The girl took it hesitatingly, then passed it back to her guardian.
"It seems like a message from the dead," she said. "I think, please, I would rather that you should read it aloud."
The letter was well in keeping with its writer's eccentric and morbid character. It ran thus:—
"My Dear Monica,
"Gold, silver, and precious stones are but vanity of vanities, a snare to many, and the root of all evil. By the time you claim these, I trust you will have found how easy it is to dispense with them, and that you will despise them as much as I do.
"They have never brought me any happiness, and I am uncertain whether it is a kindness to bequeath to you what to me has been but an irksome encumbrance. After giving long and earnest thought to the matter, I have decided to leave it in the hands of destiny.
"I shall lay by these possessions in the hidden chamber, the existence of which was told me by my grandfather, and now is unknown to any except myself. I have concealed the secret, however, in an enigma, which, if you have followed my advice concerning the study of Botany, you will have found written inside the cover of the Floral Calendar.
"Should Heaven ordain that you are to take up this burden, then you will read my riddle aright. Should it be otherwise decreed, this message will never meet your eyes. Believe me that I have striven to act for your best good.
"From your uncle and well-wisher,
"Giles Pemberton Courtenay."
"He seemed quite afraid for me to have this money," faltered poor Monica, on whom the letter had left a deep impression. "Shall I regret it? Is it really such a dangerous thing?"