He looked each paper carefully through, writing down the amounts represented, and finally adding them to find the sum.

“Well, it makes quite a handsome little fortune, when we take into consideration the fact that it has been accumulating all these years,” he said, as he pushed toward his son the paper upon which he had been figuring. “And yet,” he added, “I know that this cannot represent one-half of Robert Dale’s fortune. What can have become of the rest?”

“He may have given it away during his life,” Everet suggested.

“Possible: and yet I do not believe it,” said Colonel Mapleson thoughtfully. “He was a strange character, as the hiding of these documents proves, and I am convinced there are more concealed somewhere else.”

“I do not see what the man could have been thinking of, if he was in his right mind, to hide his property in such a way, without leaving some clew to it! How could he expect his heir would ever be benefited by his money, when what represented it was concealed in that secret compartment?” said Everet, impatiently.

“That is a question, and the act was only one of the many queer things that made the man what he was,” replied his father.

“What will you do with these papers?” the young man inquired.

“I do not know what to do with them,” returned the colonel, a perplexed frown on his brow.

“Who would inherit the property in case the direct legatee cannot be found?”

“I suppose I am the nearest of kin,” said Colonel Mapleson. “It was so decided when the question as to who should inherit the Hermitage and land belonging to him, came up after his death.”

“Then all this money will be yours also, if neither Annie Dale nor any of her heirs can be found?” said Everet, with suppressed eagerness.

“I suppose it will; but——”

“But what?”

“I do not want it, Everet; I have enough without it. I would much prefer that the rightful heir should have it.”

“I suppose you will advertise for Annie Dale, or for her nearest of kin?” Everet said, bending a keen look upon his father.

“I don’t know. I shall have to think the matter over first—perhaps consult my lawyer about it,” Colonel Mapleson replied, meditatively.

He fell into deep thought, and neither spoke for several minutes.

At length the colonel glanced up at the clock.

“Well,” he remarked, with a sigh, “I have business to attend to, and I must be off.”

He arose, gathered up the papers, carefully wrapping them all together, then, locking them into a drawer of his desk, he abruptly left the room.

Everet sat there for more than an hour afterward, his head bowed upon his hand, thinking deeply, his brow contracted, his whole face wearing a perplexed and troubled look.

At length, he, too, left the house, ordered his horse, and rode away in the direction of the old mill.

Reaching the Dale cottage, which was evidently his destination, he dismounted, fastened his horse, and then bent his steps around to the back door, intending to force an entrance, as before; and yet, if any one had asked the question, he could not have told why he had come there again.

But, as he was passing the window of the little bedroom, he was sure that he saw one of the curtains move.

“Aha!” he said to himself; “either a mouse or some human being was the cause of that. I do not believe there is anything inside that empty house to attract a hungry mouse, so I will be cautious in my movements, and maybe I shall make a discovery of some kind.”

He slipped off his low shoes, stepped noiselessly upon the veranda, keeping out of the range of the window so as not to cast a shadow within the room, and crept close up to the low sill.

The curtain had been thrust aside a trifle, so that he could easily see the interior of the room, and he beheld that which riveted him, spell-bound, to the spot, and drove every drop of blood to his heart.

He saw his father sitting close beside the window, so close, that his lightest movement caused one of his arms to hit the curtain.

On the floor, before him, there stood an open trunk, of medium size, which, apparently, had been pulled from beneath the bed, and from which Colonel Mapleson had taken a portfolio, while he was absorbed in looking over a package of letters which it contained.

He was very pale, and his son could perceive traces of deep emotion on his face, which seemed to have grown strangely old during the last two hours.

The young man drew back, after that one look, the color all gone from his own face, and his lips strangely compressed.

Without making the slightest noise, he stole from the veranda, picked up his shoes, and hurried from the place.

Outside the gate, he paused long enough to replace his shoes on his feet, when he again mounted his horse, and rode quietly away.

Half an hour later Colonel Mapleson emerged from the front door of the cottage, and, after looking cautiously around, as if he was afraid of being observed, he passed quickly down the steps, out of the gate, carefully closing it after him, and then strode rapidly toward a thick growth of trees and bushes, behind which he had fastened his horse.

Springing into his saddle, he spoke sharply to the animal, and rode away at a brisk trot in the opposite direction from that which Everet had taken a little while before.

But at the end of a mile or so, he turned abruptly into another cart path, and, after nearly an hour’s ride, came in sight of the Hermitage.

Dismounting, he led his horse behind the house into the dilapidated stable, where he would be sheltered and concealed from sight, if any one chanced to pass that way, and then he made his own way inside the Hermitage.

It was evident, from all his movements, that he had come there with some settled purpose, for he drew a hammer and chisel from one of his pockets, and then commenced a systematic examination of the room that had been Robert Dale’s sanctum.

But it proved to be a rather discouraging undertaking, for there was very little about the room to suggest a place of concealment for anything of a valuable character.

There was so little wood-work about the house that there was not much chance for secret panels or closets. The doors were of oak—solid oak, for he tested them thoroughly with his hammer. The book-cases offered not the slightest evidence of any hiding-place; the desk he examined several times, finding the compartment of which Everet had told him, but no other, although he critically examined every portion of it.

The floor was of brick, paved in herring-bone patterns, but there was no indication that a single brick had ever been removed for any purpose whatever, although he inspected the whole surface with the utmost care. At last, wearied out with his fruitless efforts, he sat down in the chair before the desk, to rest and to think.

“I am confident,” he muttered, “that the man must have made a will, and that there are other papers existing, representing a large amount of property. I believe he cunningly concealed them during his lifetime, thinking that when he came to die he would have warning enough to enable him to confide his secret to some trustworthy person.”

