'Not yet. I've only seen the solicitors, who tell me there will be no complications.'
There was something in her tone that made me ask more. 'Then you're not curious to see what's there?'
She looked at me with a troubled—almost a pleading—sense, which I understood; and presently she said: 'Will you go with me?'
'Some day, with pleasure—but not the first time. You must go alone then. The "relics" that you'll find there,' I added—for I had read her look—'you must think of now not as hers———'
'But as his?'
'Isn't that what his death—with his so close relation to them—has made them for you?'
Her face lighted—I saw it was a view she could thank me for putting into words. 'I see—I see. They are his. I'll go.'
She went, and three days ago she came to me. They're really marvels, it appears, treasures extraordinary, and she has them all. Next week I go with her—I shall see them at last. Tell you about them, you say? My dear man, everything.
