There was something altogether mysterious about him--his connection with Mr. Ravenor and his manner towards myself. I was puzzled and more than half inclined to decide against the man whom personally I had grown to detest. But, on the other hand, I was young and still an optimist with regard to my fellow-men. What harm had I done Mr. Marx, and why should he seek to injure me? It seemed improbable, almost ridiculous. So in the end a certain sense of fairness induced me to respect his postscript, and I said nothing to Mr. Ravenor about his secretary's warning. My interview with him was a very short one indeed. He led the way into the study in which I had first seen him and, closing the door, turned round and faced me upon the hearthrug. The room was dimly lit, but where he stood the fast-dying fire cast a faint glow around his tall, straight figure, and showed me a face cold and resolute as marble, but not unkind. "Philip Morton," he said slowly, "it has occurred to me that in wishing you to go to Lincolnshire, I may have been influenced to a certain extent by selfish considerations. If you have the slightest preference for a public school----" I knew instinctively whence that idea had come and I interrupted him. "Nothing should induce me to go anywhere else but to Dr. Randall's!" I exclaimed firmly. "In that case," he continued, "I wish you to leave tomorrow. You will be ready?" I assented at once. "I, too, am leaving here--it may be for a very long while," he went on. "In two months' time I hope to start for Persia, and between now and then my movements will be uncertain. I cannot settle down here. It is useless." A great weariness shone out of his dark blue eyes and he stifled a sigh. Some thought or memory coloured with regret had flashed across his mind; but what it was I could not tell. "You remember your mother's letter to you and her dying request?" he continued, in a changed tone. "I cannot explain it now, although I must remind you of it. This packet"--and he passed me a large, sealed envelope--"contains a chequebook, the address of the lawyer who will manage your affairs, and a letter which you will not open unless you have certain news and proof of my death. You will find that you are, comparatively speaking, rich. How this comes about I cannot tell you now, and you must remember your mother's dying injunction not to seek to find out until the time comes, when you will know everything. At present, I can only assure you that the money is yours by right, that it is not a gift, and that no one else has any claim to it. That is all I can say upon the subject. Are you satisfied?" Curiosity seemed a mean thing to me as I listened to my guardian's words and looked into his sad, stern face. All the old fascination which I had felt from the first in his presence was strong upon me that night. Whatever he had bidden me to do I should have done it. And so I answered: