She bent forward slightly; her eyes, as they met mine, examined me with a keen interest.
“Why shouldn’t I be frank with you, Sister Theresa? I have every reason for believing Arthur Pickering a scoundrel. He does not care to coöperate with me in searching for this money. The fact is that he very much wishes to eliminate me as a factor in the settlement of the estate. I speak carefully; I know exactly what I am saying.”
She bowed her head slightly and was silent for a moment. The silence was the more marked from the fact that the hood of her habit concealed her face.
“What you say is very serious.”
“Yes, and his offense is equally serious. It may seem odd for me to be saying this to you when I am a stranger; when you may be pardoned for having no very high opinion of me.”
She turned her face to me,—it was singularly gentle and refined,—not a face to associate with an idea of self-seeking or duplicity.
“I sent for you, Mr. Glenarm, because I had a very good opinion of you; because, for one reason, you are the grandson of your grandfather,”—and the friendly light in her gray eyes drove away any lingering doubt I may have had as to her sincerity. “I wished to warn you to have a care for your own safety. I don’t warn you against Arthur Pickering alone, but against the countryside. The idea of a hidden fortune is alluring; a mysterious house and a lost treasure make a very enticing combination. I fancy Mr. Glenarm did not realize that he was creating dangers for the people he wished to help.”
She was silent again, her eyes bent meditatively upon me; then she spoke abruptly.
“Mr. Pickering wishes to marry my niece.”
“Ah! I have been waiting to hear that. I am exceedingly glad to know that he has so noble an ambition. But Miss Devereux isn’t encouraging him, as near as I can make out. She refused to go to California with his party—I happen to know that.”