She took a key from the golden chain she wore; it was of a quaint fashion and made of gold.
“On the morning Ronald went away he gave me this. He made me promise that it should never leave me, night or day, and it has never been out of my possession for one single moment.”
Kenelm took it carelessly from her hands, unconscious as he did so that he held the key to the mystery of his life.
“To what does it belong?” he asked.
“To a small oaken box with golden clasps. It used to stand in Ronald’s room, but when he was going away he placed it in my room under my especial charge. He told me never to open it for it contained papers that were strictly private. Of course, the documents we miss are there. I had better open it and see.”
She rang the bell and ordered the footman to carry the box into the drawing-room.
“We will go there and look it over,” she said.
Kenelm never forgot the fragrant, sunny room. The western sunbeams filled it with light and warmth; the flowers filled it with sweetest odors. Lady Alden sat down, for the search had fatigued her.
As he saw her then, he saw her until he died. Her fair head rested against the pink velvet of the chair; her beautiful face, with its half-wearied expression, was turned to the window, so that the sunshine fell on it and formed a kind of halo around it.
“How beautiful the fragrance of the flowers is to-night! And, Kenelm, listen—have you ever heard the birds sing so sweetly? I wish—oh, how I wish!—that Ronald was home to-night! I cannot help thinking some danger threatens him. He is so continually in my thoughts. Twice to-day my heart has almost ceased to beat, for I heard his voice crying to me, ‘Hermione!’ and the fancy was so strong that for a few minutes I believed he must be near.”