"That is the five-dollar gold-piece that I gave you on Saturday evening," he remarked, in a quiet tone.
"Have you seen the grocer? Did you get it from him?" Edith gasped.
"No; an old client of mine brought it to me, about half an hour ago, in part payment of a debt which he owes me."
"I do not understand—it cannot be the same," said Edith, with a look of perplexity.
"But it is," was the smiling reply. "Look at it closely, and you will find some fresh scratches upon one side of it—do you see?"
"Yes," the young girl admitted.
"Very well; I made them with my penknife during a fit of absent-mindedness, while you were putting on your hat and shawl on Saturday evening," Royal Bryant explained. "It was all the money I had, excepting some large bills, and I was obliged to give it to you, even though I knew it was not a convenient form—one is so liable to lose such a small piece. I am sure I do not know what possessed me to deface it in the way I did," he continued, after a slight pause; "but there the marks are, fortunately, and I could swear to the coin among a hundred others of the same denomination."
"Yes, I remember, now," Edith remarked, reflectively; "I noticed the gold-piece in your hands and that you were using your knife upon it; but how could it have come into the possession of your client? Surely the grocer would not have parted with it voluntarily, for it was all the proof he had against me."
"No; my client, Mr. Knowles, obtained it from a pawnbroker at No. —— Third avenue," Mr. Bryant replied.
Instantly the red blood mounted to the girl's fair brow, and, like a flash, Royal Bryant comprehended how all her trouble had come about.