movement; a tiny panel was pushed aside, and a feeble ray of light
stole in. The girls' faces glimmered white against the blackness.

"Something obstructs the light," said Hildegarde. "See! this is
it." She put her arm out through the little opening, and pushed
away a dense mass of vines that hung down like a thick curtain.
"That is better," she said. "Now let us see where we are."

It was a curious place, surely, to lie hidden in the heart of a
comparatively modern house. A square room, perhaps eight feet
across, neatly papered with the blue-dragon paper of Hildegarde's
own room; on the floor an old rug, faded to a soft, nameless hue,
but soft and fine. On the walls hung a few pictures, quaint little
coloured wood-cuts in gilt frames, representing ladies and
gentlemen in scant gowns and high-shouldered frock-coats. There
were two little chairs, painted blue, with roses on the backs; a
low table, and a tiny chest of drawers. The girls looked at each
other, a new light dawning in their faces.

"It is a doll's room," said Gertrude, softly, with an awe-stricken
look.

"I know! I know whose room it was!" cried Hildegarde. "Wait, oh,
wait! I am sure we shall find something else. I will tell you all
about it in a moment, but now let us look and find all we can."

With beating hearts they searched the corners of the little
chamber. Presently Hildegarde uttered a cry, and drew something
forward into the light of the little window; a good-sized object,
carefully covered with white cloth, neatly stitched together.