He looked up at the ceiling; he closely scrutinized the window casings and the fire-place. But there wasn’t a crack nor a crevice that promised a revelation of any kind.

Suddenly an idea struck him, and he hastily arose from his chair.

It was a stout office chair, cushioned with leather that was nailed to the frame. He turned it bottom side up. Nothing but solid wood met his gaze.

He set it upright again and passed his hand over the cushion. It was springless and to all appearance had never been disturbed since it was first nailed to the chair.

After thinking a moment, Colonel Mapleson took his jackknife from his pocket and deliberately cut the cover entirely off.

Only a scant layer of curled hair lay beneath, closely matted and filled with dust. He removed this, and instantly an exclamation of satisfaction escaped him, for there, in the bottom of the chair, he had discovered a square lid, so cunningly and smoothly fitted in its place that no one would ever have suspected it was there.

A tiny leather strap indicated how it was to be lifted from its place. He eagerly removed it, and, underneath, discovered a small japanned trunk about twelve inches square.

It was the work of but a moment to take it from its cunning place of concealment, where it had lain undisturbed for so many years, and set it upon the desk before him.

Then he sat down again, and gravely looked at it, while he actually trembled with excitement, and drops of perspiration stood all over his face.

It was strange that the unearthing of another man’s secrets should affect him thus, and it almost seemed as if he shrank with a sort of superstitious terror from examining the contents of that inoffensive-looking trunk.

At length he raised the hasp, and threw back the lid. The first thing that met his eye was a document labeled, “Will of Robert Dale,” with the date, showing that it had been made only a few years previous to the man’s death.

With a slight shiver of repugnance, Colonel Mapleson laid it unopened on the desk.

Underneath he found several bank-books and certificates, all in Robert Dale’s name. Then, to his astonishment, he found a lady’s kid glove that once had been white; a handkerchief, fine and sheer, edged with soft lace, and marked with the initials, “N. D.,” worked in with hair. A little package, containing a few faded flowers, lay at the bottom of the trunk, and the secret of Robert Dale’s hermit life, and of the disposal of his property, was a secret no longer.

An examination of the bank-books and certificates revealed the fact that many thousands of dollars would fall to Robert Dale’s heir or heirs, whoever they might be, and that point doubtless the will would settle.

Colonel Mapleson replaced the contents of the trunk just as he had found them, until he came to the will, which he held irresolutely in his hands for a long time, and apparently absorbed in thought.

“Somebody has to know first or last,” he at length muttered, with a long-drawn sigh, but, he shivered with a sort of nervous dread as he unfolded the document, which was not sealed, and began to read it.

It was very brief and comprehensive, bequeathing all that the testator possessed, unreservedly, to “Annie Dale and her heirs forever,” and naming as his executor a certain man residing in Richmond—Richard Douglas, to whom alone had been confided the secret of the concealment of the will and other papers.

“Ah!” said Colonel Mapleson, “this accounts for their never having been discovered before. Richard Douglas was very ill at the time of Robert Dale’s death, and was himself buried only a week later.”

There was a codicil to the will, mentioning some later deposits which had been made in the name of Annie Dale, “certificates of which would be found beneath a movable panel in one end of the writer’s desk, there being no room for them in the trunk with the others.”

Colonel Mapleson looked greatly disturbed when he finished reading the document.

“It would have been better for me had a mountain fallen upon me, than the duty which this discovery imposes,” he groaned, as he laid it back in its place and closed the trunk. “I must either do it, or commit a crime by withholding a fortune from the lawful heir.”

He fell into a profound reverie, which lasted until the sun went down and the light began to grow dim and the air chill within that lonely dwelling.

An impatient and prolonged whinny from his horse at length aroused him from his painful musings, when he arose, and, taking the trunk with him, he left the house, brought forth his horse from his long fast, and started on his homeward way.

It was quite dark when he reached Vue de l’Eau, and, by exercising a little caution, he managed to effect an entrance to his library unobserved, where he immediately concealed the trophy which he had that day discovered.

While Colonel Mapleson had been engaged with his laborious search at the Hermitage, his son was earnestly pursuing investigations elsewhere.

After stealing noiselessly away from the cottage, where he had discovered his father within it looking over that trunk, he only proceeded as far as the old mill, where he again dismounted, and leading his horse beneath a shed that was attached to it, and which was so thickly overgrown with vines that it made a very secure hiding-place, he fastened him to a post, after which he climbed the stairs to the main portion of the crazy structure, and remained there, watching until he saw Colonel Mapleson leave the cottage, and when he was well out of sight he stole back to the mysterious little house, resolved not to leave it again until he, too, had seen the contents of that hitherto unsuspected trunk, and learned the secret of its being there.

He effected an entrance the same way that he had done before—by shaking loose the bolt on the kitchen door—made his way to the bedroom, lifted the valance of the couch and looked eagerly beneath it.

The trunk was there.

It was the work of but a moment to pull it forth from its hiding-place, but it was not so easy to open it.

He pried patiently at the lock for a long time before he succeeded in forcing it; but it gave way at last, and, with a thrill of expectation, mingled with something of awe and dread, he laid back the lid to examine the contents.

It was packed full of clothing.

There were dainty dresses of different materials—silk, and wool, and muslin. There were mantels and jackets, with underclothing, finely embroidered and trimmed with lace, besides many other accessories of a refined lady’s toilet. There were pretty boxes filled with laces, ribbons, handkerchiefs, and gloves. There was a small jewel casket, in which there were a few but expensive articles of jewelry—a watch case, containing a small enameled and jeweled watch and chain, and many other articles in that closely-packed trunk.

But Everet cared for none of these things; he was hunting for, and at last he found, that portfolio over which his father had been so much absorbed, and he seized it with an air of triumph, for he believed it must contain the solution of the secret which of late had caused him many sleepless nights and anxious days.