In a subsequent examination of their apartment in search of other funds and missing drafts, a touching incident occurred, strikingly displaying, when taken in connection with the outbreak just mentioned, the lights as well as shades of an impulsive character.
During this examination, it became necessary to investigate the contents of a well-filled trunk, and this was done by the lady herself, under my supervision. After several layers of wearing apparel had been taken out, she suddenly paused in her work, and wiped away a falling tear, as she gazed into the trunk. Thinking that some important evidence of her husband's crimes was lurking beneath the garments remaining, and that her hesitation was owing to reluctance on her part to be instrumental in convicting him, I reached forward and was about to continue the examination myself, when she interposed her arm and said sobbingly.
"Those are the little clothes of our poor baby,—they haven't been disturbed since his death, and I can't bear to move them."
A second glance into the trunk confirmed her sad story, for there were the little shoes, scarcely soiled, the delicately embroidered skirts and waists,—all the apparel so familiar to a mother's eye, which, in its grieving remembrance of the departed child,
"Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form."
A similar affliction had taught me to appreciate the sacredness of such relics, and I waited in sympathizing silence, until she could command her feelings sufficiently to continue the search.
She soon resumed it, and the contents of the trunk were thoroughly examined, yet none of the lost valuables were found therein.