As she finished reading Marian arose, and going up to Jerrie kissed her lovingly and said to her in German:
'That was your mother's picture in our old home in Wiesbaden. I am so glad for you.'
A low sob was Jerrie's reply, and then Judge St. Claire asked:
'Is that all?'
'Yes,' Marian said; 'All except Mr. Tracy's letters to Gretchen. Oh, no,' she added; 'there is something more;' and feeling in the bag, she drew out two small papers, one crumpled and worn, as if it had been often referred to, the other folded neatly and tied with a white ribbon.
This Marian opened first, and found it to be a certificate, written in English, to the effect that Mrs. Arthur Tracy, née Marguerite Heinrich, died at such a date and was buried by the Rev. Mr. Bellows, the resident rector of the English church; the other was in Arthur's handwriting, and the directions he had written to his wife, as to what she was to do and how to find Tracy Park.
'Yes,' Judge St. Claire said, coming forward and taking the paper from her hand, 'this is what the station-master saw the poor woman examining that night in the storm. She probably dropped it into the bag without stopping to fold it. There can be no doubt.'
Then a deep silence reigned for a moment in the room, until Mrs. Tracy, who, all through the reading had stood like a block of granite by the window, turned and walking swiftly up to Jerrie, said, in a bitter tone:
'Of course there is no mistake. I do not doubt that you are mistress here, and am ready to leave at once. Shall we pack up and quit to-night?'
'Dolly!' 'Mother!' came angrily and sternly from both Tom and Frank, and 'Oh, mamma, please,' came faintly from Maude, while Jerrie lifted up her head, and looking steadily at the cruel woman, said: