"Madam Sturtevant, ah—er—hm-m—at the time your guilty son disappeared, taking my son—whom his influence had ruined—with him, it was said that a certain casket of valuables disappeared as well. In behalf of the interest Marsden took in the case, and of my own—my own personal interest, I demand that if that casket has been restored it shall be opened here in the presence of your townsmen. I—er—my accommodation in times of your necessities, the large amounts now due me—I claim the right, the authority to say—Let the casket be produced."
Madam said nothing. She fixed her large eyes, still guiltless of spectacles (save in the privacy of home), and regarded him as she might have regarded some reptile.
Nathan seemed struggling with words which fear of his father prevented his speaking. But Miss Maitland stepped down, and, by a nod, summoned others to her, so that the vagrant presently felt himself surrounded by a group of kindly faces, which beamed upon him in protection. William, Deacon Meakin, the chivalrous schoolmaster, Susanna, and Katharine, quite unafraid to fling her small arm around his stooping shoulders and to pat them encouragingly.
Then Aunt Eunice went out, but was back again so quickly she had hardly been missed. She carried her hands quite high, so that all might see the strange, glittering, brass bound box they held, and, going swiftly forward, laid it on the Madam's lap, who recoiled from it, at first shrinking back and letting her clasped hands drop limply to her sides, yet rallied her courage and her pride as Eunice's tone of command touched both.
"Open it, Elinor. It is right. It is just. Let the truth be known at last."
Everybody crowded forward, the Squire among them, as with a simple touch, known only to the initiated, the keyless casket was unbanded and opened to the sight of all. Those who had anticipated the blaze of jewels, or, at least, the bulk of valuable papers and bonds, fell back disappointed. The box was absolutely empty save for a small folded sheet which looked like an ordinary letter.
A sigh, like a great sob, swept over the multitude, and now the fear which had troubled the tramp vanished, and, breaking free of the group about him, he laid his hand on Madam's knee and cried, exultantly:
"I did it! I fetched it safe. I was sick—oh, I was sick!—I was in jail—I was on an island—I was shipwrecked—I was in the water, with big, big waves—I was—so long, so long. But I wore it on a strap around my neck. Planck wrote it all and sealed it and put it in the box. Then he died, and I had promised; so I had to come, else I would have died, too. I wanted to, without Planck. But we'd told it to each other. We was good friends. Planck never called me 'fool,' not once, not in all our lives. When he went away with not a cent in his pocket, I couldn't stand it. Old Squire was rough. Old Squire was rich. Planck should be rich, too, just one little box full, anyway. But—He wrote it all down—read it, read it. Read it out real plain, like he was saying it again. My head aches. I can't think. Planck could think. But—Planck is dead."
In a dull despair the poor wretch who had journeyed so many leagues, across so many lands, through so many weary years, dropped his face in his hands, and wept like a child.
But with dry eyes, if tremulous hands, Elinor Sturtevant opened the letter as she had been besought. It bore date of a day long past, and address of Majomba, Africa, in the familiar script of her idolized son; yet keeping nothing secret to herself, she did "read it out," and this it was: