Here there were but two divisions. The lower one was piled high with plate; with a part, of a dinner-service, cups, bowls, candlesticks, wine-jugs, salt-cellers—a collection that, tarnished and dull as the pieces were, made Arthur’s mouth water. Among them lay half a dozen leather cases which he fancied held jewellery, and more than a dozen bulky parcels—spoons and forks and the like. They had not been disturbed, it was plain, for years, and he dared not touch them.
On the shelf were two iron boxes, and arrayed before them four parcels of deeds, old and discolored, with ends of green riband hanging from them, and here and there a great seal—one seal was of lead. They gave out a damp, sour smell, the odor of slowly decaying sheepskin. Three of the parcels related to farms which the Squire had bought within Arthur’s memory. The fourth and largest bundle, in a coarse wrapper, neatly bound about with straps, had a label attached to it, “The Title Deeds of the Garth Estate,” and thrust under one of the straps was a folded slip of parchment. Arthur opened this and saw that it was a memorandum, dated fifty years before, of the deposit of the deeds to secure the repayment of thirty-eight thousand pounds and interest. Below were receipts for instalments repaid at intervals of years, and opposite the last receipt appeared, in the Squire’s hand “Cancelled and deeds returned—Thank God for His mercies!”
Arthur felt a thrill of sympathy as he read the words. He returned the slip to its place and softly closed the door. He swung back the panel and secured it. He replaced the silver sconce.
But though two inches of wood now intervened, he retained a vision of the bundle of deeds. It was not large, he could have carried it under his arm. But it meant, that little parcel, power, wealth, position, the Garth Estate! It spoke to Arthur the banker—for whom wealth lay in broad acres themselves, the farms and water-mills, the pieces of paper, not in gold and silver—as eloquently as the coverts and dingles, the wide-flung hill-side that he loved, spoke to the Squire. For the first time Arthur coveted Garth, valuing it not as the Squire did for what it was, hill and dale spread under heaven, but for what it was worth, for what might be made of it, for the uses to which it might be put.
“He has added to it. One could raise fifty thousand on it,” he thought. And with fifty thousand what could one not do? With fifty thousand pounds, free money, added to the bank’s resources, what might not be done? It was a golden vision that he saw, as he stood in the evening stillness with the scent of roses stealing into the room, and the wood-pigeon cooing softly in the tree outside. Ay, what might he not do!
But the Squire might be growing suspicious. He roused himself, saw that all was as he had found it, and unlocking the door, he went upstairs.
“You’ve been a long time about it, young man,” the Squire grumbled. “What’s amiss?”
But Arthur was ready with his answer. “You told me to go about it quietly, sir. So I waited until the coast was clear. It’s a capital hiding-place. It’s not to be found in a minute even when you know where it is.”
“Ay, ay. It would take a clever rogue to find it,” complacently.
“I suppose it’s old, sir?”