Paul smiled as he threw it into the fire, saying to himself, "Poor lady, she thinks she has escaped the danger by flying, and Lillian tries to hide her trouble from me.

Tender little heart! I'll comfort it without delay." He sat looking about the dainty room still full of tokens of her presence.

The piano stood open with a song he liked upon the rack; a bit of embroidery, whose progress he had often watched, lay in her basket with the little thimble near it; there was a strew of papers on the writing table, torn notes, scraps of drawing, and ball cards; a pearl-colored glove lay on the floor; and in the grate the faded flowers he had brought two days before.

As his eye roved to and fro, he seemed to enjoy some happy dream, broken too soon by the sound of servants shutting up the house.

He arose but lingered near the table, as if longing to search for some forgotten hint of himself.
"No, there has been enough lock picking and stealthy work; I'll do no more for her sake.