He would never unbend to him again--never again give his hand as a friend. It would not answer. And this was the next meeting. The old man had arisen when his grandchild spoke, and as he turned and rested his gaze upon the handsome face, and ran his eyes over the fine, manly form, and met the warm, generous smile, and heard the rich, frank, truthful voice, his poor resolutions vanished into forgetfulness, and the old love and admiration, together with the old trust and confidence, came back to him. He put forth his hand without knowing it--put it forth as it had been his wont to do, and smiled benignantly, almost paternally, as he said in a frank, genial tone and manner so natural to him: “Percy, I am glad to see you. Sit right down here, and let’s have your wonderful story. If you can hold your own with Cordelia I shall give you full credit.” “I will not presume, my lord,” said the young man, “to tell over again anything that your granddaughter may have told you; for I know she must have done full justice to her subject. I suppose,” turning to the lady, “you have told all about what we saw in the old chapel?” “Yes. I’ve told everything I could think of; but you might remember things that I have forgotten.” “No fear of that, dear lady. But listen: I have been to the chapel to-day.” “What! And never told me?” “Hush, darling!” interposed the old nobleman, as the girl broke in. “Let the young man speak. I can see by his look that he has something of importance to tell us.” “I have indeed, my lord.” And thereupon, clearly and concisely, and with real dramatic elegance and force, he went on and told the story of his wonderful discovery of a few hours before. He told how he had reached the chapel, and how he had pondered and studied, and how he had finally discovered the secret of moving the ponderous block of stone forming the altar. And then he told of the crypt beneath, of what he had found in it, and how he had determined that the secret vault was connected with one or more of the caves on the long slope of the Witch’s Crag, towards the bay. Cordelia had contained herself with difficulty during the recital, and at its conclusion she was eager to burst forth in her impulsive way. She was greatly disappointed that he should have gone without her; but a look which he bent upon her after he had closed, together with several glances which he had given her while he had been speaking, told her why he had not come to her. She understood and was content. Be sure, however, she was determined that the next visit would not be made without her. The earl had listened patiently, but eagerly, to the end. Not a word escaped him, nor an intonation. “My dear boy,” he exclaimed, warmly and gratefully, “you do not know what a favor you have done me. The whole thing is now plain to me and my duty clear. Of course, I may depend upon your assistance.” “You may, my lord, depend upon me for everything within my power to do.”