If Iris should unhappily die before her twenty-first birthday, open these papers, find out from them the owner's name and address, seek her out, and tell her that she will never now be disturbed by any claimants to the estate." The letter ended here abruptly, as if the writer had designed to add more, but was prevented by death.
For there was a postscript, in another hand, which stated: "Mr.Aglen died November 25th, 1866, and is buried in the cemetery of Johnson City, Ill." The old man folded the letter carefully, and laid it on the table.
Then he rose and walked across the room to the safe, which stood with open door in the corner furthest from the fireplace.

Among its contents was a packet sealed and tied up in red tape, endorsed: "For Iris.

To be given to her on her twenty-first birthday.

From her father." "It will be her twenty-first birthday," he said, "in three weeks.

Then I must give her the packet.