"To be sure!" she said. "How foolish of me! Those cuts were made long ago."

As she spoke, she put her hand on the table at the bedside, to steady herself.

"Brother," she demanded, in trembling tones, "where did you get this shoe?

Did it come by the morning post?"

"Cobbler" Horn answered deliberately. He would give his sister time to take in the meaning of his words.

"It has been in the possession of Miss Owen. She brought it to me just now."

"Miss Owen?"

Miss Jemima's first impulse was towards indignation. What had Miss Owen been doing with the shoe? But the next moment, she reflected that there must be some reasonable explanation of the fact that the shoe had been in the possession of her brother's secretary--though what that explanation might be Miss Jemima could not, as yet, divine.

"She has had it," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, in the same quiet tone as before, "ever since she was a little girl. She was wearing it when she was found by the good people by whom she was adopted."

Then light came to Miss Jemima, clear and full. She grasped her brother's shoulder, and remembered his weakness only just in time to refrain from giving him a vigorous shake.

"Brother, brother," she cried, "do you understand what your words may mean?"

"Yes, Jemima--in part, at least. But we must make sure. First we will put the two shoes together, and see that they really are the same."

"Why, surely, Thomas, you have no doubt?"

"There seems little room for it, indeed; but we cannot make too sure!"

He wanted to give himself time to become accustomed to the great joy which was dawning on his life.

"You know where the other shoe is, Jemima?"

"Yes, in the safe."

"Yes; and you know that, while I have been up here, Miss Owen has kept the key of the safe?"

"Yes."

Miss Jemima had undergone much mental chafing by reason of that knowledge.

"Well, will you go to her in the office, and say I wish you to bring me something out of the safe? She will not know what you bring. She will just hand you the key, and go on with her work."

"Yes, I will go, brother. But are you sure she knows or suspects nothing?

She may have seen the shoe."

"Oh no; it is well wrapped up, and I am sure she would not touch the parcel. I can trust my secretary," he added, with a new-born pride.

As Miss Jemima went down stairs, she wondered she had not long ago lighted on the discovery which her brother had now made. It explained many things. The tones and gestures which had so often startled her by their familiarity; the vague feeling that, at some time, she must have known this young girl before; the growing resemblance--evident to Miss Jemima's eyes, at least--of the young secretary to "Cobbler" Horn--these things, which, with many kindred signs, Miss Jemima had hidden in her heart, had their explanation in the discovery which had just been made.

Miss Owen yielded the key of the safe without question. Though she appeared to take no notice of Miss Jemima's doings, she knew, as by instinct, what Miss Jemima was taking out of the safe; and she told herself that she must not, and would not, let it appear that she supposed anything unusual was going on. She went on quietly with her work; but it was by dint of such an effort of self-control, as few human beings have ever found it necessary to make, or could have made.

As the result of the young secretary's effort of self-repression, there appeared in her face, at the moment when Miss Jemima turned to leave the room, an expression so much like that a.s.sumed by the countenance of "Cobbler" Horn at times when he was very firm, that the heart of Miss Jemima gave a mighty bound.

Meanwhile Miss Jemima's brother was eagerly awaiting her return. She had been absent less than five minutes, when she once more entered his room.

"There," she said, holding the two little shoes out towards her brother, side by side, "there can be no doubt about the shoes, at any rate. They are a pair, sure enough. Why," she continued, turning up the shoe that Miss Owen had produced, "I remember noticing, that very morning, that half the leather was torn away from the heel of one of the child's shoes, just like that."

As she spoke, she held out the shoe, and showed her brother that its heel had been damaged exactly as she had described. Then a strange thing happened to Miss Jemima. She dropped the little shoes upon the bed, and, covering her face with her hands, cried gently for a few moments. "The Golden Shoemaker" gazed at his sister in some wonder; and then two large tears gathered in his own eyes, and rolled down his cheeks.

All at once Miss Jemima almost fiercely dashed her hand across her eyes.

"Brother," she cried, "I've often heard of tears of joy; but I didn't think I should live to say they were the only ones I had shed since I was a little child! But there's no mistake about those shoes. And there's no doubt about anything else either."

"Cobbler" Horn was, perhaps, quite as confident as his sister; but he was a little more cautious.

"Yes, Jemima," he said; "but we must be careful. A mistake would be dreadful--both on our own account, and on that of--of Miss Owen. We must send for Mr. and Mrs. Burton at once. Mr. Durnford will telegraph. It will be necessary, of course, to tell him of our discovery; but he may be trusted not to breathe it to any one else."

Miss Jemima readily a.s.sented to her brother's proposal. Mr. Durnford was sent for, and came without delay. His astonishment on hearing the wonderful news his friends had to tell was hardly as great as they expected. It is possible that this arose from the fact that he was acquainted with the story of Miss Owen, and that his eyes and ears had been open during the last few months. It was, however, with no lack of heartiness that he complied with the request to send a telegram summoning Mr. and Mrs. Burton to "Cobbler" Horn's bedside.

CHAPTER XL.

TOMMY DUDGEON'S CONTRIBUTION.

After the despatch of the telegram, the words of Tommy Dudgeon, with reference to the young secretary, recurred once more to the mind of "Cobbler" Horn, and he mentioned them to his sister.

"This must have been what the good fellow meant," he said. "You remember, Jemima, how fond they were of each other--Tommy and the child?"

"Yes," responded Miss Jemima, reluctantly; for she still retained her dislike for "those stupid Dudgeons."

"Do you know, Jemima, I have it on my mind to send for Tommy at once, and ask him what he really meant."

"Send for him--to come in here?"

"Yes; why not?"

"Well, you must do as you like, I suppose."

A moment's reflection had convinced the good lady that she had really no sound reason to advance against the proposal her brother had made; and she knew that, in any case, he would do as he thought fit.

Accordingly a messenger was despatched for Tommy Dudgeon with all speed; and the little huckster turned over to his brother, without compunction, an important customer whom he happened to be serving at the time, and hurried away to the bedside of his honoured friend.

The servant who, in obedience to orders received, showed Tommy up at once to "Cobbler" Horn's room, handed in at the same time a telegram which had just arrived from Mr. Burton, saying that he and Mrs. Burton might be expected about three o'clock in the afternoon. "Cobbler" Horn placed the pink paper on the little table by his bedside, and turned to Tommy, who stood just within the doorway, nervously twisting his hat between his hands.

"Come in, Tommy, come in!" said "the Golden Shoemaker," encouragingly, "you see I am almost well."

Tommy advanced into the room; but being arrested by the sight of Miss Jemima, who stood at the bed-foot, he stopped short half-way between the bed and the door, and honoured that formidable lady with a trembling bow. Miss Jemima's mood this morning was complacency itself, and she acknowledged the obeisance of the little huckster with a not ungracious nod. Greatly encouraged, Tommy moved a pace or two nearer to the bed.