“In the family vault beside those of my own parents,” gravely replied the young man.

“Your own—­parents, my lord?  I knew that your dear mother had gone before, but—­your father—­”

“My father has passed to his eternal home.  It is well with him as with yours.  They are happy.  And we—­have a common sorrow, love!”

“I did not know—­I did not know.  No one told me,” murmured Salome, as she dropped her face on her open hands, and cried like a child.

“Every one wished to spare you, my sweet girl, as long as possible.  Yet I did think, they had told you of my father’s departure, else I had not alluded to it so suddenly.  There! weep no more, love!  Viewed in the true light, those who have passed higher are rather to be envied than mourned.”

Then to change the current of her thoughts he said: 

“Can you give your mind now to a little business, Salome?”

“Yes, if it concerns you,” she sighed, wiping her eyes, and looking up.

“It concerns me only inasmuch as it affects your interests, my love.  You are of age, my Salome?”

“Yes, I was twenty-one on my last birthday.”

“Then you enter at once upon your great inheritance—­an onerous and responsible position.”

“But you will sustain it for me.  I shall not feel its weight,” she murmured.

“There are thousands in this realm, my love, good men and true, who would gladly relieve me of the dear trust,” said the duke, with a smile.  “We must, however, be guided by your father’s will, which I am happy to know is in entire harmony with your own wishes.  And that brings me to what I wished to say.  Kage, your late father’s solicitor, is in possession of his last will.  He could not follow the custom, and read it immediately after the funeral, because your illness precluded the possibility of your presence at its perusal.  But he only waits for your recovery and a summons from me to bring it.  Whenever, therefore, you feel equal to the exertion of hearing it, I will send a telegram to Kage to come down,” concluded the duke.

“My father’s last will!” softly murmured Salome.  “Send the telegram to-day, please.  To hear his last will read will be almost like hearing from him.”

“There is beside the will a letter from your father, addressed to you, and left in the charge of Kage, to be delivered with the reading of the will, in the case of his, the writer’s, sudden death,” gravely added the duke.

“A letter from my dear father to me?  A letter from the grave!  No, rather a letter from Heaven!  Telegraph Mr. Kage to bring down the papers at once, dear John,” said Salome, eagerly, as a warm flush arose on her pale, transparent cheek.

“I will do so at once, love; for to my mind, that letter is of equal importance with the will—­though no lawyer would think so,” said the duke.

“You know its purport then?”

“No, dearest, not certainly, but I surmise it, from some conversations that I held with the late Sir Lemuel Levison.”