`` That is the story of the old chest . It was all over so long ago -- the heartbreak and the misery -- but it all seems to come back to me now . Poor Eliza ! '' My own eyes were full of tears as Aunt Winnifred went down the stairs , leaving me sitting dreamily there in the sunset light , with the old yellowed bridal veil across my lap and the portrait of Eliza Laurance in my hand . Around me were the relics of her pitiful story -- the old , oft-repeated story of a faithless love and a woman 's broken heart -- the gown she had worn , the slippers in which she had danced light-heartedly at her betrothal ball , her fan , her pearls , her gloves -- and it somehow seemed to me as if I were living in those old years myself , as if the love and happiness , the betrayal and pain were part of my own life . Presently Aunt Winnifred came back through the twilight shadows . `` Let us put all these things back in their grave , Amy , '' she said . `` They are of no use to anyone now . The linen might be bleached and used , I dare say -- but it would seem like a sacrilege . It was Mother 's wedding present to Eliza . And the pearls -- would you care to have them , Amy ? '' `` Oh , no , no , '' I said with a little shiver . `` I would never wear them , Aunt Winnifred . I should feel like a ghost if I did . Put everything back just as we found it -- only her portrait . I would like to keep that . '' Reverently we put gowns and letters and trinkets back into the old blue chest . Aunt Winnifred closed the lid and turned the key softly . She bowed her head over it for a minute and then we went together in silence down the shadowy garret stairs of Wyther Grange . The Osbornes ' Christmas Cousin Myra had come to spend Christmas at `` The Firs , '' and all the junior Osbornes were ready to stand on their heads with delight .
Darby -- whose real name was Charles -- did it , because he was only eight , and at eight you have no dignity XXXXX keep up .
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