Seated at the supper table, about this time, Mrs. Townley said, suddenly:
"Henry, how long is it since Colonel Preston died?"
"Let me see," said the doctor, thoughtfully. "It is—yes, it is siX — months to-morrow."
"Then it is time for you to open that envelope he gave into your charge."
"So it is. My dear, your feminine curiosity inspired that thought," said the doctor, smiling.
"Perhaps you are right. I own I am a little inquisitive in the matter."
"I am glad you mentioned it. I have so much on my mind that I should have let the day pass, and I should be sorry not to fulfill to the letter the promise I made to my friend."
"Have you any suspicion as to the nature of the document?"
"I thought it might be a will; but, if so, I can't understand why a delay of six months should have been interposed."
"Colonel Preston may have had his reasons. Possibly he did not fully trust his wife's attention to his requests."