She opened it, and an exclamation of delight escaped her.
Within were six tiny flasks of cut glass, with gold stoppers, filled with choicest perfumes, upon each of which the same letters were cut.
“Ah, ha! ‘E. H.,’ that does not stand for Mehetabel Douglas!” she said, with a sinister smile.
She took them out, one by one, removing their gold stoppers and inhaling the delicious perfume with which they were filled.
Suddenly her attention was attracted by a folded paper in the bottom of the case.
She took it up, opened it, and read, in a gentleman’s handwriting:
“My Darling: To-morrow will be our wedding day. I cannot come to you to-day, as I promised, but I send my little gift to help grace your table. I pray Heaven that the fragrance which this little case contains may be but the emblem of your future life with me. Ever thine,
“William.”
Could it be that Miss Douglas had been rich, and about to be married, and then disappointed?
There was no date, and no name but that of William, to give the prying girl any clew as to the author of the note.