I knew him, despite his white hair
and beard. And the face that bent so lovingly above him was the face
that had looked into mine that night on the street--the face of the
blue-eyed maiden--of a younger and a lovelier Juliet! As I gazed, there
came a thundering summons at the door, and the police entered.
* * * * *
My poor uncle Koerner had not prospered after his great stroke of
roguery. His wife had died of a broken heart, after giving birth to a
daughter, and his stolen riches had vanished almost as rapidly as they
were acquired. He had at last settled down with his daughter in this
old house. The treasure in the leathern bag, though a treasure to him,
was not of a nature to excite general cupidity. It consisted, not of
precious stones, but of relics of his dead wife--her rings, a lock of
her hair, her letters, a miniature of her in a gold case. These poor
keepsakes, and his daughter, had been the only solace of his lonely and
remorseful life.
It was uncertain whether Paton and the portier had planned the robbery
together, or separately, and in ignorance of each other's purpose.
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