them, while I sit here to rest a moment.  Here, pour them into my apron.”  Obeying this command, Barbara emptied the contents into the large apron that the mistress upheld to receive them, and she sat down to the examination.  One by one the papers fell from her fingers to the floor as valueless trash, and she pushed them with her foot toward the open fire-place.  Suddenly she descried upon the floor a dark brown paper, loosely folded, that had fallen from her lap unobserved. picking it up, she drew from it a small book, bound in Russia leather, the size of a man’s hand.  Upon the outer cover, in dim, well-worn, and mold-covered letters was the word “Journal.”  “What can this be?” she murmured curiously, holding it tightly in her hand.  Slowly unfastening the slender clasp, she read with astonishment the words written upon the first page:  “Emile Le Grande’s Diary.”

Amazed at what her eyes beheld, Rebecca hastily secreted the book in her dress pocket and retired from the room.  Once securely out of sight, she eagerly began her scrutiny of the ill-fated little book that had fallen so mysteriously into her possession.  Record after record was read with greedy eye.  Soon her eye rested upon the name, “Leah Mordecai.”  No vulture ever devoured its unfortunate prey with more rapacity that did this wicked woman the contents that followed, day after day.  Her eye gleamed with delight, and her jewelled hands trembled for joy, as she turned leaf after leaf of the unfortunate book.  At length she stopped suddenly, and exclaimed half-wildly, “Aha!  I know it now!  At last the truth has come to light, the terrible mystery is revealed,” as she read the unfortunate yet idle record of young Le Grande’s, made on the night of Bertha Levy’s tea-party, the foolish record:  “If I knew that she loved Mark Abrams, I would kill him.”

“You are mistaken, my bird,” Rebecca continued to soliloquize; “he did not love Leah Mordecai as fondly as you supposed, but you dared to kill him from jealous hatred when you well knew you were destroying the hopes and future of my child.  Well, I’ll see to it that revenge comes.  My young eagle, you are not so far away, but justice can find you.  Though the water of a dozen oceans rolled between us, I think my revenge could reach you.  Rest on in your fancied security while you may, young villain; the storm is gathering for your destruction.  Rest on.  Rebecca Mordecai will never, never forget you.  I will keep this secret to myself till my plans are matured; then I will act.  Now, we must fly, and then-well, never mind what then, so I keep this treasure safe in my grasp.”  So saying, she stowed the journal away in her bosom, and with a cruel laugh, busied herself again with her preparations for departure.  The removal was made.  The mansion of the banker was vacated, and the Queen City left to the mercy of the spoiler.  In all these days of agitation and confusion, the little journal lay safe in the bosom of its possessor.  She intended to have the way clear, before unfolding her secret and her purpose.  And so it was.