When she returned from her visit to Hornby Hall she found her grandfather had been thinking of John Dallington also. “You will not be a penniless wife, Margaret,” he said; “and that reminds me that I have never shown you our treasure-trove, or, to put it as I ought, your treasure-trove, for really it all belongs to you. You will not be surprised to hear that our bank is in the house, for I have told you so already. That was one of the promises which I had to make to Captain Dallington—namely, that I would keep in the house a certain iron box which he gave into my charge. I often wonder why he did this; he was a sensible man in many respects, but he had some of the most peculiar and eccentric ideas. And the money which I was to use for your wants, and in order to keep a comfortable home for you, is in the house. Would you like to look at it?” “I should very much, indeed, Graf. Is it a heap of shining sovereigns, such as you read of in books?” “Come with me, and you shall see. I wish we could give some of it to Mr. Dallington; but he would not take it, of course, unless he had to take you with it; and even then, though there is enough for you and your children, there is not enough to buy back a farm or an estate, and I am afraid there is nothing we can do.” As he was speaking, Mr. Harris led the way to his own room, and with a key which he took from his pocket he opened a drawer, from which he took another key. Then he removed a table and inserted this second key—a very small one—into a hole in the wall. A door flew open, and all that Margaret saw was another key, and a plaster wall in front. Mr. Harris touched a spring, and the wall slid back, and then a box was discovered. The opening of this box was watched with considerable interest by Margaret, for she, who wanted nothing for herself, wanted much for the man whom she loved. It was a deep iron box, and when it had in its turn been unlocked she saw the gold she had dreamed of—a great pile of it, and of notes, at the sight of which she burst into a low laugh. “Here is enough for John’s needs,” she said. “Oh, Graf, dear, we must contrive for him to have some of it, because, you know, it belongs by right to him; for if Captain Dallington had not made that will, John, who is heir, must have had it all.” Margaret took some of the shining pieces almost caressingly, for she thought of the beneficent power there might be in them, and was resolved that she would get Mr. Harris to set his mind to the problem which often troubled her—how to help John without offending him. “How much of this do we use every year, Graf?” she asked.