"All the journey for nothing, and no way to turn them back. My faith, I've not handled any of this too well."
He was still pondering over his various blunders when a motley and joyous party burst into his office.
"Upon my soul! My faith!" was all that he could ejaculate, alternately.
Mark and Alan thought they would succumb soon if there must be many more explanations. But explanations were inevitable; all weary and dirty as they were, they found themselves caught once more in the net of talk. To steady himself, and get back to reality, Mark sometimes let his eyes rest wonderingly on the familiar figure of his sister—familiar, and yet so strange, too. It seemed good to see her earnest face, her straight tawny hair—the blue tape that somehow took him back to Resthaven still in evidence upon it—good to meet the steady blue gaze of her eyes, filled now with pride and eagerness. And at the end of all the talk, there was the canvas-covered box still to be accounted for.
Mark rose and slipped off the duck casing, and there stood revealed the little polished lac-
