‘If that weapon was mine, I should never rest until I had found out everything concerning it.’
‘That is easily said, Clara; but how can I? My uncle knew nothing about it. My grandmother did, no doubt, but almost all I can remember her saying was something about my great-grandfather and Sir Marmaduke.’
As I spoke, I tried to draw it entirely, but it would yield no further. I then sought to replace it, but it would not move. That it yielded to Clara’s touch gave it a fresh interest and value.
‘I was sure it had a history,’ said Clara. ‘Have you no family papers? Your house you say is nearly as old as this: are there no papers of _any_ kind in it?’
‘Yes, a few,’ I answered--‘the lease of the farm--and--’
‘Oh! rubbish!’ she said. ‘Isn’t the house your own?’
‘And have you ever thoroughly searched it?’
‘Not had time!’ she repeated, in a tone of something so like the uttermost contempt that I was bewildered.
‘I mean some day or other to have a rummage in the old lumber-room,’ I said.
‘Well, I do think that is the least you can do--if only out of respect to your ancestors. Depend on it, they don’t like to be forgotten any more than other people.’
The intention I had just announced was, however, but just born of her words. I had never yet searched even my grandmother’s bureau, and had but this very moment fancied there might be papers in some old chest in the lumber-room. That room had already begun to occupy my thoughts from another point of view, and hence, in part, no doubt the suggestion. I was anxious to have a visit from Charley. He might bring with him some of our London friends. There was absolutely no common room in the house except the hall-kitchen. The room we had always called the lumber-room was over it, and nearly as large. It had a tall stone chimney-piece, elaborately carved, and clearly had once been a room for entertainment. The idea of restoring it to its original dignity arose in my mind; and I hoped that, furnished after as antique a fashion as I could compass, it would prove a fine room. The windows were small, to be sure, and the pitch rather low, but the whitewashed walls were pannelled, and I had some hopes of the ceiling.
‘Who knows,’ I said to myself, as I walked home that evening, ‘but I may come upon papers? I do remember something in the furthest corner that looks like a great chest.’