“Bertie, Bertie, look here, I’ve news, good news for you!” she cried with excitement, as she dashed across the floor and plunged her burden into the midst of his letters and papers, his books and his writing materials.
“Good gracious, my dear, what is it?”
She sprang up, clapped her hands, nodded her head, and beamed upon him.
“See for yourself,” said she.
He rose from his chair with a troubled look on his face. Although he now guessed what the surprise was which was in store for him, and although he had spent the night and morning in lamenting his loss, instinct told him that there was something to learn which he would rather not have known, in connection with the recovery of his treasure.
“What is it?” he asked hoarsely, as he touched the roll, and looked at her.
“I believe you know what it is,” replied she, “but if not, I’ll show you.”
Her hands were wet and trembling, for all her affectation of gaiety and unconcern, and it was with difficulty she performed the simple task of tearing the paper from the roll, and exhibiting its contents to her husband.
“There!” she said, rather tremulously, as she unrolled it, “Your picture! Back again, and quite safe and unharmed, I believe.”
But he looked at her with a frown.