“And in the box,” I said, “are the papers.” And I drew it forth.
As I did so, a sickening fear fell upon me, for the box was very light. In an agony of terror, I threw up the lid. The box was empty, except for a single sheet of paper. I snatched it out and read it:
“My dear Niece:—You will, of course, find this box. Any fool could do that. I kept my papers in it for many years, and they seemed safe enough; but such a hiding-place was too obvious for such a test as I proposed to set you. I therefore removed them to another hiding-place, to which the key which you have been given also applies. Since you have come thus far on the journey, I may say that I hope you will be successful; but I doubt it. I fear neither you nor your children have the industry and patience and perseverance necessary to achieve success in any difficult thing. I may be mistaken—I hope I am.
“Your Aunt,
“Eliza Nelson.”
Chapter IX
An Interview with the Enemy
I opened my eyes to find mother bathing my face and chafing my hands. The reaction—the plunge from certainty to disappointment—had been too much for me. I felt strangely weak and flabby. I could scarcely raise my shaking hand to my face.
But the feeling passed in a moment, and I sat up and pushed my hair away from my forehead. I confess I was ashamed of myself.
“Really, Cecil,” said mother, when she saw that I was all right again, “if you’re going to take it this way, I think the sooner we get away from here the better. You mustn’t yield to your feelings so.”
“But oh, mother,” I cried, with a little sob in my voice that I couldn’t repress, “it was cruel of her! Cruel! Cruel!”