Free Treasure of the Celtic Triangle by Michael Phillips Page B

late time to start. But as my nephew reminds me, it is never too late to make a beginning. I hope therefore that I can die having taken a few faltering steps in the direction of becoming a man of truth
.
    At sixteen years of age, as a spoiled son of what I thought was wealth, I left Wales on a youthful grand tour, as we called it in those days—to see the world and spend money and generally squander my youth on the altar of irresponsibility. It turned out that my father was not the wealthy man I took him for. Before my travels were over, I was nearly out of money. I found myself in Ireland chasing the fleeting dream of riches in the rivers of Wicklow, though what remained to be found was doubtful. There my heart was smitten with a young Irish lass of working, though not peasant stalk. Her name was Avonmara O’Sullivan
.
    Several months later we were married in a small parish church in County Wicklow. We were both children, she a mere eighteen years of age and myself nineteen. Whether it was wise or ill fated from the beginning, who can say. But it was done, though our brief happiness would not last …
    Percy continued on to the conclusion of the sad tale that had been meant for his ears alone.
    Not a moment went by that he was not keenly aware of the burden his uncle had placed upon him. On his shoulders alone rested the decision whether Katherine and Courtenay and Florilyn, or anyone else for that matter, would ever know of Roderick Westbrooke’s first marriage. If he judged it best that they never know, then the secret of his past would go to the grave with the former viscount.
    His uncle’s words had never left him.
“No one must see it unless your search is successful. Otherwise, Katherine need never know
.”
    Percy had not exactly given his promise. But if he kept it to himself, even out of respect for his uncle, what kind of man of truth did that make him? Would he be justified in keeping the matter secret in order to protect the feelings of his aunt? The demand of truth had borne heavily upon his uncle’s heart at the end of his life. But what was now the demand of truth that
he
must heed? If a full revelation did no one any discernable
good
, what would be its purpose? Even truth could injure. Was it right to injure for some abstract commitment to truth, if there was no good to anyone to be gained? Thus far, Percy had arrived at no resolution to the complex conundrum.
    After talking the matter over in vague terms with his father, without divulging specifics, Percy’s conclusion had been that the investigation demanded no serious urgency on his part. It could wait until his graduation from the university the following May. Then he would devote the summer to seeing what he could learn. Perhaps by then more clarity might present itself about how to balance the scales between full disclosure and faithfulness to his uncle’s wish that Katherine be protected from pain if his search proved unsuccessful.
    Even so, his uncle’s dying words gnawed at him. Percy could not escape the feeling that perhaps the matter of the affidavit was more urgent than he might realize. Yet what could he do … so far away … in Aberdeen? For that matter, what could he do even in Wales? He had no idea how to carry out his uncle’s request. To make any beginning at all would require being at Westbrooke Manor.
    Obviously that would have to wait. But the more time that passed, the more uneasy he became.

    Even as Percy was reading her father’s words, in Wales Florilyn was engrossed in the novel by Percy’s fellow Scot, George MacDonald.
    As she neared the end of the book, she was reminded of its opening where the characters Hugh Sutherland and Margaret Elginbrod first met. She flipped back to the beginning of the volume and read it again.
    “It was, of course, quite by accident that Sutherland had met Margaret in the fir-wood. The wind had changed during the night, and swept all the clouds from the face of the sky; and when he looked