‘It is, perhaps, a trifle silkier and more effeminate than the description would warrant,’ returned the antiquary, ‘but that is doubtless due to the mellowing effects of time. It may be so far looked upon as corroborative evidence. In that connection, by-the-bye, let me draw your particular attention to the braid with which the hair is fastened. This woven silk is not of to-day’s workmanship. I recognise it as being of the same kind used in the reigns of Mary and Elizabeth for attaching the royal seal to patents: a most interesting circumstance, and one which, were there any doubt of the genuineness of the hair, might, like the impress of the quintin in the case of the Hemynge deed, be reasonably adduced as an undesigned coincidence. Then to think that we have it under his own hand that Shakespeare’s fingers have knotted it. Read his words once again, my son, before we put the priceless treasure by.’
‘“I doe assure thee no rude hand hath knottedde itte, thye Willys alone hath done the worke.”’
‘How tender, how touching!’ exclaimed the antiquary. ‘We seem to be in his very presence. What a privilege has this day been vouchsafed to us, my children!’
The two young people glanced at one another involuntarily as the old man addressed them by this title.
It is probable that Mr. Erin attached no particular meaning to it. It may have been only the expression of the measureless content he felt with both of them; with his son for what he had brought him, and with his niece for the readiness with which she had resigned what he had brought to his own custody. But to their ears it had a deep significance.
As their looks met, that of William Henry was so full of tender triumph that Maggie’s face became crimson, and she cast down her eyes. For the first time she began to believe in the possibility of the realisation of the young man’s dream. Notwithstanding what had passed between them, she had hitherto felt more like a sister towards him than a lover; it was not that she feared to risk the wreck of her own happiness by trusting it to so slight a bark, but that, while matters were so uncertain, a natural and modest instinct prevented her from regarding him as he regarded her. There had been a sort of false dawn of love with her, but, now that her uncle seemed to give such solid ground for hope, the sun which had long lain in wait behind those clouds of doubt came out with all the splendour of the morn. Love arose within her.
As Mr. Erin reverently placed his treasures in the iron safe, William Henry stole his arm round Margaret’s waist:—
‘Is there on earthe a manne more treue
Than Willie Erin is to you?’
he whispered softly: and for the first time she did not reprove him.