The object in my hand was too alluring; the size, the shape too suggestive of a package of folded bonds for me to think of anything but the satisfaction of my curiosity and the consequent clearing of a very serious mystery.
Just at this moment, one of intense excitement, I heard, or thought I heard, a stealthy step behind me.

Forcing myself to calmness, however, I turned and, holding the candle high convinced myself that I was alone in the cellar.
Carrying the box nearer the light, I pulled off its already loosened string and lifted the cover.

In doing this I suffered from no qualms of conscience.

My duty seemed very clear to me, and the end, a totally impersonal one, more than justified the means.
A folded paper met my eyes--one--not of the kind I expected; then some letters whose address I caught at a glance.

"Elizabeth Brainard"-- a discovery which might have stayed my hand at another time, but nothing could stay it now.