articles of value. It
responded easily to the key, and opened without difficulty.

The reasons for d'Ortez's fear and retirement lay bare before me, if I
would but search them out. Within the box, bound together by deerskin
thongs, were many writings, some on parchment, some paper, of different
dates and degrees of preservation. Some were well worn from age and
handling, others more recent, were in better condition. Some there
were which appeared quite new and fresh; these must have been the
latest to find a resting place in his keeping.

All were arranged in due and systematic order; of whatever age, each
bore a careful superscription, giving in brief the contents of the
paper written by his own exact hand. Beside this, each document was
numbered and placed in sequence. Verily, it was most methodically
done, so any child could read and understand.

It was with much misgiving I approached the task of making myself
familiar with my old friend's secret. Had he committed some youthful
crime which weighed heavily upon his trembling age, and had driven him
to these savage shores, where, shut out from all companionship with his
kind, he did a lonely penance? If so, I preferred to remain in
ignorance, for his was a friendship so dear, so pure, I desired not to
taint it with the odor of guilt.

He had, however, made his request in such urgent terms, even pathetic,
I could not disregard it, and putting aside the reluctance I felt, I
took up the paper which lay on top, directed to myself, and began its
perusal. It was as follows:

My dear Placide:

The great feebleness of my worn-out frame warns me again that time for
me is almost past. It may be, when you recross the seas, I shall have
gone to final judgment. * * * remember my request, and carry on to the
end that work which generations of cowards have left undone. * * * All
is here contained in these papers, except some recent news I have of
the Pasquiers from the northern colonies.

Possibly if you went to Quebec and sought out the Cure of St. Martin's
(who wrote this last letter, No. 32) you may right it all, and give to
my soul its eternal peace. * * * With the strong affection which my
bodily infirmities have in no wise diminished, I am,

Your old friend.
RAOUL ARMAND XAVIER D'ORTEZ.
of Cartillon, Normandy.

Having carefully read this letter, I then proceeded to peruse the
various documents in the order he had arranged them.

The first,