style="font-size:15px;"> "There was not a cleverer or more brilliant woman in India than my mother. When she died she gave me these things, and I was not to part with them. And, much as I should like to disobey, I cannot break that promise."
It seemed to Geoffrey that Marion spoke more regretfully than feelingly. He had never heard her say so much regarding her mother before. Affectionate and tender as Marion was, there was not the least trace of these characteristics in her tone now.
"Did you really love your mother?" Geoffrey asked suddenly.
"I always obeyed her," Marion stammered. "And I'd rather not discuss the subject, Geoff. Oh, they were bad people, my mother's ancestors. They possessed occult knowledge far beyond anything known or dreamt of by the wisest Western savants. They could remove people mysteriously, they could strike at a long distance, they could wield unseen terrors. Such is the terror that hangs over Ravenspur, for instance."
Marion smiled sadly. Her manner changed suddenly and she was her old self again.
"Enough of horrors," she said. "I came here to help you. Come along."
The boxes were carried below until only the brass-bound one remained. Geoffrey stooped to lift it. The wood was light and thin, the brass-work was the merest tracing.
A sudden guilty feeling came over Geoffrey as he raised it shoulder-high. He felt half inclined to defy his uncle Ralph and take the consequences. It seemed a mean advantage, a paltry gratifying of what, after all, might be mere curiosity.
But the vivid recollection of those strained, sightless eyes rose before him. Ralph Ravenspur was not the man to possess the petty vice of irrepressible curiosity. Had it not been a woman he had to deal with, and Marion at that, Geoffrey would not have hesitated for a moment. Down below in the hall he heard the hollow rasp of Ralph's voice.
Geoffrey made up his mind grimly. He seemed to stumble forward, and the box fell from his shoulder, crashing down on the stone floor. The force of the shock simply shivered it in pieces, a great nest of grass and feathers dropped out, and from the inside a large mass of strange objects appeared.
"I am very sorry," Geoffrey stammered after the box had fallen.
"Never mind," she said, "accidents will happen."
But Geoffrey was rapt in the contemplation of what he saw before him – some score or more of ivory discs, each of which contained some painting; many of them appeared to be portraits.
Geoffrey picked up one of them and examined it curiously. He was regarding an ivory circle with a dark face upon it, the face of a beautiful fury.
"Why, this is you," Geoffrey cried. "If you could only give way to a furious passion, it is you to the life."
"I had forgotten that," Marion gasped. "Of course, it is not me. See how old and stained the ivory is; hundreds of years old, it must be. Don't ask any more questions, but go and throw that thing in the sea. Never speak of the subject again."
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