"Tell me about it. I like sad stories, and I already feel as if I belonged to the family, a loyal retainer as in the old times. While you dust the books and I rub the mold off this old cover, tell me the tale, please, Mrs. Hester."
She shook her head, but yielded to the persuasive look and tone of the boy, telling the story more fully than she intended, for she loved talking and had come to regard Paul as her own, almost.
"And the letter? What was in it?" asked the boy, as she paused at the catastrophe.
"No one ever knew but my lady."
"She destroyed it, then?"
"I thought so, till a long time afterward, one of the lawyers came pestering me with questions, and made me ask her. She was ill at the time, but answered with a look I shall never forget, 'No, it's not burnt, but no one shall ever see it.' I dared ask no more, but I fancy she has it safe somewhere and if it's ever needed she'll bring it out. It was only some private matters, I fancy."
"And the stranger?"
"Oh, he vanished as oddly as he came, and has never been found. A strange story, lad. Keep silent, and let it rest."
"No fear of my tattling," and the boy smiled curiously to himself as he bent over the book, polishing the brassbound cover.
"What are you doing with that pretty white wax?" asked Lillian the next day, as she came upon Paul in a quiet corner of the garden and found him absorbed in some mysterious occupation.