For many minutes she searched in vain; then her glance fell on a tiny
steel knob inserted in a corner. She pressed this with all her might,
confident of success.

Nor was she deceived; the knob moved, the iron slid slowly back,
disclosing a tiny hidden drawer.

Lady Kingsland barely repressed a cry as she saw the paper, and by its
side something wrapped in silver tissue. Greedily she snatched both
out, pressed back the knob, locked the safe, stole out of the study and
up to her own room.

Panting with her haste, my lady sunk into a seat, with her treasures
eagerly clutched. A moment recovered her; then she took up the little
parcel wrapped in the silver paper.

"He said nothing of this," she thought. "What can it be?"

She tore off the wrapping. As it fell to the floor, a long tress of
silky black hair fell with it, and she held in her hand a miniature
painted on ivory. A girlish face of exquisite beauty, dusky as the
face of an Indian queen, looked up at her, fresh and bright as thirty
years before. No need to look at the words on the reverse--"My
peerless Zenith"--to know who it was; the wife's jealousy told her at
the first glance.

"And all these years he has kept this," she said, between her set
teeth, "while he pretended he loved only me! 'My peerless Zenith!'
Yes, she is beautiful as the fabled houris of the Mussulman's paradise.