The girl opened her eyes. Evidently she had never thought of doing that, and her eyes fell when Molly said that this was the only right and straightforward thing she could do.
"What would he give me for it?" asked the girl.
"I really cannot say," replied Molly.
"We always used to say findings keepings," said Alice, as though this was the law that might be expected to apply to the case they were discussing.
But Molly shook her head. "That would not be honest," she remarked, "and I am sure you are not a dishonest girl."
"No, ma'am, but I don't want to be cheated out of my fair find."
"Of course not! What you want to do is to find out who the rightful owner is, and hand it to him. You know it may have caused a great deal of trouble to somebody, the loss of this money, I mean, and so if we could find out who ought to have it, I am sure they would give you something for it."
As Molly was speaking, the girl slowly withdrew her hands, and pushed the dirty-looking papers towards her. "Perhaps you can find out what I ought to do with them," she said rather sullenly.
Molly started, and an eager look came into her face the moment her eyes fell upon the soiled envelope, for she recognized at once the coronet used by Lady Mary on all her stationery. She almost seized the papers as the girl pushed them towards her. There could be no doubt that this was the missing letter. The address on the envelope and the note inside were in her aunt's handwriting, and there was a post office order in it for three pounds.
She almost trembled with excitement as she held these in her fingers, but she had to keep calm and reserved before the girls, and so she carefully looked at all the papers before she ventured to speak, for fear she should betray her anxiety by the tremor in her voice.