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I may if I choose say to thee, thou shalt, or thou shalt not.
Hey, hey, there, Christopher!" He knocked loudly upon the panelling
of the door. A lackey entered trepidated. "Go and bring in haste from
Wasson the letter written by Sir John Penwick. Haste thee, mind!" He
turned to the table as if the shadow of her being still rested there
and spoke the continuation of his thought. "'Tis a bit of paper,
Mistress Katherine, that has become of more worth than a king's
ransom. The last will and testament of Sir John Penwick bequeathing to
my father a priceless property,--Thou wert slow, Christopher, but I
forgive thee." He tore the letter from the lackey's hands and sat upon
the chair drawing the candle to his convenience and read aloud:
"'Cedric: When we parted twenty odd years ago 'twas in anger. I hope
thou hast forgotten it as I have.' My poor father had forgotten and
yearned to tell him so. 'I'm upon my death-bed and my consolation is
the remembrance of our mutual faith plighted to each other a short
time before our quarrel.


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