the child?"

"There were a few papers. The woman had a Roman Catholic Missal in
her pocket, and the child a small locket with a miniature portrait
in it."

"Of the Queen Marie Antoinette?" suggested Colville, quickly.

"It may well have been. It is many years since I saw it. It was
faded enough. I remember that it had a fall, and would not open
afterward. No one has seen it for twenty-five years or so."

"The locket or the portrait?" inquired Colville, with a light laugh,
with which to disclaim any suggestion of a cross-examination.

"The portrait."

"And the locket?"

"My wife has it somewhere, I believe."

Colville gave an impatient laugh. For the peaceful air of
Farlingford had failed to temper that spirit of energy and
enterprise which he had acquired in cities--in Paris, most likely.
He had no tolerance for quiet ways and a slow, sure progress, such
as countrymen seek, who are so leisurely that the years slide past
and death surprises them before they have done anything in the world
but attend to its daily demand for a passing effort.

"Ah!" he cried, "but all that must be looked into if we are to do