The Secret--"
"What! you will go back to that!"
"I must go back to it."
"And why?"
"Because the Secret is written in a letter--"
"Yes; and what of that?"
"And the letter is in danger of being discovered. It is, uncle--it is! Sixteen years it has lain hidden--and now, after all that long time, the dreadful chance of its being dragged to light has come like a judgment. The one person in all the world who ought never to set eyes on that letter is the very person who is most likely to find it!"
"So! so! Are you very certain, Sarah? How do you know it?"
"I know it from her own lips. Chance brought us together--"
"Us? us? What do you mean by us?"
"I mean--uncle, you remember that Captain Treverton was my master when I lived at Porthgenna Tower?"
"I had forgotten his name. But no matter--go on."
"When I left my place, Miss Treverton was a little girl of five years old. She is a married woman now--so beautiful, so clever, such a sweet, youthful, happy face! And she has a child as lovely as herself. Oh, uncle, if you could see her! I would give so much if you could only see her!"
Uncle Joseph kissed his hand and shrugged his shoulders; expressing by the first action homage to the lady's beauty, and by the second resignation under the misfortune of not being able to see her. "Well, well," he said, philosophically, "put this shining woman by, and let us go on."
"Her name is Frankland now," said Sarah. "A prettier name than Treverton--a much prettier name, I think. Her husband is fond of her--I am sure he is. How can he have any heart at all, and not be fond of her?"
"So! so!" exclaimed Uncle Joseph, looking very much perplexed. "Good, if he is fond of her--very good. But what labyrinth are we getting into now? Wherefore all this about a husband and a wife? My word of honor, Sarah, but your explanation explains nothing--it only softens my brains."
"I must speak of her and of Mr. Frankland, uncle. Porthgenna Tower belongs to her husband now, and they are both going to live there."
"Ah! we are getting back into the straight road at last."
"They are going to live in the very house that holds the Secret; they are going to repair that very part of it where the letter is hidden. She will go into the old rooms--I heard her say so; she will search about in them to amuse her curiosity; workmen will clear them out, and she will stand by in her idle hours, looking on."
"But she suspects nothing of the Secret?"
"God forbid she ever should!"
"And there are many rooms in the house? And the letter in which the Secret is written is hidden in one of the many? Why should she hit on that one?"
"Because I always say the wrong thing! because I always get frightened and lose myself at the wrong time! The letter is hidden in a room called the Myrtle Room, and I was foolish enough, weak enough, crazed enough, to warn her against going into it."
"Ah, Sarah! Sarah! that was a mistake, indeed."
"I can't tell what possessed me--I seemed to lose my senses when I heard her talking so innocently of amusing herself by searching through the old rooms, and when I thought of what she might find there. It was getting on toward night, too; the horrible twilight was gathering in the corners and creeping along the walls. I longed to light the candles, and yet I did not dare, for fear she should see the truth in my face. And when I did light them it was worse. Oh, I don't know how I did it! I don't know why I did it! I could have torn my tongue out for saying the words, and still I said them. Other people can think for the best; other people can act for the best; other people have had a heavy weight laid on their minds, and have not dropped under it as I have. Help me, uncle, for the sake of old times when we were happy--help me with a word of advice."
"I will help you; I live to help you, Sarah! No, no, no--you must not look so forlorn; you must not look at me with those crying eyes. Come! I will advise this minute--but say in what; only say in what."
"Have I not told you?"
"No; you have not told me a word yet."
"I will tell you now."
She paused, looked away distrustfully toward the door leading into the shop, listened a little, and resumed: "I am not at the end of my journey yet, Uncle Joseph--I am here on my way to Porthgenna Tower--on my way to the Myrtle Room-on my way, step by step, to the place where the letter lies hid. I dare not destroy it; I dare not remove it; but run what risk I may, I must take it out of the Myrtle Room."
Uncle Joseph said nothing, but he shook his head despondingly.
"I must," she repeated; "before Mrs. Frankland gets to Porthgenna, I must take that letter out of the Myrtle Room. There are places in the old house where I may hide it again--places that she would never think of--places that she would never notice. Only let me get it out of the one room that she is sure to search in, and I know where to hide it from her and from everyone forever."
Uncle Joseph reflected, and shook his head again--then said: "One word, Sarah; does Mrs. Frankland know which is the Myrtle Room?"
"I did my best to destroy all trace of that name when I hid the letter; I hope and believe she does not. But she may find out--remember the words I was crazed enough to speak; they will set her seeking for the Myrtle Room; they are sure to do that."
"And if she finds it? And if she finds the letter?"
"It will cause misery to innocent people; it will bring death to me. Don't push your chair from me, uncle! It is not shameful death I speak of. The worst injury I have done is injury to myself; the worst death I have to fear is the death that releases a worn-out spirit and cures a broken heart."
"Enough--enough so," said the old man. "I ask for no secret, Sarah, that is not yours to give. It is all dark to me--very dark, very confused. I look away from it; I look only toward you. Not with doubt, my child, but with pity, and with sorrow, too--sorrow that ever you went near that house of Porthgenna--sorrow that you are now going to it again."
"I have no choice, uncle, but to go. If every step on the road to Porthgenna took me nearer and nearer to my death, I must still tread it. Knowing what I know, I can't rest, I can't sleep--my very breath won't come freely--till I have got that letter out of the Myrtle Room. How to do it--oh, Uncle Joseph, how to do it, without being suspected, without being discovered by anybody--that is what I would almost give my life to know! You are a man; you are older and wiser than I am; no living creature ever asked you for help in vain--help me now! my only friend in all the world, help me a little with a word of advice!"
Uncle Joseph rose from his chair, and folded his arms resolutely, and looked his niece full in the face.
"You will go?" he said. "Cost what it may, you will go? Say, for the last time, Sarah, is it yes, or no?"
"Yes! For the last time, I say, Yes."
"Good. And you will go soon?"
"I must go to-morrow. I dare not waste a single day; hours even may be precious for anything I can tell."
"You promise me, my child, that the hiding of this Secret does good, and that the finding of it will do harm?"
"If it was the last word I had to speak in this world, I would say, Yes!"
"You promise me, also, that you want nothing but to take the letter out of the Myrtle Room, and put it away somewhere else?"
"Nothing but that."
"And it is yours to take and yours to put? No person has a better right to touch it than you?"
"Now that my master is dead, no person."
"Good. You have given me my resolution. I have done. Sit you there, Sarah; and wonder, if you like, but say nothing." With these words, Uncle Joseph stepped lightly to the door leading into the shop, opened it, and called to the man behind the counter.
"Samuel, my friend," he said. "To-morrow I go a little ways into the country with my niece, who is this lady here. You keep shop and take orders, and be just as careful as you always are, till I get back. If anybody comes and asks for Mr. Buschmann, say he has gone a little ways into the country, and will be back in a few days.