in the top attic. They were locked till your papa died, and then
they were opened by order of the executors. Some of 'em's faded even
worse than that one, and none of 'em's very good; but I picked this
one out because it was better worth framing for my room than most of
'em. The executors took no notice when they found what they was.
They opened the box to see if it was dockyments."

"Well, Jane," I said, "I shall go up and bring them every one away
with me. It's possible they may help me to recollect things a bit."
I drew my hand across my forehead. "It all seems so hazy," I went
on. "Yet when I see things again, I sometimes feel as if I almost
recognised them."

So that very morning we went up together (I wouldn't go alone), and
got the rest of the photographs--very faded positives from
old-fashioned plates, most of them representing persons and places I
had never seen; and a few of them apparently not taken in England.

I didn't look them all over at once just then. I thought it best not
to do so. I would give my memory every possible chance. Take a few
at a time, and see what effect they produced on me. Perhaps--though
I shrank from the bare idea with horror--they might rouse in my
sleep such another stray effort of spontaneous reconstruction. Yet
the last one had cost me much nervous wear and tear--much mental
agony.

A few days after, I went away from Woodbury. I had learned for the
moment, I thought, all that Woodbury could teach me: and I longed to
get free again for a while from this pervading atmosphere of
mystery. At Aunt Emma's, at least, all was plain and aboveboard. I