It was stranger still, perhaps, that Wastei’s name should be enough to dispel in Hilda’s mind all doubts as to the truth of the story, and yet she would have believed the wild, kind-hearted free-shot sooner than many a respectable member of society.
‘Put away the coat, Berbel,’ she said after a pause. ‘He will not need to see it when he has read the letter, and it would hurt him, as it hurts me.’
‘Shall I give it back to Wastei?’ inquired Berbel, folding it up.
‘No, oh no! Put it away carefully where it will be safe, but where no one will ever see it again.’
‘Wastei gave twenty marks for it,’ observed Berbel. ‘It is not fair that he should lose his money.’ She could not help speaking a good word for her old friend.
‘Give him forty to buy a new one. He has been honest, very honest.’ Hilda sighed, thinking, perhaps, of all the pain that might have been spared, if Wastei had put the letter into the fire, instead of giving it to Berbel.
The good woman carefully folded the coat and hid it away in the recesses of a huge press that filled the end of the room. Then she rolled up the coloured handkerchief and put it into her pocket.
‘It is Wastei’s,’ she said, as her mistress watched her.
The disappearance of the coat recalled to Hilda the duty of acting immediately, and she rose from her seat with a heavy heart. As she was about to leave the room a thought crossed her mind, and she stopped.
‘Berbel,’ she said, ‘my mother must never know that this has been found, or at least, you must never speak of it to her or to any one, and you must tell Wastei to hold his tongue. She has had sorrow enough in her life, and we need not add any more, now that she is so happy.’