In the short will which was found amid his small effects, he had bequeathed the old chateau to his native town as a home for such discharged prisoners as were friendless and aged, and the closing clause read thus:
“To my more than sister, my earthly savior, Dorcas Townsend, I leave the testimony of my later years, and the contents of my strong-box.”
This contained some valuable silver and household linen bearing a coronet, and a sandalwood casket wherein reposed a yellow muslin cap string.
In the evening following the burial Dorcas sat with her family about her on the moonlit porch. She slid her hand softly into that of her husband, and said:
“George dear, thee has never asked me, but I should like to tell thee, the secret of my peculiar interest in our brother who has passed away.”
Then my grandame told the story, and the accurate memory of my mother gave it unto me as it is written.
At its conclusion her husband kissed her flushed cheek, saying:
“Thine was ever a romantic nature, and were romance always controlled by reason, how many lives might blossom into joy and usefulness, as did that of our beloved Henri.”
THE END.