The cupboards were three in number. As I opened the first of them the singing upstairs ceased. For a moment there was something almost oppressive in the sudden change from noise to silence. Isuppose my nerves must have been overwrought. The next sound in the house--nothing more remarkable than the creaking of a man's boots descending the stairs--made me shudder all over. The man was no doubt the singing-master， going away after giving his lesson. I heard the house door close on him， and started at the familiar sound as if it were something terrible which I had never heard before. Then there was silence again. I roused myself as well as I could， and began my examination of the first cupboard.
It was divided into two compartments.
The top compartment contained nothing but boxes of cigars， ranged in rows， one on another. The under compartment was devoted to a collection of shells. They were all huddled together anyhow， the Major evidently setting a far higher value on his cigars than on his shells. I searched this lower compartment carefully for any object interesting to me which might be hidden in it. Nothing was to be found in any part of it besides the shells.
As I opened the second cupboard it struck me that the light was beginning to fail.
I looked at the window： it was hardly evening yet. The darkening of the light was produced by gathering clouds. Rain-drops pattered against the glass； the autumn wind whistled mournfully in the corners of the courtyard. I mended the fire before Irenewed my search. My nerves were in fault again， I suppose. Ishivered when I went back to the book-case. My hands trembled： Iwondered what was the matter with me.
The second cupboard revealed (in the upper division of it) some really beautiful cameos--not mounted， but laid on cotton-wool in neat cardboard trays. In one corner， half hidden under one of the trays， there peeped out the whit e leaves of a little manuscript.
I pounced on it eagerly， only to meet with a new disappointment： the manuscript proved to be a descriptive catalogue of the cameos--nothing more！
Turning to the lower division of the cupboard， I found more costly curiosities in the shape of ivory carvings from Japan and specimens of rare silk from China. I began to feel weary of disinterring the Major's treasures. The longer I searched， the farther I seemed to remove myself from the one object that I had it at heart to attain. After closing the door of the second cupboard， I almost doubted whether it would be worth my while to proceed farther and open the third and last door.
A little reflection convinced me that it would be as well， now that I had begun my examination of the lower regions of the book-case， to go on with it to the end. I opened the last cupboard.
On the upper shelf there appeared， in solitary grandeur， one object only--a gorgeously bound book.
It was of a larger size than usual， judging of it by comparison with the dimensions of modern volumes. The binding was of blue velvet， with clasps of silver worked in beautiful arabesque patterns， and with a lock of the same precious metal to protect the book from prying eyes. When I took it up， I found that the lock was not closed.
Had I any right to take advantage of this accident， and open the book？ I have put the question since to some of my friends of both sexes. The women all agree that I was perfectly justified， considering the serious interests that I had at stake， in taking any advantage of any book in the Major's house. The men differ from this view， and declare that I ought to have put back the volume in blue velvet unopened， carefully guarding myself from any after-temptation to look at it again by locking the cupboard door. I dare say the men are right.
Being a woman， however， I opened the book without a moment's hesitation.
The leaves were of the finest vellum， with tastefully designed illuminations all round them. And what did these highly ornamental pages contain？ To my unutterable amazement and disgust， they contained locks of hair， let neatly into the center of each page， with inscriptions beneath， which proved them to be love-tokens from various ladies who had touched the Major's susceptible heart at different periods of his life. The inscriptions were written in other languages besides English， but they appeared to be all equally devoted to the same curious purpose， namely， to reminding the Major of the dates at which his various attachments had come to an untimely end. Thus the first page exhibited a lock of the lightest flaxen hair， with these lines beneath： "My adored Madeline. Eternal constancy. Alas， July 22， 1839！" The next page was adorned by a darker shade of hair， with a French inscription under it： "Clemence. Idole de mon 鈓e.
Toujours fidele. Helas， 2me Avril， 1840." A lock of red hair followed， with a lamentation in Latin under it， a note being attached to the date of dissolution of partnership in this case， stating that the lady was descended from the ancient Romans， and was therefore mourned appropriately in Latin by her devoted Fitz-David. More shades of hair and more inscriptions followed， until I was weary of looking at them. I put down the book， disgusted with the creatures who had assisted in filling it， and then took it up again， by an afterthought. Thus far I had thoroughly searched everything that had presented itself to my notice. Agreeable or not agreeable， it was plainly of serious importance to my own interests to go on as I had begun， and thoroughly to search the book.
I turned over the pages until I came to the first blank leaf.
Seeing that they were all blank leaves from this place to the end， I lifted the volume by the back， and， as a last measure of precaution， shook it so as to dislodge any loose papers or cards which might have escaped my notice between the leaves.
This time my patience was rewarded by a discovery which indescribably irritated and distressed me.
A small photograph， mounted on a card， fell out of the book. Afirst glance showed me that it represented the portraits of two persons.
