannot be found. He says Uncle Joseph must have destroyed it, and that it is practically settled that Uncle Philip is the legal heir. Of course, Mr. Philip Crawford isn't my uncle, but I have always called him that, and Phil and I have been just like cousins.” “What else did Mr. Hall say?” I asked, for I divined that the difficult part of her recital was yet to come. “He said,” she went on, with a rising color, “that he wished me to break our engagement.” I will do myself the justice to say that although my first uncontrollable thought was one of pure joy at this revelation, yet it was instantly followed by sympathy and consideration for her. “Why?” I asked in a voice that I tried to keep from being hard. “He says,” she continued, with a note of weariness in her voice, “that he is not a rich man, and cannot give me the comforts and luxuries to which I have been accustomed, and that therefore it is only right for him to release me.” “Of course you didn't accept his generous sacrifice,” I said; and my own hopes ran riot as I listened for her answer. “I told him I was willing to share poverty with him,” she said, with a quiet dignity, as if telling an impersonal tale, “but he insisted that the engagement should be broken.” “And is it?” I asked eagerly, almost breathlessly. She gave me that look which always rebuked me--always put me back in my place--but which, it seemed to me, was a little less severe than ever before. “It's left undecided for a day or two,” she said. Then she added hurriedly, “I must see if he needs me. Do you suppose this story of Mrs. Cunningham's will in any way--well, affect him?” “It may,” I replied truthfully. “At any rate, he must be made to tell where he was and what he was doing Tuesday night. You have no idea, have you?” Florence hesitated a moment, looked at me in a way I could not fathom, and then, but only after a little choking sound in her throat, she said, “No, I have no idea.”