Ancillon paused and smiled grimly.
“Speak, man! Speak, man—speak! What is it you would tell me?” demanded Hereward, trembling with agitation.
“I would tell you nothing!”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing; for you might not believe my words. But I will give the means of discovering my secret for yourself—of learning my story, and proving its truth beyond all doubt,” gravely replied Ancillon.
“Well? Well? Well?”
“Do you happen to know of an old trunk, the property of Lilith’s parents, filled with family relics and correspondence, bundles of yellow letters, photographs, trinkets, prayer-books, Bibles, old diaries, newspapers, pamphlets, and other rubbish? Do you happen to know of such a depository?”
“I think I do,” said Hereward, reflectingly. “Yes; I am sure I do,” he added, confidently.
“It seems to have been packed and preserved by your father’s orders, after the death of Lilith’s mother and for the possible pleasure or benefit of Lilith’s after life. Ah, dear! It was anything but a pleasure or a benefit to the poor child. It was never opened from the day it was packed until the day after your father’s funeral, when you had gone to Washington, leaving Lilith alone in this old house. Then, she having received the key of the trunk for the first time, as a legacy from your father, sent for the trunk and opened it. And then she learned the dire secret of her family, even before she ever saw my face. It was an accident that brought me to the Cliffs, that night, Mr. Hereward.”
“I heard that it was—the storm——”