He had been thinking of her as he came up the street; he had been wondering how she was getting on in her hard life at Daisy Bank; and now here she was, in the very last place in which he would ever have dreamt of seeing her, sitting in the old armchair by the fire in his dismal little room. She rose to meet him, and at once held out the precious parcel.
"Captain Fortescue, I have come to bring you that. It is something which I think—I hope—you will be very glad to get."
He took the box in his hand but did not open it.
"What is it?" he asked. "Do sit down, Miss Douglas."
He noticed how agitated she was, and he wondered what had caused her to be so.
"Have you not lost something?" she asked.
"Only an umbrella," he said, laughing. "I lost one last week; but that can't be in here."
"No," she said, "it was much longer ago. Think, Captain Fortescue; did you never lose a letter that you wanted very much to find? Was a letter never stolen from you by some one? And have you not tried in all ways to find that letter, but in vain?"
He understood now: all the colour had faded from his face. Was it possible, could it be that his father's letter had been found—and by her?
"Is it in this box?" he asked.