"I'm not so sure of that, Thomas: the doctor's head would be full of thoughts about other things, science, and other matters; and when he got home he wouldn't trouble himself about his luggage if he'd seen it safe on the cab; he would leave it to the servants to see that it was all brought in; and if there was your bag with it as well, he would not have noticed it. And if he came upon it afterwards in the hall, he would probably think it was something that belonged to Mrs Prosser, or to one of the servants. And as for Mrs Prosser herself, she was in those days so full of meetings and schemes of all sorts away from home, that a bag like that might have stood in their hall for days and she would not have noticed it; and so, if it really got there, it might have been carried off by the servants to the lumber-room, and may be there still."

Thomas Bradly smiled, and shook his head sorrowfully. "It's possible enough, no doubt, sir, but I'm afraid it's too good to be true. But is it sufficiently possible for me to do anything? Supposing the doctor took it by mistake, and it went with him to his house, and is stowed away there in some lumber-room or cupboard, from what you say neither he nor his missus will remember anything about it."

"That's true, Thomas; and certainly it wouldn't be worth while your going up to London on such a mere chance or possibility; but it suggests itself to me that, if Lydia Philips would like the situation which the doctor has to offer, and he is willing to take her on my recommendation, it would be a great satisfaction to me if you would, at my expense, go with her and see her safe to London, and introduce her to Dr Prosser, and you could then take the opportunity of asking his servants about the bag. You may be quite sure that if it is in the house _they_ will be quite aware of the fact, and where it is to be found."

"You've just hit the right nail on the head, sir," replied Bradly thoughtfully. "I'll go with pleasure; and don't say a word about the expenses, for I shall feel it to be a privilege to give that little trouble and money if I can only lend a helping hand in settling poor Lydia in a better place than her own home, poor thing."

Three days after the above conversation Bradly called again at the vicarage, by Mr Maltby's request.

"All is arranged, Thomas," said the vicar. "Lydia Philips is to go to the situation; and as it has been vacant for some time, the doctor wants her to go up to London as soon as possible; so she is to start next Tuesday, if you can make it convenient to accompany her on that day."

"All right, sir; I can ask off a day or two at any time, and I'll be ready."

"And, Thomas, I can't help having a sort of hope, and almost expectation, that you will hear something satisfactory about the bag."

"Thank you, sir; it's very kind of you to say so, but I shan't say anything to Jane about it. I don't want to raise hopes in her, as I can't see much like a foundation for 'em; so I shall only tell her about Lydia's getting the situation, which she'll be very pleased to hear, and that it's your wish I should see her safe to London. But if I do find the bag, and all safe in it, you shall hear, sir, afore I get back."

Tuesday evening, 6 p.m. A telegram for Reverend Ernest Maltby from London. The vicar opened it; it was signed TB, and was as follows:--"All right--I have got it--hurrah!--Tell Jane."

An hour later found the vicar in Thomas Bradly's comfortable kitchen, and seated by his sister.

"Jane," he began, "I have often brought you the best of all good news, the gospel's glad tidings; perhaps you won't be sorry to hear a little of this world's good news from me."

"What is it?" she asked, turning rather pale.

"Jane, the Lord has been very good--the bag is found; your brother has got it all right."

Poor Jane! She thought that she had risen out of the reach of all strong emotion on this subject; but it was not so. "Patience had indeed had her perfect work in her," yet the pressure and strain of her sorrow had never really wholly left her. And now the news brought by the vicar caused a rush of joy that for a few moments was almost intolerable. But her habitual self-control did not even then desert her, and she was enabled in a little while to listen with composure to the explanation of her clergyman, while her tears now flowed freely and calmly, bringing happy relief to her gentle spirit. And then, at her request, Mr Maltby knelt by her side, and uttered a fervent thanksgiving on her behalf to Him who had at length scattered the dark clouds which had long hung over the heart of the meek and patient sufferer. And now, oh what a joy it was to feel that the heavy burden was gone; that she who had borne it would be able to show her late mistress, Lady Morville, that she was innocent of the charge laid against her, and had never swerved from the paths of uprightness in her earthly service. As she thought on these things, and bright smiles shone through her tears, the vicar was deeply touched to hear her, as she quietly bowed her head upon her hands, implore pardon of her heavenly Father for her impatience and want of faith. He waited, however, till she again turned towards him her face full of sweet peace, and then he said,--

"'Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; The clouds ye do much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break With blessings on your head.'

