Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. He then barred and double-locked the door, took out the key, (a precautionary measure which, with a grim smile, he said he never omitted,) thrust it into his vest, and motioning the couple to follow him, led the way to the inner room. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. But in a moment she believed she understood. "I give it to King James—not so you: for the furtherance of a great and holy cause, not for the prosecution of wild and unprofitable schemes. I wanted you to know.
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