Mr Bixton, in his anxiety to soare Mis* Ser'o any sudden shonk, had covered the box in pickin .'-cloth. Frank tore off the wrapper as if it hid been so much paper, never noticing how the string cut his hinds j but, when the hand-trunk stood before him, he could get no farther—the'.lock stopped him. It was a JittL>, sight look, which 'ie could have forced in a moment with his pocket knife, but it ctoppe 1 him. What, break into a woman's box like a thief? Pry into a woman's secrets H'e the spy ho was! Outrago the sabred privilege of a gupst, an unsuspecting guest, who even now was talking lovingly with his friend. ' Ah, we won't talk of Frank !' she hid said. No, indeed, for he wis her onemv, - her secret accmerj bent upon her run—the ruin of a woman, a friendless woman, a beautiful woman, a woman who had pitied him, and he had not pitied her. How she had wept when she saw his grief over his dtsad brother—and that look of kindly sympathy on her face when she had heard him speaking of his grief! How it had angered him then, how the memory of it stung Lim nowl No, be would not learn her secrets like a coward, but openly and with her knowledge. He would take the box down-stairs, bid her unlock it herself, and stand by while he learned what he wanted to know.
