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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 onlya 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。 A
first glance showed me that it represented the portraits of two
persons。
One of the persons I recognized as my husband。
The other person was a woman。
Her face was entirely unknown to me。 She was not young。 The
picture represented her seated on a chair； with my husband
standing behind； and bending over her； holding one of her hands
in his。 The woman's face was hard…featured and ugly； with the
marking lines of strong passions and resolute self…will plainly
written on it。 Still； ugly as she was； I felt a pang of jealousy
as I noticed the familiarly affectionate action by which the
artist （with the permission of his sitters； of course） had
connected the two figures in a group。 Eustace had briefly told
me； in the days of our courtship； that he had more than once
fancied himself to be in love before he met with me。 Could this
very unattractive woman have been one of the early objects of his
admiration？ Had she been near enough and dear enough to him to be
photographed with her hand in his？ I looked and looked at the
portraits until I could endure them no longer。 Women are strange
creaturesmysteries even to themselves。 I threw the photograph
from me into a corner of the cupboard。 I was savagely angry with
my husband； I hatedyes； hated with all my heart and soul！the
woman who had got his hand in hersthe unknown woman with the
self…willed； hard…featured face。
All this time the lower shelf of the cupboard was still waiting
to be looked over。
I knelt down to examine it； eager to clear my mind； if I could；
of the degrading jealousy that had got possession of me。
Unfortunately； the lower shelf contained nothing but relics of
the Major's military life； comprising his sword and pistols； his
epaulets； his sash； and other minor accouterments。 None of these
objects excited the slightest interest in me。 My eyes wandered
back to the upper shelf； and； like the fool I was （there is no
milder word that can fitly describe me at that moment）； I took
the photograph out again； and enraged myself uselessly by another
look at it。 This time I observed； what I had not noticed before；
that there were some lines of writing （in a woman's hand） at the
back of the portraits。 The lines ran thus：
'To Major Fitz…David； with two vases。 From his friends； S。 and E。
M。〃
Was one of those two vases the vase that had been broken？ And was
the change that I had noticed in Major Fitz…David's face produced
by some past association in connection with it； which in some way
affected me？ It might or might not be so。 I was little disposed
to indulge in speculation on this topic while the far more
serious question of the initials confronted me on the back of the
photograph。
〃S。 and E。 M。？〃 Those last two letters might stand for the
initials of my husband's namehis true nameEustace Macallan。
In this case the first letter （〃S。〃） in all probability indicated
_her_ name。 What right had she to associate herself with him in
that manner？ I considered a littlemy memory exerted itselfI
suddenly called to mind that Eustace had sisters。 He had spoken
of them more than once in the time before our marriage。 Had I
been mad enough to torture myself with jealousy of my husband's
sister？ It might well be so； 〃S。〃 might stand for his sister's
Christian name。 I felt heartily ashamed of myself as this new
view of the matter dawned on me。 What a wrong I had done to them
both in my thoughts！ I turned the photograph； sadly and
penitently； to examine the portraits