Agnes went out quietly, as if there had been neither anger nor suspicion in Mrs. Harrington’s voice. The poor lady sat trembling from head to foot, still searching the room wildly with her eyes, till the mulatto chambermaid came in.

“What’s de matter wid de chile; she’s white as snow, and seems a’most as cold; ’pears like something ’stresses her,” said the woman, casting a sidelong glance at the lady from under the half-closed lids of her eyes, which never seemed capable of opening themselves fully in Mabel’s presence.

“Woman!” said Mabel, sharply, for her anxiety was like a pain. “Woman, I have lost a book from my escritoire yonder a white book, clasped with gold what has become of it?”

“Goodness knows, missus! I don’t know nothin’ ’bout no book, praise de Lor’! I dussent know one kind of readin’ from t’other. Books ain’t no kind o’ use to dis colored pusson, no how; so t’ain’t I as has gone and tuk it.”

“No, no, but you may have seen it. Possibly the desk may have been left open, and you, not knowing it from other books, have put it away among those of the library. See, it was filled with writing like this.”

Here Mabel took up a pen, and hastily dashed off a line or two on a loose sheet of paper. The woman took the paper, turned it wrong end up, and began to examine it with serious scrutiny, as if she were striving to make out its meaning.

“’Pears like the inside was like this, miss?” she said at last, with another glance at the pale face of her mistress.

Mabel took the paper impatiently from her. “No, like this,” she cried, reversing the page. “You should be able to understand the peculiarities of the marks, even though you cannot read.”

“Like dis is it de high marks shootin’ up so, and the long one running out scrigly scrawley like dis one; ’pears ’s if I’d seen ’em afore, but ’twasn’t in a bounden book, golly knows.”

“You have seen the writing very well where was it?”

“Up in Master James’ room, the day he went off. Them’s the same marks, Lor’ knows.”

“In Mr. James Harrington’s room!” exclaimed Mabel, white as snow.

“Please, missus, tell jus’ what the book was outside and in.”

Mabel held up the sheet of paper on which she had written, but it trembled like a plucked leaf in her hand.

“This size, with a white cover, edged with gold. The lock was clasped with a trinket like this on my watch, only larger, and with red sparks set in it.”

“Like dis, with little red stuns the cover white, and shut wid a thing like this. Yes, missus, Master James had a book jus’ like de one you mean in his room, de berry morning afore he done and went off!”

“Go,” said Mabel, shivering, “go search for it!”

The woman shuffled herself out of the room; directly she returned, with several leaves of crumpled writing in one hand, and some small object clenched in the other.

“The book’s done gone, missus; but here’s something dat I found on his table, ’sides dis what I sifted out of de ashes.”

She handed Mabel some crumpled pages of her journal, evidently torn from the book; the half of a broken heart, dulled with fire, and the corner of what had once been a vellum cover, burned almost away, but with a gleam of the tarnished gold and white upon the edge.

“Sakes alive, how white you is, missus!” exclaimed the woman, and a disagreeable gleam broke from under her half-shut eyelids, as she saw Mabel stagger and sink faintly back into her chair, grasping the fragments of her journal as she fell.

“No, no!” she gasped, repulsing the mulatto with her hand: “I am not white I am not ill. These these you found them in Mr. James Harrington’s room!”

“Them papers was on his table wid his cigar-case, an’ pipe, an’ dem tings. De gol’ heart, and dat oder, dis chile fished out o’ de grate, for de Lord just as ’tis dare.”

“Go!” commanded Mabel, hoarsely. “I know where the book went to; that is enough!”

“‘Pears like you is goin’ to faint,” answered the woman, who seemed reluctant to leave her.

“No, I am well very well. Leave me.”

The woman turned away, and, as she went forth, the disagreeable smile we have before mentioned, crept slowly across her mouth.

As the door closed, the fragments of her journal dropped from Mabel’s hand; her arms fell loosely downward, and shrinking to a pale heap in the chair, she fainted quite away.