If this buoyant feeling had not been planted in our nature, how little would the world have been improved even from the deluge!  Philip walked into the room where his mother had lain one short hour before, and unwittingly felt relief.  Taking down the cabinet, he now recommenced his task; the back panel was soon removed, and a secret drawer discovered; he drew it out, and it contained what he presumed to be the object of his search,—­a large key with a slight coat of rust upon it, which came off upon its being handled.  Under the key was a paper, the writing on which was somewhat discoloured; it was in his mother’s hand, and ran as follows:—­

“It is now two nights since a horrible event took place which has induced me to close the lower chamber, and my brain is still bursting with terror.  Should I not, during my lifetime, reveal what occurred, still this key will be required, as at my death the room will be opened.  When I rushed from it I hastened upstairs, and remained that night with my child; the next morning I summoned up sufficient courage to go down, turn the key, and bring it up into my chamber.  It is now closed till I close my eyes in death.  No privation, no suffering, shall induce me to open it, although in the iron cupboard under the buffet farthest from the window, there is money sufficient for all my wants; that money will remain there for my child, to whom, if I do not impart the fatal secret, he must be satisfied that it is one which it were better should be concealed,—­one so horrible as to induce me to take the steps which I now do.  The keys of the cupboards and buffets were, I think, lying on the table, or in my workbox, when I quitted the room.  There is a letter on the table, at least I think so.  It is sealed.  Let not the seal be broken but by my son, and not by him unless he knows the secret.  Let it be burnt by the priest,—­for it is cursed;—­and even should my son know all that I do, oh! let him pause,—­let him reflect well before he breaks the seal,—­for ’twere better he should know NO MORE!”

“Not know more!” thought Philip, as his eyes were still fixed upon the paper.  “Yes, but I must and will know more! so forgive me, dearest mother, if I waste no time in reflection.  It would be but time thrown away, when one is resolved as I am.”

Philip pressed his lips to his mother’s signature, folded up the paper, and put it into his pocket; then, taking the key, he proceeded downstairs.

It was about noon when Philip descended to open the chamber; the sun shone bright, the sky was clear, and all without was cheerful and joyous.  The front door of the cottage being closed, there was not much light in the passage when Philip put the key into the lock of the long-closed door, and with some difficulty turned it round.  To say that when he pushed open the door he felt no alarm, would not be correct; he did feel alarm, and his heart palpitated; but he felt more than was requisite of determination