face showed the remains of great beauty; the expression, though
remarkably firm, was yet winning, tender, and kind. The gray hair
was arranged in rows of little quaint old-fashioned curls on
either side of the head, under a plain lace cap. At one corner of
the mouth there was a mark, apparently a mole, which added to the
characteristic peculiarity of the face. I looked and looked,
fixing the portrait thoroughly in my mind. This woman, who had
almost insulted me and my relatives, was, beyond all doubt or
dispute, so far as appearances went, a person possessing unusual
attractions--a person whom it would be a pleasure and a privilege
to know.

I fell into deep thought. The discovery of the photograph quieted
me as nothing had quieted me yet.

The striking of a clock downstairs in the hall warned me of the
flight of time. I carefully put back all the objects in the
dressing-case (beginning with the photograph) exactly as I had
found them, and returned to the bedroom. As I looked at my
husband, still sleeping peacefully, the question forced itself
into my mind, What had made that genial, gentle mother of his so
sternly bent on parting us? so harshly and pitilessly resolute in
asserting her disapproval of our marriage?

Could I put my question openly to Eustace when he awoke? No; I
was afraid to venture that length. It had been tacitly understood
between us that we were not to speak of his mother--and, besides,
he might be angry if he knew that I had opened the private
compartment of his dressing-case.