Vijal took it and looked at it earnestly. His eyes dilated, his nostrils quivered.
“My father’s!” he cried, in a tremulous voice.
“Can you read English letters?”
“Yes.”
“Can you read the name that is cut upon it?”
And Brandon pointed to a place where some letters were carved.
Vijal looked earnestly at it. He saw these words:
JOHN POTTS.
“That,” said Brandon, “is what your father’s brother gave to me.”
“It’s a lie!” growled Vijal, fiercely.