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The walls were of a dark, polished oak, the floor covered with a rich Turkey carpet, whose brilliant hues were bright as the gorgeous plumage of a humming-bird. The chairs and lounges, profusely scattered around, were of dark carved wood—old and quaint in appearance, and cushioned with dark-blue velvet. A guitar lay in a corner, and carelessly scattered by it were several sheets of music. A bookcase, filled with a choice selection of books, stood in one corner; and lying half open on the table, as if it had just been dropped, was a small, elegantly-bound volume of Milton. By it lay a tiny gold locket, containing a miniature. Not doubting but that this belonged to the occupant of the cabin, Fred snatched it up, thinking she might value it, and turned to look for its owner. She was not in the cabin—he saw that at a glance. The door of an adjoining state-room lay half open. It was no time for idle ceremony. Without a moment's hesitation, he dashed it open, and entered; but paused in involuntary awe at the sight which met his eyes.