"In heaven, I trust," replied Mr. Eylton, while his voice slightly
faltered, and a tear stood in his eye. "She was my daughter, Amy--she
died some years ago, when very young."

I felt almost ready to cry myself, when told that she was dead, and
gazed lingeringly upon the portrait as Mr. Eylton closed the box; and
placing it in the drawer, he returned to me again.

"But, my dear child," said he suddenly, "Why did you open the drawer? Do
you not know that it was extremely improper?"

"I did _so_ want to see what was in it!" was my rejoinder.

Mr. Eylton seemed puzzled at first by this reply; but probably
perceiving that I had been too much left to myself, he proceeded to
explain, in clear and concise words, the nature and tendency of my
fault. "This curiosity, my dear child, is an improper state of feeling
which should not be indulged in. Suppose," continued he, "that on
looking into this drawer, you had perceived some article which you
immediately felt a great desire to possess; yielding to the temptation
of curiosity would thus lead to the sin of covetousness, and perhaps the
crime of theft might be also added. You would reason with yourself that
no one had seen you open the drawer, and forgetting the all-seeing Eye
which never slumbers, you might conclude that no one would know you took
the article which did not belong to you."

The prospect of becoming a thief struck me with horror; and resolving
never again to meddle with other people's things, I begged Mr. Eylton to
forgive me, and entreated him not to inform Mrs. Eylton of my