"Yes, Jane, your trial has indeed been a sharp one; but the Lord knew that you could stand that trial. And now he has brought you out of it as gold purified in the furnace."

"I don't know, dear sir," was her reply; "I can see plenty of the dross in myself, but yet I do hope and trust that the chastening has not been altogether in vain."

"I will leave you now, Jane," said the vicar, rising, "and I shall be delighted to hear from your brother's own lips all about his finding the long-missing bag."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

FULL SATISFACTION.

On the afternoon of the next day after his disclosure of the good news to Jane Bradly, the vicar received a note from herself, asking the favour, if quite convenient, of the company of himself and his sister, Miss Maltby, at a simple tea at Thomas's house. Gladly complying with this request, the invited guests entered their host's hospitable kitchen at half-past six o'clock, and found just himself and his family, ready to greet them.

"I'm glad to see you safe back again, Thomas," said Mr Maltby, as he took his seat by Mrs Bradly, Jane being on his other hand.

"And right glad I am to find myself safe back again," said the other.

"London's no place for me. I got my head so full of horses and carriages, and ladies and gentlemen, and houses of all sorts and sizes, that I could scarce get a wink of sleep last night; and as for that underground railway, why it's like as if all the world was running away from all the rest of the world, without waiting to say 'good-bye.'"

"And so you've found the bag at last?" said Miss Maltby.

"If you please, ma'am," said Thomas, "I thought, with your leave, not meaning to be uncivil, and with the vicar's leave, we'd just let that matter be till tea's over, and then go right into it. None of us has looked inside the bag since I came back, not even Jane; she's been quite content to wait and take my word for it as all's right. I thought as I'd just tell my story in my own way, and then you'd all of you be able to see how wonderfully all has been ordered."

"Nothing can be better than that, I'm sure; don't you think so, Ernest?"

said Miss Maltby.

"Yes," replied her brother; "it is a privilege to be thus invited to 'rejoice with them that do rejoice,' as we have wept with you when you wept. So you shall tell us your story, Thomas, at your own time, for that will be the best.--And now let me know how you found Dr Prosser and his wife, and if all was right about poor Lydia Philips."

Having replied to this question, and given due attention to the entertainment of his guests, Thomas Bradly, when tea was finished, helped his wife to remove the large table to one side, and then, having drawn forward a smaller one into the midst of the a.s.sembled company, placed on the very centre of it a bag, which he fetched out of his surgery. Certainly the article itself was not one much calculated to draw attention or excite curiosity; indeed, there was something almost burlesque in its extreme shabbiness, as it stood there the centre of attraction, or at any rate observation, to so many eyes.

"Shall we have your story now, Thomas?" said the vicar, when all were duly seated.

"You shall, sir; and you must bear with me if I try your patience by my way of telling it.

"We'd a very pleasant journey to London, and then took a cab to Dr Prosser's. The door were opened by a boy in green, with b.u.t.tons all over him; he looked summat like a young volunteer, and summat like a great big doll. I'd seen the like of him in the windows of two or three of the big clothing shops as we drove along. I couldn't help thinking what a convenience them b.u.t.tons must be; for if he didn't mind you, you could lay hold on him by one of 'em, and if that'd come off there'd be lots more to take to. 'Young man,' says I, 'is your master at home?'

He'd got his chin rather high in the air, and didn't seem best pleased with the way in which I spoke to him. 'Who do you mean by my master?'

says he. 'Dr Prosser,' says I; 'I hope he's your master, for certainly you don't seem fit to be your own.' He stares very hard at me, and then he says, 'All right.' So I gets out, and sees to Miss Philips and her boxes; and the doctor were very kind, and talked to me about Crossbourne, and so did the missus. She seemed quite a changed woman, so homely-like, and they both looked very happy, and were as kind as could be to poor Lydia, so she took heart at once.

"When I were ready to go, I says to Dr Prosser, 'Doctor, may I have a word or two with your green boy?' 'My what?' says the doctor, laughing.

'Your green boy,' says I; 'him with the b.u.t.tons.' 'Oh, by all means,'

he says; 'I hope there's nothing wrong?' 'Nothing at all, sir, thank you,' I says.--'Here, William,' says he, 'step into the dining-room with this gentleman; he wants to speak to you.'

"'You don't know who I am,' I said to the boy when we was by ourselves.

