Sally snatched it up in affected vexation, and threw it into the fire. “Oh, I know a new way!” she cried; “did you ever try it, Martha--with the key and the Bible!” “Old as the hills, but awful sure,” remarked Miss Lavender. “When it's done serious, it's never been known to fail.” Sally took the house-key, and brought from the old walnut cabinet a plump octavo Bible, which she opened at the Song of Solomon, eighth chapter and sixth verse. The end of the key being carefully placed therein, the halves of the book were bound together with cords, so that it could be carried by the key-handle. Then Sally and Martha, sitting face to face, placed each the end of the fore finger of the right hand under the half the ring of the key nearest to her. “Now, Martha,” said Sally, “we'll try your fortune first. Say 'A,' and then repeat the verse: 'set me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thine arm; for love is strong as death, jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.'” Martha did as she was bidden, but the book hung motionless. She was thereupon directed to say B, and repeat the verse; and so on, letter by letter. The slender fingers trembled a little with the growing weight of the book, and, although Sally protested that she was holding as still “as she knew how,” the trembling increased, and before the verse which followed G had been finished, the ring of the key slowly turned, and the volume fell to the floor. Martha picked it up with a quiet smile. “It is easy to see who was in _your_ mind, Sally,” she said. “Now let me tell your fortune: we will begin at L--it will save time.” “Save time,” said Miss Lavender, rising. “Have it out betwixt and between you, girls: I'm a-goin' to bed.” The two girls soon followed her example. Hastily undressing themselves in the chilly room, they lay down side by side, to enjoy the blended warmth and rest, and the tender, delicious interchanges of confidence which precede sleep. Though so different in every fibre of their natures, they loved each other with a very true and tender affection. “Martha,” said Sally, after an interval of silence, “did you think I _made_ the Bible turn at G?” “I think you thought it would turn, and therefore it did. Gilbert Potter was in your mind, of course.” “And not in yours, Martha?” “If any man was seriously in my mind, Sally, do you think I would take the Bible and the door-key in order to find out his name?” Sally was not adroit in speech: she felt that her question had not been answered, but was unable to see precisely how the answer had been evaded. “I certainly was beginning to think that you liked Gilbert,” she said. “So I do. Anybody may know that who cares for the information.” And Martha laughed cheerfully. “Would you say so to Gilbert himself?” Sally timidly suggested. “Certainly; but why should he ask? I like a great many young men.” “Oh, Martha!”