“My dear Friend:—­It seems to me that I am to die, and from a strange cause—­for I believe I have guessed the cause.  The nature of my guess and all the circumstances I have written out at length, and the document is in the sealed packet which accompanies this.  My reason for making such a record is a peculiar one.  I should desire that no eye might ever read that document.  But I have an idea that some time or other the record may be of use to you—­possibly soon.  You, Carl, may be the heir of more than my goods.  If matters should so fall out, then break the seal, and read what I have written.  If not, I beg of you, after five years have elapsed, to destroy the packet unread.  I do not care to be more precise.

         &nb
sp;                                         Always yours,
          
                                             “Alresca.”

“That is all?” asked Rosa, when I had finished reading it.

I passed her the letter to read for herself.  Her hand shook as she returned it to me.

And we both blushed.  We were both confused, and each avoided the glance of the other.  The silence between us was difficult to bear.  I broke it.

“The question is, What am I to do?  Alresca is dead.  Shall I respect his wish, or shall I open the packet now?  If he could have foreseen your anxiety, he probably would not have made these conditions.  Besides, who can say that the circumstances he hints at have not already arisen?  Who can say”—­I uttered the words with an emphasis the daring of which astounded even myself—­“that I am not already the heir of more than Alresca’s goods?”

I imagined, after achieving this piece of audacity, that I was perfectly calm, but within me there must have raged such a tumult of love and dark foreboding that in reality I could scarcely have known what I was about.

Rosa’s eyes fixed themselves upon me, but I sustained that gaze.  She stretched forth a hand as if to take the packet.

“You shall decide,” I said.  “Am I to open it, or am I not to open it?”

“Open it,” she whispered.  “He will forgive us.”

I began to break the seal.

“No, no!” she screamed, standing up again with clenched hands.  “I was wrong.  Leave it, for God’s sake!  I could not bear to know the truth.”

I, too, sprang up, electrified by that terrible outburst.  Grasping tight the envelope, I walked to and fro in the room, stamping on the carpet, and wondering all the time (in one part of my brain) why I should be making such a noise with my feet.  At length I faced her.  She had not moved.  She stood like a statue, her black tea-gown falling about her, and her two hands under her white drawn face.

“It shall be as you wish,” I said.  “I won’t open it.”

And I put the envelope back into my pocket.

We both sat down.

“Let us have some tea, eh?” said Rosa.  She had resumed her self-control more quickly than I could.  I was unable to answer her matter-of-fact remark.  She rang the bell, and the maid entered with tea.  The girl’s features struck me; they showed both wit and cunning.