"No. I feel more than ever convinced that they are in the ebony desk. Unless, indeed, your aunt left no money behind her; in which case there would of course be no bonds anywhere. I begin to think that whoever has the desk must have found and used the bonds."
"You have not heard of the desk?"
"No. The advertisements Street inserted in the newspapers brought forth no more result than the previous inquiries."
"Perhaps if a larger reward had been offered?" said Edina. "We thought the sum small."
"Ten guineas was the sum offered first; twenty afterwards. I suggested increasing it to fifty, or a hundred: but the cautious lawyers said no. Such a reward offered for a desk, would have betrayed that it contained something of value—if the possessor of the desk had not already found that out for himself. It was certainly singular that I should not have thought to ask whether the secret compartment of that desk had been searched when I first knew the bonds were being looked for; but I did not. It altogether escaped my memory."
A servant came in to lay the cloth for dinner: since his illness Mr. Atkinson had taken that meal at one o'clock. The tears rose to Edina's eyes as she sat down to the abundant table, and a choking sensation to her throat. George Atkinson noticed her emotion.
"What is it, Edina?"
"I was only wishing I could transport some of this to London," she answered, glancing at him through her wet eyelashes with a smile.
They sat at the open window again after dinner, talking of the past and the future, and Edina stayed to make tea for him—which came in early. As she put her hand into his, on saying farewell, he left a small case of money in it.
"Shall you be too proud to accept it for them?"