The letters were bound together in a compact form, lodged in a parchment case, and placed in a secret drawer. This drawer would not have been detected by common eyes, and it opened by the motion of a spring, of whose existence none but the maker was conscious: this drawer I had opened before I went to sleep, and the letters were then safe.
Thou canst not imagine my confusion and astonishment when, on opening the drawer, I perceived that the packet was gone: I looked with more attention, and put my hand within it, but the space was empty. Whither had it gone, and by whom was it purloined? I was not conscious of having taken it away; yet no hands but mine could have done it. On the last evening I had doubtless removed it to some other corner, but had forgotten it: I tasked my understanding and my memory; I could not conceive the possibility of any motives inducing me to alter my arrangements in this respect, and was unable to recollect that I had made this change.
What remained? This invaluable relic had disappeared; every thought and every effort must be devoted to the single purpose of regaining it: as yet I did not despair; until I had opened and ransacked every part of the cabinet in vain, I did not admit the belief that I had lost it: even then this persuasion was tumultuous and fluctuating; it had vanished to my senses, but these senses were abused and depraved. To have passed, of its own accord, through the pores of this wood was impossible; but if it were gone, thus did it escape.
I was lost in horror and amazement. I explored every nook a second and a third time, but still it eluded my eye and my touch; I opened my closets and cases—I pried every where, unfolded every article of clothing, turned and scrutinised every instrument and tool, but nothing availed.
My thoughts were not speedily collected or calmed: I threw myself on the bed, and resigned myself to musing. That my loss was irretrievable, was a supposition not to be endured: yet ominous terrors haunted me; a whispering intimation that a relique which I valued more than life, was torn for ever away by some malignant and inscrutable destiny; the same power that had taken it from this recep-
