"And the key? what about the key?"
"Oh, you see, baby Dorothy had worn a chain from the time she was a week old. It fastened with a key. Mr. Reed himself had put it on her little neck and locked it the very day before he was taken down, and in the hurry of dressing the babies, as I was telling you, Mrs. Reed let fall the speck of a key; it was hung upon a bit of pink ribbon, and I picked it up and clapped it into the satchel, knowing I could give it to her on the vessel. But the letter—ah, that troubles me most of all."
She paused a moment and looked at Donald, before beginning again, as if fearing that he would be angry. But he sat watching her, with breathless interest.
"It was a letter to a Mr. George Reed, somewhere in America—your uncle, was it, sir?—and your mother had handed it to me a whole week before to put in the post. It would then have gone across in the steamer before ours, but—ah, how can I tell you? I had dropped it into my little satchel (it was one that I often carried with me), and forgotten all about it. And, indeed, I never thought of it again till we had been two days out, and then I remembered it was in the satchel. I don't wonder you feel badly, sir, indeed I don't; for it should have gone to America, as she intended,—the poor, dear lady!"
"Heaven only knows what trouble it might have spared my uncle; and now he can never know," said Donald, in a broken voice.
"Never know? please don't say that, Master Donald, for you'll be going back alive and well, and giving the letter to him with your own hands, Heaven willing."
Donald could only gasp out, "With my own hands? What! How?"
"Because it's in the satchel to this day. Many a time, after I was safe on shore again, I thought to post it, but I was foolish and cowardly, and feared it might get me into trouble in some way, I didn't know how, but I never had the courage to open it when the poor lady who wrote it was dead and gone. May be you'll think best to open it yourself now, sir."
So saying, Madame René stepped across the room, kneeled by an old trunk, and opening it she soon drew forth a small leather hand-bag.
Handing it to the electrified Donald, she gave a long sigh of relief.