THIRD NARRATIVE
3. CHAPTER III
(continued)
The instant afterwards, before the stick could have been submerged more
than a few inches, I was free from the hold of my own superstitious terror,
and was throbbing with excitement from head to foot. Sounding blindfold,
at my first attempt--at that first attempt I had sounded right! The stick
struck the chain.
Taking a firm hold of the roots of the seaweed with my left hand,
I laid myself down over the brink, and felt with my right hand
under the overhanging edges of the rock. My right hand found
the chain.
I drew it up without the slightest difficulty. And there was the japanned
tin case fastened to the end of it.
The action of the water had so rusted the chain, that it was impossible
for me to unfasten it from the hasp which attached it to the case.
Putting the case between my knees and exerting my utmost strength,
I contrived to draw off the cover. Some white substance filled the whole
interior when I looked in. I put in my hand, and found it to be linen.
In drawing out the linen, I also drew out a letter crumpled up with it.
After looking at the direction, and discovering that it bore my name,
I put the letter in my pocket, and completely removed the linen.
It came out in a thick roll, moulded, of course, to the shape of the case
in which it had been so long confined, and perfectly preserved from any injury
by the sea.
I carried the linen to the dry sand of the beach, and there unrolled
and smoothed it out. There was no mistaking it as an article of dress.
It was a nightgown.
The uppermost side, when I spread it out, presented to
view innumerable folds and creases, and nothing more.
I tried the undermost side, next--and instantly discovered
the smear of the paint from the door of Rachel's boudoir!
My eyes remained riveted on the stain, and my mind took me back at a leap
from present to past. The very words of Sergeant Cuff recurred to me,
as if the man himself was at my side again, pointing to the unanswerable
inference which he drew from the smear on the door.
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