hand? It is in your hands to make me very happy or very miserable."
A something in my tone seemed to affect her strangely. She looked into my eyes with a sort of startled wonder, then, looking down with maiden shyness, said in a low voice, while hesitatingly, almost reluctantly, she held toward me that for which I had so earnestly pleaded,—
"You know, Ismar, that I would not willingly make you unhappy,—for so trifling a matter at least," she added, as if fearing she had said too much.
The tone in which she uttered these words, the action that accompanied them, the expression, revealed to me, as in a flash, the solution of what had been to me hitherto an insoluble problem. Now I knew to whom she bore so subtle a resemblance in voice, in feature, in manner. Now the wonder was, that I could remain so long blind to so obvious a fact. In my intense astonishment, I uttered a name that was not that of Reva.
What further might have passed, it is impossible to say; for at this moment Hulmar made his appearance. He carried in his hand a small volume. From the style of binding, I knew that it belonged to a lady's library; for there was a distinct style of binding affected by the fair sex, who indulged in this matter, as in others, their characteristic love of the beautiful.
"I have found the book," said he, as he drew near.
"If you had told me, I could have saved you a search," said Reva, evidently relieved by the advent of a third to break up an interview that threatened to become embarrassing. "It has been among my books for nearly a year."
