Those relics of a bygone age may amuse you, and, as regards
myself, there are no circumstances whatever associated with them that
give them any extrinsic value; so laugh at them or admire them, as you
please, I shall most likely be able to join with you in either feeling." "Well, be it so--I will come and look at them; but you must think better
of what you say concerning my uncle, for I happen to know--which you
ought likewise by this time--how seriously the old man would feel any
rejection on your part of the good he fancies he is doing you. I tell
you, Henry, it is completely his hobby, and let him have earned his
money with ten times the danger he has, he could not spend it with
anything like the satisfaction that he does, unless he were allowed to
dispose of it in this way." "Well, well; be it so for a time." "The fact is, his attachment to Flora is so great--which is a most
fortunate circumstance for me--that I should not be at all surprised
that she cuts me out of one half my estate, when the old man dies. But
come, we will look at your ancient bijouterie." Henry led Charles into an apartment of the cottage where some of the few
things had been placed that were brought from Bannerworth Hall, which
were not likely to be in constant and daily use. Among these things happened to be the box which Henry had mentioned, and
from which he had taken a miscellaneous assortment of things of an
antique and singular character. There were old dresses of a season and of a taste long gone by; ancient
articles of defence; some curiously wrought daggers; and a few
ornaments, pretty, but valueless, along with others of more sterling
pretensions, which Henry pointed out to Charles. "I am almost inclined to think," said the latter, "that some of these
things are really of considerable value; but I do not I profess to be an
accurate judge, and, perhaps, I am more taken with the beauty of an
article, than the intrinsic worth. What is that which you have just
taken from the box?" "It seems a half-mask," said Henry, "made of silk; and here are initial
letters within it--M. B." "To what do they apply?" "Marmaduke Bannerworth, my father." "I regret I asked you." "Nay, Charles, you need not. Years have now elapsed since that misguided
man put a period to his own existence, in the gardens of Bannerworth
Hall. Of course, the shock was a great one to us all, although I must
confess that we none of us knew much of a father's affections. But time
reconciles one to these dispensations, and to a friend, like yourself, I
can talk upon these subjects without a pang." He laid down the mask, and proceeded further in his search in the old
box. Towards the bottom of it there were some books, and, crushed in by the
side of them, there was an ancient-looking pocket-book, which Charles
pointed out, saying,--

"There, Henry, who knows but you may find a fortune when you least
expect it?" "Those who expect nothing," said Henry, "will not be disappointed. At
all events, as regards this pocket-book, you see it is empty." "Not quite. A card has fallen from it." Charles took up the card, and read upon it the name of Count Barrare. "That name," he said, "seems familiar to me. Ah! now I recollect, I have
read of such a man. He flourished some twenty, or five-and-twenty years
ago, and was considered a _roue_ of the first water--a finished
gamester; and, in a sort of brief memoir I read once of him, it said
that he disappeared suddenly one day, and was never again heard of." "Indeed! I'm not puzzled to think how his card came into my father's
pocket-book. They met at some gaming-house; and, if some old pocket-book
of the Count Barrare's were shaken, there might fall from it a card,
with the name of Mr. Marmaduke Bannerworth upon it." "Is there nothing further in the pocket-book--no memoranda?" "I will look. Stay! here is something upon one of the leaves--let me
see--'Mem., twenty-five thousand pounds! He who robs the robber, steals
little; it was not meant to kill him: but it will be unsafe to use the
money for a time--my brain seems on fire--the remotest hiding-place in
the house is behind the picture." "What do you think of that?" said Charles. "I know not what to think. There is one thing though, that I do know." "And what is that?" "It is my father's handwriting. I have many scraps of his, and his
peculiar hand is familiar to me." "It's very strange, then, what it can refer to." "Charles--Charles! there is a mystery connected with our fortunes, that
I never could unravel; and once or twice it seemed as if we were upon
the point of discovering all; but something has ever interfered to
prevent us, and we have been thrown back into the realms of conjecture. My father's last words were, 'The money is hidden;' and then he tried to
add something; but death stopped his utterance. Now, does it not almost
seem that this memorandum alluded to the circumstance?" "It does, indeed." "And then, scarcely had my father breathed his last, when a man comes
and asks for him at the garden-gate, and, upon hearing that he is dead,
utters some imprecations, and walks away." "Well, Henry, you must trust to time and circumstances to unravel these
mysteries. For myself, I own that I cannot do so; I see no earthly way
out of the difficulty whatever. But still it does appear to me as if Dr.
Chillingworth knew something or had heard something, with which he
really ought to make you acquainted." "Do not blame the worthy doctor; he may have made an error of judgment,
but never one of feeling; and you may depend, if he is keeping anything
from me, that he is doing so from some excellent motive: most probably
because he thinks it will give me pain, and so will not let me endure
any unhappiness from it, unless he is quite certain as regards the
facts. When he is so, you may depend he will be communicative, and I
shall know all that he has to relate. But, Charles, it is evident to me
that you, too, are keeping something." "I!" "Yes; you acknowledge to having had an interview, and a friendly one,
with Varney; and you likewise acknowledge that he had told you things
which he has compelled you to keep secret." "I have promised to keep them secret, and I deeply regret the promise
that I have made. There cannot be anything to my mind more essentially
disagreeable than to have one's tongue tied in one's interview with
friends. I hate to hear anything that I may not repeat to those whom I
take into my own confidence." "I can understand the feeling; but here comes the worthy doctor." "Show him the memorandum." "I will." As Dr. Chillingworth entered the apartments Henry handed him the
memorandum that had been found in the old pocket-book, saying as he did
so,--

"Look at that, doctor, and give us your candid opinion upon it." Dr. Chillingworth fitted on his spectacles, and read the paper
carefully.