She laughed; then suddenly became frightened and serious; then
looked at me, and said, "It was dreadfully like business;" and
then entreated Morgan not to stare at her, or, in the present
state of her nerves, she should upset the punch-bowl. At last she
summoned resolution enough to take out one of the pieces of card
and to unfold it.

"Declare the number, my dear," said Owen.

"Number Four," answered Jessie, making a magnificent courtesy,
and beginning to look like herself again.

Owen opened the Purple Volume, searched through the manuscripts,
and suddenly changed color. The cause of his discomposure was
soon explained. Malicious fate had assigned to the most diffident
individual in the company the trying responsibility of leading
the way. Number Four was one of the two narratives which Owen had
found among his own papers.

"I am almost sorry," began my eldest brother, confusedly, "that
it has fallen to my turn to read first. I hardly know which I
distrust most, myself or my story."

"Try and fancy you are in the pulpit again," said Morgan,
sarcastically. "Gentlemen of your cloth, Owen, seldom seem to
distrust themselves or their manuscripts when they get into that
position."

"The fact is," continued Owen, mildly impenetrable to his
brother's cynical remark, "that the little thing I am going to