In the shudder called up by this
coincidence I forgot to speculate how a bouquet carried by the
bride could have found its way back to this upstairs room when, as
all accounts agree, she had fled from the parlor below without
speaking or staying foot the moment she was told of the catastrophe
which had taken place in the library. That her wrap should be lying
here was not strange, but that the wedding bouquet -
That it really was the wedding bouquet and that this was the room
in which the bride had dressed for the ceremony was apparent to the
most casual observer. But it became an established fact when in my
further course about the room I chanced on a handkerchief with the
name Veronica embroidered in one corner.
This handkerchief had an interest apart from the name on it. It was
of dainty texture and quite in keeping, so far as value went, with
the other belongings of its fastidious owner. But it was not clean.
Indeed it was strangely soiled, and this soil was of a nature I did
not readily understand. A woman would doubtless have comprehended
immediately the cause of the brown streaks I found on it, but it took
me several minutes to realize that this bit of cambric, delicate as
a cobweb, had been used to remove dust. To remove dust! Dust from
what? From the mantel-shelf probably, upon one end of which I found
it.
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