'The boy has their manner—their look too,' said the old lawyer to himself when he was left alone. 'I wonder where he got it? Harking back, I suppose. A very strange thing this heredity is—a very strange thing indeed!'
It was afternoon when Tom returned to the cottage. Finding, no little to his relief, that his mother was out, he hurried up to his room, shut and locked the door, and drew out his mysterious packet. As he sat with it before him his heart beat more quickly than usual, for he felt like one called upon to converse with spirits and to enter into the secret counsels of the dead.
Then, his excitement increasing as he proceeded, he began to break one by one the seals with which it was closed. At the last seal he paused, and cast a rapid glance round the room, whispering half aloud: 'Is anyone there?'
There was no answer, and his glance, which had been merely mechanical, for he knew no one had come into the room with him, strayed to the window. 'I am dreaming as I did last night,' he said to himself bitterly. 'If this sort of thing goes on I shall be a perfect visionary soon, fit for nothing but a lunatic asylum. Ah!' he interrupted himself, 'what is that?'
At the word he leapt up, crossed the room in one bound, threw the Venetian shutters open, and looked out. There was no one—absolutely no one—not a human being within sight or sound. The Sleeping Beauty's palace could scarcely have been more still than this green garden world, as it lay basking in the light of the golden afternoon.
Calling himself by a variety of contemptuous names, Tom strode back to his seat. There should be no more of this foolish nonsense, he said, and he broke the last seal. The wrapper at once fell open, revealing a little pile of papers, which appeared to be covered with minute handwriting. Tom's heart was by this time beating like a sledge-hammer. What was he going to hear? What was he going to see? He took up the first paper and examined it closely; but how great was his disappointment when he found that he could not make out a word of it! He passed rapidly to the next. It was as unintelligible. Two—three—four he unfolded; the result was the same. To his eye, unpractised in Oriental writings, one was exactly like the other. This, he said to himself bitterly, was like offering a man bread and giving him a stone. At last, when he had gone through nearly the whole of the pile of papers, he came to one different in appearance from any of the others. It was smaller in size, but thicker, and the leaves were gummed together at the edges. He was about to open it when he saw that there was an inscription on the outside, written in characters exceedingly minute, but not Oriental. He held it up to the light and read as follows: 'Unless you are capable of forming a firm resolution, go no further!'
While he was wondering what this might mean he turned the roll over, and saw that words were written on the other side also. These were still stranger: 'If you are brave and resolute, open without fear.'
He paused to think. It was so silent in the room that he could hear the beating of his own heart. He was asking himself if he had the qualities required by his mysterious benefactor, and wondering what could be the nature of the secret which must be approached in so resolute a spirit. Weird stories of dim antiquity—of beautiful things grasped at by eager hands and won, but won through strife, and blood, and tears—floated through his brain as he sat hesitating, the unopened roll before him. Suddenly he found himself speaking, uttering the thought that was passing through his mind. 'I think I could act with resolution if the necessity arose. I am not all I should be; of that I am well aware; but——'
And here he broke short, for the impression he had combated a few moments before had come to him again, and this time with a force that there was no denying. For an instant he sprang up wildly. Then, feeling dazed and helpless, he sank back, covering his face with his hands.