Colonel Thorndyke's Secret

by G. A. Henty

“Well, I think, dear, that you had better go up to bed. I will go with you. At the present time this, of course, has come upon you as an additional shock. I would gladly have shielded you from it for a time if I could have done so, but you must have learned it tomorrow, and I quite agree with Mark that is was better that he should tell you this evening. I sent down to the town today to the doctor's and asked him to send me up a soothing draught, thinking that you might be upset by the news. I hope by the morning you will be able to look at matters more calmly.”

Some time later Mrs. Cunningham came down again.

“She has cried herself to sleep,” she said. “She is much grieved about this money being lost.”

“It is annoying; still I cannot help thinking that the Colonel must have taken some such precaution to prevent the treasure from being lost.”

“One would certainly think so,” Mrs. Cunningham agreed; “the Colonel seemed to me a methodical man. I know that he had the reputation of being one of the most particular men in the service as to all petty details. His instructions to me before I left him were all very minute, and he gave me a sealed packet which he told me contained instructions and a copy of the register of his marriage and of Millicent's birth, and he said that in case of his death I was to take it to your father. He said that there was a letter inclosed in it to him, and also a copy of his will. The letter was directed to your father, and not to me. I handed it over to him when he asked me to come here. He told me afterwards that the letter contained the request that his brother lived to make personally to him—that the child should be brought up as his ward; and that he had handed the certificates to a lawyer, who had, however, received copies of them from the Colonel himself before he went down to see your father. So, as he took these precautions to insure his wishes being carried out in the event of his sudden death, I should think that he must have done something of the sort with regard to this treasure.”

“I should think that extremely likely, Mrs. Cunningham. I certainly had not thought of that before, and I hope that for Millicent's sake and my own it may turn out to be so. I can get on extremely well without it, but at the same time I don't pretend that 50,000 pounds are to be despised.”

The next morning Mr. Prendergast, who had arrived at Reigate late the evening before, and had put up at an inn, came up to the house an hour before the time named for the funeral. He learned from Mark that he had already acquainted Millicent with her change of circumstances. A few minutes after he arrived, a servant told him that Miss Conyers would be glad if he would see her alone for a few minutes in the drawing room. Mark had already prepared him for her request.

“Mark has told you that he told me about this hateful thing last night, I suppose, Mr. Prendergast?”

“He has,” the old lawyer said kindly; “and he tells me also that you are not at all pleased at the news.”

“Pleased! I should think not, Mr. Prendergast,” she said indignantly. “I am not going to rob my cousin of what he has always been taught to think as his inheritance. It is abominable, I call it, and most unnatural.”