pains will be well rewarded, if thou findest the key which is concealed below the box.”
Frank grew dumb with astonishment as he listened to the old man, and would not have been able to conceal his agitation, had not the darkness of the evening prevented his companion from seeing his face; he discovered, from the description and the peculiarities mentioned, that the soldier’s dream related to a garden which had once been his own, and which he disliked, because it had been his father’s hobby.
Old Melchior had laid out the garden quite in his own taste, very stiff and very formal, but he had hidden in it a great part of his treasure, for what reason must for ever remain unknown, and Frank had sold this tempee soon after his father’s death for a mere trifle.
The old cripple became instantly interesting to Frank, who now comprehended that he was the very friend to whom the spectre had directed him. He would fain have embraced him, and, in his first delight, have called him father and friend, but prudence suggested
