The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1897-05-15


writing" Cecil Milford had been for
tunate enough to unearth among the
undigested masses of the Record Of
flee. But one letter, the last and
most important of the whole series,
containing as he believed the actual
statement of the hiding place, had
long evaded all his research; and that
was the letter which, now at last, af-
ter months and months of patient
inquiry, lay unfolded before his daz-
zled eyes on the little desk in his &C
customed corner. 1t had somehow
been folded up by mistake in the pa
pers relating to the charge against
Cyriack Skinner, of completely in the
Rye House Plot. How it got there
nobody knows, and probably nobody
but Cecil Milford himself could ever
have succeeded in solving the mys
terry.
AS he gazed, trembling at the prec-
ious piece of dusty, much-creased pa
per, scrubbed over in the unlettered
schoolboy hand of the wild old sea-
dog, Cecil Milford could hardly re-
strain himself for a moment from
uttering cry. Untold wealth swan
before his eyes; he could marry Ethel
now and let her drive in her own car
rage! All, what he would give if he
might only shout in his triumph. He
couldn't even read the words, he was
so excited. But after a minute or two,
he recovered his composure sufficient
ly to begin deciphering the grabbed
writing, which constant practice and
familiarity with the system enabled
him to do Immediately, without even
referring to the key. And this was
what, with few minutes inspection.
Cecil Milford slowly spelled out of
the dirty manuscript
"From Jamaica This 23rd day of Jany.
IN the Y care OF our LORD 1868.
"My deare Bro.,-I did not think
to have written you agaiue,
after the scurvie Trick you have
played me in disclosing my Affairs to
that meddlesome Knight that calls
himself the Kings Secretary: but in
truth your last Letter hath SO moved
me by your Vileness that I must
needs reply thereto with all Expedi-
cion. These are to assure you, then,
that let you pray how you may, or
gloze over your base treatment with
fine cozening words and fair Prom
ises, you shall have neither lot nor
scot in my Threasure which is indeed
as you surmise hidden away in Eng
land, but tie Secret whereof l shall
impart neither to you nor to no man.
| have give commands therefore that
the Paper whereunto l have COM
mitted the place of it's hiding shall
be buried with my own Body (when
God please) in the grave-yarde at
Port Royal in this Island: so that you
shall never be bettered one Penny by
your most Damnable Treachery and
Double facedness. For l know you,
my deare Bro, in every truth, for a
prating Coxcomb, scurvie cowardlie
Knave, and a lying Thief of other
Mems Regulations. Therefore, no
more herewith from your very hum
BILE Servt. and Loving Bro,
"JoHN Cam, Captn J
Cecil Milford laid the paper down
as he finished reading it with face
even whittier and paler than before,
and with the muscles of his mouth
trembling violently with suppressed
emotion. At the exact second when
he felt sure he had discovered the
momentous secret, it had slipped
mysteriously through his very fin
gers. and seemed now to float away
into the remote distance, almost as
far from his eager grasp as ever.
Even there, in the musty Record
Office, before all the clerks and
scholars who were sitting about work.
ing carelessly at their desks at mere
dilettante historical problems-the
stupid prigs, how he hated them!-he
could hardly restrain the expression
of his pent-up feelings at that bitter
disappointment in the very hour of
his fancied triumph. Jamaica! How
absolutely distant and unapproach-
able it sounded How hopeless the
attempt to follow up the clew How
utterly his day-dream had been
dashed to the ground in those three
minutes of silent deciphering! He
felt as if the solid earth was reeling
beneath him, and he would have
given the whole world if he could
have put his face between his two
hands on the desk and cried like a
woman before the whole Record Of
fee.
For half an hour by the clock he
atthere dazed and motionless, gazing
in a blank disappointed fashion at
the sheet of coffee colored paper in
front of him. 1t was late and work.
ers were dropping away one after an
other from the scantily peopled
desks. But Cecil Milford took no no.
tice of them: he merely sat with his
arms folded, and gazed abstractedly