"It was in a locket," said the captain, "in a double locket. The space opposite was empty, and my dear friend took the trinket from me, saying that there should be another portrait in it—one fitting to face his. Can you guess whose, my dear madam?"
Mrs. Mildmay glanced at Violet, who had sunk back into her seat.
"Yes," said the captain, expressing a deep tenderness with his voice, "it was hers—his dearly loved child's." And he drew out his pocket handkerchief and hid his eyes for a moment. "I gave him the locket reluctantly, I admit; for I was loth to part with it for so long a time as that required for his voyage home and back again. But I gave it to him, for I was anxious to possess the other portrait, that I might have the face my dear friend loved better than his life next his own."
He paused and sighed deeply.
"From the first moment of my parting with the locket I have regretted it."
"Regretted it—why?" asked Mrs. Mildmay, in a low voice.
"Because, my dear madam, I never saw it again."
Violet's hands clasped tightly, and he went on more quickly:
"No; I see what you dread, but I am not going to harrow your hearts by recalling that great sorrow. No; John returned to me at Madras, and before the first hour had passed I asked him for my treasure. With a look of dismay and a laugh of annoyance he told me that he had forgotten it."