'No; nor, I believe, a Hindu; but he was not a Christian. I am afraid he had no settled religion unless at the last; there is just the hope. The truth was put before him faithfully, though in weakness,' said Mr. Cherry, his voice faltering. 'What I mean by his being an Asiatic is that his sympathies were rather with the East than with the West. He was one of the greatest Sanskrit and Persian scholars of our generation. I am told he knew the Vedas and the Zend Avesta, not to speak of all the great Hindu poems and the mass of Buddhistic literature, as we know our Bibles. It was marvellous that one mind could have carried so much learning. Yes, and he was a delightful man to meet--courteous, gracious. He had the most wonderful way of setting his friends at their ease and overcoming their prejudices. I think sometimes now that, but for this charm of manner, I might have been more faithful with him. But'--very sadly--'the opportunity has gone.' As he spoke he rose from his seat. He saw by the strained look in Tom's face that he was listening to him with an effort. 'Excuse me,' he said, 'I am an old man, and, I suppose, garrulous. You are anxious to be alone with your papers.' 'I shall open them at home,' said Tom quietly. 'I am much obliged to you, Mr. Cherry. I will come again when I have read them, and perhaps you will tell me more about my cousin then. I assure you'--smiling--'I cannot hear too much.' 'The boy has _their_ manner--their look too,' said the old lawyer to himself when he was left alone. 'I wonder where he got it? Harking back, I suppose. A very strange thing this heredity is--a very strange thing indeed!' * * * * * It was afternoon when Tom returned to the cottage. Finding, no little to his relief, that his mother was out, he hurried up to his room, shut and locked the door, and drew out his mysterious packet. As he sat with it before him his heart beat more quickly than usual, for he felt like one called upon to converse with spirits and to enter into the secret counsels of the dead. Then, his excitement increasing as he proceeded, he began to break one by one the seals with which it was closed. At the last seal he paused, and cast a rapid glance round the room, whispering half aloud: 'Is anyone there?' There was no answer, and his glance, which had been merely mechanical, for he _knew_ no one had come into the room with him, strayed to the window. 'I am dreaming as I did last night,' he said to himself bitterly. 'If this sort of thing goes on I shall be a perfect visionary soon, fit for nothing but a lunatic asylum. Ah!' he interrupted himself, 'what is that?' At the word he leapt up, crossed the room in one bound, threw the Venetian shutters open, and looked out. There was no one--absolutely no one--not a human being within sight or sound. The Sleeping Beauty's palace could scarcely have been more still than this green garden world, as it lay basking in the light of the golden afternoon.