Donald, with difficulty, controlled his impatience to see the articles, but he felt that it would be wisest to let Madame have her way.
"You see how it was: a young man—the same young man who had taken the picture—came to the ship to bid me good-by, and stood talking apart with me a minute, while the ladies were looking into their state-rooms and so on; and somehow he caught hold of my little satchel and was swinging it on his finger when Mrs. Reed sent for me. And before I could get back to him, the ship was ready to start; all who were not passengers were put ashore; somebody shouted an order, and the vessel began to move. When, at last, I saw him, we were some distance from shore; and he was standing on the dock looking after me, with my satchel in his hand! We both had forgotten it—and there was nothing for me to do but to sail on to America without it."
"Were the things in that satchel?" cried Don. "Where is the man? Is he living?"
Her eyes filled with tears. "No, I shall never see him again in this world," she said.
Her grief was so evident that Donald, whose disappointment struggled with his sympathy, felt it would be cruel to press her further. But when she dried her eyes and looked as if she were about to go on with the story, he could not forbear saying, in a tone which was more imploring than he knew: "Can't you tell me what was in that satchel? Try to think."
"Yes, indeed, I can," she said, plaintively; "there was the picture of the babies and me; the baby Dorothy's dress ribbon; my purse and the key—"
"A key!" cried Donald. "What sort of a key?"
"Oh, a little bit of a key, and gloves, and my best pocket-handkerchief, and—most of all, Mrs. Reed's letter—"
"Mrs. Reed's letter!" echoed Don. "Oh, if I only could have had that and the picture! But do go on."
"You make me so nervous, Mr. Donald—indeed you do, begging your pardon—that I hardly know what I'm saying; but I must tell you how each of the things had got into my hands. First, the picture was my own property, and I prized it very much, though I had not the courage to show it to Mrs. Reed; then the pink ribbon was for baby Dorothy. My lady had handed it to me at the hotel when we were dressing the twins; and in the hurry, after cutting off the right lengths to tie up the dear little sleeves, I crammed the rest into my satchel."