He had always been in the habit of locking the door, and he knew, therefore, that the key had been removed since he left the villa. Taking the parchment from his breast he seated himself near the window, beneath the shade of the Venetian shutters, and commenced his examination of the all-important document. It was the last will and testament of Tomaso Crivelli, in which the Spaniard bequeathed his entire fortune to his only and beloved son, Paul Crivelli. Attached to the will was a letter addressed to Paul, in which Don Tomaso revealed to him that he was the son of a favorite quadroon slave, whom the Spaniard had married after giving her her freedom. The marriage had been kept a secret on account of the false pride of Don Tomaso, which would not permit him to acknowledge as his wife one who was known to have been a slave. After reading these two documents the young man fell upon his knees in an attitude of thanksgiving. "Providence, I thank thee!" he exclaimed. "I am no longer a nameless outcast--a dependent on the charity of strangers. He whom I so dearly loved was indeed my father, and humble though my mother may have been, her son has no cause to blush for her." His next care was to place the precious documents in safety. He would not trust them about his own person lest his uncle should have found some plot to get them from him; he therefore secured them in a small leathern portmanteau, the lock of which would have defied the cleverest thief in America. The key he attached to a thin gold chain, which he wore under his waistcoat, and which held the locket containing Camillia's portrait; the locket which had been observed by Augustus Horton. Having done this Paul looked at his watch. The whole business had occupied half an hour; he had therefore an hour and a half to wait before his interview with Don Juan Moraquitos. Pauline Corsi had forbidden him to leave his apartments until summoned to that interview. He took up a book, but was unable to concentrate his attention upon the pages. A low couch stood near the open window, and Paul threw himself upon the cushion, and abandoned himself to reflection. He did not mean to sleep, but the morning was hot and sultry; and exhausted by excitement and by long nights of fatigue, his eyes closed and he fell into a slumber. While he lay in that strange state of semi-consciousness, which is neither sleeping nor waking, he fancied that he saw a dark figure glide softly in at the door of the chamber and conceal itself behind the ample folds of the window curtains. This figure entered the room with so noiseless a tread and disappeared so quickly that Paul, whose eyes had been closed all the time, thought the apparition formed part of his dream. He fell into a deep slumber, from which he was suddenly aroused by the shutting of the door of his apartment.