Bending to inspect the place from which the panel had fallen, he saw that his surmise was correct.
There was a cavity, about four inches deep, in the end of the desk, just under the molding that ran around the top of it, with the other portions of the hinges attached to the top, and a small spring at the bottom.
“Ye gods! there is something in it, too!” he cried, in a startled voice, and his hand actually trembled with nervous excitement as he drew forth a small black morocco case, and a package of papers, tied with red tape, which lay underneath.
The case was an old-fashioned miniature case, and doubtless contained a likeness.
Everet instinctively shrank from opening it for a moment, for he felt as if he were trenching upon some secret almost too sacred to be revealed.
“There must have been a soft spot somewhere in the old fellow’s heart, to have kept a thing like this,” he muttered, turning it over and over in his hands.
“But, ‘to the victor belong the spoils;’ I have made this discovery after everybody else has failed, and so I have a right to know what I have found.”
He touched the spring and the case flew open, revealing the likeness of a young girl of exquisite beauty.
“Nannie Davenport! I’ll wager a ten-dollar note,” he ejaculated, in a breathless tone.
The face was a pure oval, crowned with a wealth of hair that was twined in a massive coronet about the small, beautifully-shaped head. The eyes, Everet felt sure, must have been a deep, dark blue, and their expression was lovely beyond description; the nose was small and straight, with delicate nostrils, the mouth full and sweet, with a slight smile just curving the tender lips.