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“Is she rich?” asked the prudent Cloanthus.

“Of course; she is very rich. She owns Texas,” replied Julia confidently.

“Texas!” echoed Cloanthus, bewildered by the spacious thought. “Isn’t that a state or a country, or a part of Mexico, or something?”

“Perhaps it is,” admitted Julia; “perhaps she only owns half of it. But I am sure I’ve heard her speak of riding for a day over her own land.”

Mrs. Wilkes was now asleep in her chair—hence, and hence only, her silence. She awoke suddenly and reminded her friends of their early morning start. They separated for the night.

Next day, when the conductor of the railroad train came to Miss Sullivan for her fare, she transferred her purse from her bag to the pocket of her travelling dress. As she did so, she felt an unfamiliar object. It proved to be the book she had taken from the drowning man’s hand, and, without thinking, dropped into her pocket. It had been protected by a covering of oiled silk. The stitches in drying had given way and the book was slipping out. She thought there could be no harm in her opening it.