“This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear,” said the carpenter.
“Ay, indeed! And who may that be?” inquired his wife.
“One whom you may perhaps have forgotten,” replied the stranger, “but who can never forget the kindness he experienced at your hands, or at those of your excellent husband.”
At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand.
“I have a token to deliver to you,” continued the stranger, addressing her.
“To me?” gasped Winifred.
“This locket,” he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—“do you remember it?”
“I do—I do!” cried Winifred.
“What's all this?” exclaimed Wood in amazement.
“Do you not know me, father?” said the young man, advancing towards him, and warmly grasping his hand. “Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?”