Hartfield watched him intently, with thoughtful brow.  There was a mystery here, a mystery of the deepest dye; and it was for him—­it must needs be his task, welcome or unwelcome, to unravel it.

This was the Maulevrier skeleton.

‘Now, come with me,’ said the old man, clutching Mary’s wrist, and drawing her towards the half-open door leading into the bedroom.

She had a feeling of shrinking, for there was something uncanny about the old man, something that might be life or death, might belong to this world or the next; but she had no fear.  In the first place, she was courageous by nature, and in the second her husband was with her, a tower of strength, and she could know no fear while he was at her side.

The strange old man led the way across his bedroom to an inner chamber, oak pannelled, with very little furniture, but holding much treasure in the shape of trunks, portmanteaux—­all very old and dusty—­and two large wooden cases, banded with iron.

Before one of these cases the man knelt down, and applied a key to the padlock which fastened it.  He gave the candle to Lord Hartfield to hold, and then opened the box.  It seemed to be full of books, which he began to remove, heaping them on the floor beside him; and it was not till he had cleared away a layer of dingy volumes that he came to a large metal strong box, so heavy that he could not lift it out of the chest.

Slowly, tremulously, and with quickened breathing, he unlocked the box where it was, and raised the lid.

‘Look,’ he said eagerly, ’this is her legacy—­this is my little girl’s legacy.’

Lord Hartfield bent down and looked at the old man’s treasure, by the wavering light of the candle; Mary looking over his shoulder, breathless with wonder.

The strong box was divided into compartments.  One, and the largest, was filled with rouleaux of coin, packed as closely as possible.  The others contained jewels, set and unset—­diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires—­which flashed back the flickering flame of the candle with glintings of rainbow light.

‘These are all for her—­all—­all,’ exclaimed the old man.  ’They are worth a prince’s ransom.  Those rouleaux are all gold; those gems are priceless.  They were the dowry of a princess.  But they are hers now—­yes, my dear, they are yours—­because you spoke sweetly, and smiled prettily, and were very good to a lonely old man—­and because you have my mother’s face, dear, a smile that recalls the days of my youth.  Lift out the box and take it away with you, if you are strong enough,—­you, you,’ he said, touching Lord Hartfield.  ’Hide it somewhere—­keep it from her.  Let no one know—­no one except your wife and you must be in the secret.’

’My dear sir, it is out of the question—­impossible that my wife or I should accept one of those coins—­or the smallest of those jewels.’

‘Why not, in the devil’s name?’