'No, nor don't want to,' says he.--'Do you know what this is?' I asked, holding up half-a-crown. 'Yes, I know what that is well enough.'--'Well, you've no need to be afraid of me; I'm not a policeman in plain clothes,' says I. 'Aren't you?' said he; 'I thought you was.'--'There, put that half-crown in your pocket,' I said, 'and answer me one or two civil questions.' 'With all the pleasure in the world,'

says he, as brisk as could be.--Then I asked him if he remembered the doctor's coming home on Christmas-eve last year. 'Yes, he remembered that very well.'--'Did he bring anything with him besides his own luggage?' He looked rather hard at me.--'n.o.body's going to get you into trouble,' says I, rather sharp. 'Have you lost anything?' he asks again very cautiously.--I told him 'yes, I had.' He wanted to know what it were like, but that wouldn't do for me. So I asked my other question over again. 'Yes, the doctor brought a bag with him as didn't seem to belong to him; at least he hadn't it with him when he left home.'--'What sort of a bag?' says I. 'It was a small bag, and a very shabby one too.'--'And what did you do with it?' 'I put it in the doctor's study.'--'And is it there now?' 'I suppose so; n.o.body never meddles with any of the doctor's things.'--'And you haven't seen it, nor heard anything about it since?' 'No, I haven't.'--'Thank you, my boy; that's all I want to know from you.'

"Then I asks the doctor to let me have five minutes alone with him, which he granted me most cheerfully; and I just tells him as much as were necessary to let him know what I wanted, and why I wanted it.--'A bag,' he said; 'ah, I do remember something about it now; but, if I don't mistake, there was nothing but paper in it. However, it's pretty sure to be in my closet, and if so it will be just as I put it there, for no one goes to that closet but myself.' So he unlocks the closet door, and comes back in a minute with a bag in his hand. 'Is this it?'

he asks.--'I suppose it is,' says I, 'for I never saw it; but we shall soon find out.' The doctor had a key on his bunch which soon opened the padlock, and then we turned out what was inside. Paper, nothing but paper at first. I were getting in a bit of a fright; but after a bit we comes to summat hard wrapped up; and there, when we unfolded the paper, was the missing bracelet! And then we searched to the bottom, and found an envelope sealed up and directed, 'Miss Jane Bradly;' but what's inside I don't know, for of course I didn't open it.

"We was both very glad, at least I was, you may be sure; and the doctor were very kind about it, and shook hands with me, and said he was sorry as we'd been kept out of the things so long: but I told him it were no fault of his, and it were all right, for the Lord's hand were plainly in it; for if it had gone elsewhere we might never have seen it again. So I carried off the bag as carefully as if it had been made of solid gold, and it hasn't been out of my sight a moment till I got it safe home.

"The doctor sent his best regards to you, sir, and the same to Miss Maltby, and so did his missus. And as I went out at the door, I just said to the green boy, 'William, you keep a civil tongue in your head to _everybody_, my lad, and don't be too proud of them b.u.t.tons.'

"And now, dear friends, with your leave, I'll open the bag again, and see what it's got to tell us." Having unlocked the padlock with an ordinary key, Thomas Bradly drew forth a quant.i.ty of paper, and then a small packet wrapped up in silver paper which he handed to his sister.

Poor Jane's hands trembled as she unfolded the covering, and she had some difficulty in maintaining her self-command as she drew forth the bracelet, the innocent occasion of so much trial and sorrow. It was evidently a costly article, and, though a little tarnished, looked very beautiful. As Jane held it up for inspection, tears of mingled sadness and thankfulness filled her eyes.

"Oh," she said, "how little did I think, when I took the fellow to this bracelet into my hand at Lady Morville's, and held it up to look at it, as I am doing now, that such a flood of sorrow would have come from such a simple act of mine! Ah, but I can see already how wonderfully the Lord has been bringing good to others out of what seemed so long to be full of nothing but evil for me."

"You recognise the bracelet then, Jane," asked the vicar, "as the match to the one which was found in your hand?"

"O yes, sir: the image of that bracelet has been burnt into my memory; I could never forget it; it has often haunted me in my dreams."

While these words were being spoken, Thomas had emptied out the remaining contents of the bag on to the table, and thoroughly examined them. All that he found was the unopened envelope and a quant.i.ty of waste paper.

"This belongs to you, dear Jane," said Bradly, giving her the letter.

She shook her head. "I cannot, Thomas," she said. "Oh, do _you_ open it, and read it out," she added imploringly.