and Disney's mother were in the library, on the second floor of the house, at the back, when the girl entered. Hearing her, Mr. Lockwood came to the head of the broad, curving stairway and called to her:
“Come up, my dear! You must hear this, too!”
“Hear what, grandfather?” she questioned, laying off hat and coat.
As she mounted the stairs, she sensed with quick perception that Miss Lavinia Grush was going up the flight to the third story. Disney knew this by a sound of furtive steps, and by a fugitive glimpse of a gnarled hand on the upper balustrade. The idea of eavesdropping hardly grew conscious in the girl's mind, but a vague wonder filled her.
“What,” she half thought, “is the meaning of all this?”
The library, spacious and well lighted, was cheerful with an open fire—for even on this warm spring day, without a fire, a certain chill might lurk in that high-posted room tiered up with bookcases. The place looked almost like a museum. There the old man had gathered spoils from a score of his voyages and explorations of earlier adventurous days.
On one wall hung Japanese swords and Polynesian clubs, an alpenstock, and long-barreled dueling pistols from Spain. Another showed tapa mats, a quaintly carven coconut, a silver-mounted Bedouin rifle. The center of the room was held by a time-scarred refectory table from the ancient monastery of Benghazi, in Cyrenaica. On top of a bookcase, close by a rear window, stood a wooden box containing the skull of Burrum Gao. Everywhere the eye met curios, strange weapons, Babylonian clay cylinders, parchments—a very of costly, rare, and unique treasures.
Disney found her mother looking happier than she had looked for many days. Mrs. Forrester was sitting in a Chinese wicker chair beside the refectory table, a little pale, but smiling. Old Lockwood came to the girl, passed an arm about her, and kissed her.
“What has my little girl of the bonny cheek and wind-swept eyes been up to this afternoon?” he queried, peering at her from under his bushy white brows. “Late again, eh?”
“Maybe a few minutes late,” she laughed, smoothing her glossy black hair. “I've been walking on the Esplanade.”
“Ah? Springtime! My faith—of course, of course! Why didn't you bring the young man in for tea?”
“He wouldn't come.” Her cheeks' color heightened. “He's rather odd, isn't he?”
“It is just as well, my dear,” judged Lockwood, putting on his glasses. “We are discussing a little matter of business. I'm glad you're here. I want you to know all about it, too.”
“About what, grandfather?”
The girl's exquisite features took an anxious look. Business, to her, had always meant trouble.
Lockwood gestured at the long table; and now she saw on it an open, japanned metal box, some papers neatly tied, and a few heavy manila filing envelopes.
“It's about—that,” the old man replied. “I've been confessing a few things to your mother, my dear child. As you know, confession is good for the soul.”
Mrs. Forrester's breath caught. Her hands clenched, but she spoke no word.
“I—I don't understand,” the girl said hesitantly. “What has happened?”
“Good for the soul,” repeated Lockwood. “I know this has been good for mine. I feel much better, now that your mother knows the truth. I'll feel better still, when you do!”
“Know what?” asked Disney, wondering at his enigmatic smile.
“My dear girl—my dearest girl!” He laid a heavily veined hand on her shoulder. “Would you feel terribly cast down and grieved—would you feel that I've led you into false hopes and inexcusably deceived you, if—if—”
“Why, whatever is it, grandfather?” Disney's black eyes widened with anxiety. “Has something bad happened to you?”
“Some people might call it so,” he answered very gently; “but it's the effect on your mother and yourself that I'm thinking of now.”
“Oh, you needn't think of us, grandfather! We're both so happy—I am, anyhow, and I know mother is, too!”
“Yes, but would you be so happy if you knew that I'm really not a very rich man?”
“As if that, or anything to do with money, could make any difference in the world, you dearest of grandfathers!” The girl laughed, drew his face down to hers, and kissed him. “As if money—”
“God love you for that!” His eyes grew moist. “But money's important, child; and I really haven't half the money I'm supposed to have—no, nor a quarter of it. Some unfortunate investments, and—”
“We don't want to hear a word about all that, grandfather!” interrupted Disney. “Do we, mother?”