Miss Houghton, who, till now, had said nothing, opened a small locket attached to one of her bracelets, and, keeping her eyes fixed on “Cousin Jim,” passed it to him, saying:
“Did you ever see this face before?”
He took it up, and looked puzzled. “No,” he said; “why do you ask?”
We all looked at her as if she had been a young lunatic, her interest in the story being apparently of no very lasting nature. She then unfastened a companion bracelet, the hanging locket of which she opened and handed to her friend again.
“This face you have seen?” she asked confidently.
He started, and a rush of color came over his bronzed cheeks.
“Yes, yes, that is the Baron Van Muyden—younger, but the same. And here is his writing, ‘To Marie Duncombe, her sincere and faithful friend.’ Miss Houghton?”
“Yes,” she answered calmly, as if he had asked her a question.
“Then what I have been looking for for three years I have found tonight?” he said, looking up at her, while we were all stupefied and silent.
“And what I have never dreamt of,” she answered in a low voice, “I have suddenly learned to-night.”