"I will take you to her grave."
They walked hand-in-hand, as boys might have done, beguiling the way with conversation.
"Clara and I often spoke of you," said Mr. Weston, "and always with affection you may be sure. And not long after you disappeared, a singular thing happened. Clara received notice from a lawyer that a legacy had been left to her--it was not a very large one, some fourteen hundred pounds."
"There is nothing singular in that," said Mr. Hart, calmly.
"No, but in the manner of it. We never knew the name of the person who left the money. It was expressly stipulated that the name of the legator should not be revealed. I went to the lawyer on Clara's behalf, being curious to ascertain the name of her generous friend--and mine, I may say--but the lawyer was steadfast. His instructions were definite, he said, and he could not go beyond them. The only information he was empowered to make--if any inquiry was made--was that the legacy was a legacy of love. It puzzled us a great deal."
A peculiar smile passed over the face of Mr. Hart, which his friend did not perceive.
"You must have been fortunate in other ways, Richard, to have prospered as you have prospered: For you are a prosperous man."
"Thank God, yes. I am a rich man, Gerald."
"Rich! Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Hart, wistfully and almost hungrily.
"I owe much of my good fortune to luck, and not to my deservings. A legacy was also left to me, in a very wonderful way; but in this case I knew the name of the person, who died in a foreign country, and who made me his executor. It is a strange story."