Dr. Boekman made no reply, neither did he push Hans away. His eyes were fixed anxiously upon Raff Brinker. Suddenly he lifted the watch, and with trembling eagerness attempted to open it. Its stiffened spring yielded at last; the case flew open, disclosing a watch-paper in the back bearing a group of blue forget-me-nots. Raff, seeing a shade of intense disappointment pass over the doctor's face, hastened to say:
"There was something else in it, mynheer, but the young gentleman tore it out before he handed it to me. I saw him kiss it as he put it away."
"It was his mother's picture," moaned the doctor; "she died when he was ten years old. Thank God! the boy had not forgotten. Both dead? It is impossible!" he cried, starting up. "My boy is alive. You shall hear his story. Laurens acted as my assistant. By mistake he portioned out the wrong medicine for one of my patients—a deadly poison—but it was never administered, for I discovered the error in time. The man died that day. I was detained with other bad cases until the next evening. When I reached home, my boy was gone. Poor Laurens!" sobbed the doctor, breaking down completely, "never to hear from me through all these years. His message disregarded. Oh, what must he have suffered!"
Dame Brinker ventured to speak. Anything was better than to see the meester cry.
"It is a mercy to know the young gentleman was innocent. Ah! how he fretted! Telling you, Raff, that his crime was like unto murder. It was sending the wrong physic he meant. Crime indeed! why our own Gretel might have done that! Like enough the poor young gentleman heard that the man was dead—that's why he ran, mynheer. He said, you know, Raff, that he never could come back to Holland again, unless"—she hesitated—"ah, your honor, ten years is a dreary time to be waiting to hear from——"
"Hist, vrouw!" said Raff sharply.
"Waiting to hear," groaned the doctor, "and I, like a fool, sitting stubbornly at home, thinking he had abandoned me. I never dreamed, Brinker, that the boy had discovered the mistake. I believed it was youthful folly—ingratitude—love of adventure, that sent him away. My poor, poor Laurens!"
"But you know all, now, mynheer," whispered Hans. "You know he was innocent of wrong, that he loved you and his dead mother. We will find him. You shall see him again, dear meester."
"God bless you!" said Dr. Boekman, seizing the boy's hand, "it may be as you say. I shall try—I shall try—and, Brinker, if ever the faintest gleam of recollection concerning him should come to you, you will send me word at once?"
"Indeed we will!" cried all but Hans, whose silent promise would have satisfied the doctor even had the others not spoken.