With this load lifted from my mind, and assisted by the mild presence of Diana, who left, as when she visited Endymion, much of her splendor outside my cavern--I looked around the empty vehicle.

On the forward seat lay a woman's hairpin.

I picked it up with an interest that, however, soon abated.

There was no scent of the roses to cling to it still, not even of hair oil.

No bend or twist in its rigid angles betrayed any trait of its wearer's character.