always said. Well, sir?"

Mr. Gordon was not easily stirred to excitement. It seemed an age to
the anxious girl and the impetuous old man, as he turned the brooch
over and over, holding it up in every light, polishing it, breathing
on it, then polishing it again. Gregory's hands twitched with
eagerness, and Mary felt almost faint with suspense.

"You found this in the rags?" he asked at length, turning to Mary.
He spoke in his ordinary even tone, and Mary's heart sank, she could
not have told why.

"Yes, sir!" she faltered. "I found it in a blue jacket. It was in
between the stuff and the lining. There were glass buttons on the
jacket."

She drew them from her pocket and held them out; but Mr. Gordon,
after a glance, waved them back.

"Those are of no value!" he said. "About this brooch, I am not so
sure. The stones may be real stones--I incline to think they are;
but it is possible that they may be paste. The imitations are
sometimes very perfect; no one but a jeweller can tell positively. I
will take it to Boston with me to-morrow, and have it examined."

He dropped the brooch into a drawer at his side, turned the key and
put it in his pocket, all in his quiet, methodical way, as if he
were in the habit of examining diamond brooches every day; then he
nodded kindly to the pair, and bent over his papers again.