I cast a look at the shelves and felt a real disappointment.  Not that the china was of too ordinary a nature to attract, but that the pieces I saw, and indeed the full contents of the shelves, failed to include what I was vaguely in search of and had almost brought my mind into condition to expect.

“Haven’t you another closet here?” I faltered.  “These pieces are pretty, but I am sure you have some that are larger and with the pattern more dispersed—­a platter or a vegetable dish.”

“No, no,” murmured Miss Charity, drawing back as she let the door slip from her hand.  “Really, Thankful,”—­this to her sister who was pulling open another door,—­“the look of those shelves is positively disreputable—­all the old things we have had in the house for years.  Don’t—­”

“Oh, do let me see that old tureen up on the top shelf,” I put in.  “I like that.”

Miss Thankful’s long arm went up, and, despite Miss Charity’s complaint that it was too badly cracked to handle, it was soon down and placed in my hands.  I muttered my thanks, gave utterance to sundry outbursts of enthusiasm, then with a sudden stopping of my heart-beats, I lifted the cover and—­

“Let me set it down,” I gasped, hurriedly replacing the cover.  I was really afraid I should drop it.  Miss Thankful took it from me and rested it on the edge of the lower shelf.

“Why, how you tremble, child!” she cried.  “Do you like old Colonial blue ware as well as that?  If you do, you shall have this piece.  Charity, bring a duster, or, better, a damp cloth.  You shall have it, yes, you shall have it.”

“Wait!” I could hardly speak.  “Don’t get a cloth yet.  Come with me back into the parlor, and bring the tureen.  I want to see it in full light.”

They looked amazed, but they followed me as I made a dash for the drawing-room, Miss Thankful with the tureen in her hands.  I was quite Mistress of myself before I faced them again, and, sitting down, took the tureen on my lap, greatly to Miss Charity’s concern as to the injury it might do my frock.

“There is something I must tell you about myself before I can accept your gift,” I said.

“What can you have to tell us about yourself that could make us hesitate to bestow upon you such an insignificant piece of old cracked china?” Miss Thankful asked as I sat looking up at them with moist eyes and wildly beating heart.

“Only this,” I answered.  “I know what perhaps you had rather have had me ignorant of.  Mrs. Packard told me about the bonds you lost, and how you thought them still in the house where your brother died, though no one has ever been able to find them there.  Oh, sit down,” I entreated, as they both turned very pale and looked at each other in affright.  “I don’t wonder that you have felt their loss keenly; I don’t wonder that you have done your utmost to recover them, but what I do wonder at is that you were so sure they were concealed in the room where he lay that you never thought of looking elsewhere.  Do you remember, Miss Quinlan, where his eyes were fixed at the moment of death?”