The chest lay beneath. The
thick belt was easily undone, and there was no other lock or latch. It
occurred to her briefly that this was what the old woman wanted, and
at the same time that she would be furious, and fly into a terrible
rage. But this did not matter. Nothing mattered except that Michael
had come to her, and touched her, and called out to her in living
dream. She lifted the wide lid, and set it back against the wall.
Somewhere outside a raven spoke, and a sudden blast of wind shook the
door. She started, and whirled about, but did not waver in her
resolve.
Inside the trunk were many grim and grotesque articles which appalled
her, and which she would not touch. But to the extreme left, pushed
together with their bindings upward, were four large manuscript books,
bound in leather. Her eyes, and seeking spirit, were drawn to these.
They were alike untitled and unadorned, yet to one she was
unmistakably drawn. Her hand moved toward it almost without conscious
thought: the smallest, burnished black. It was thinner than the others
as well.
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