He opened the book with shaking hands.  A betting-book was bound up in it, with the customary calendar.  He turned to the date of the day after the robbery.

There was the entry:  “Felix Sweetsir.  Paid 500 pounds.  Note numbered, N 8, 70564; dated 15th May, 1875.”

Moody took from his waistcoat pocket his own memorandum of the number of the lost bank-note.  “Read it Isabel,” he said.  “I won’t trust my memory.”

She read it.  The number and date of the note entered in the pocketbook exactly corresponded with the number and date of the note that Lady Lydiard had placed in her letter.

Moody handed the pocketbook to Isabel.  “There is the proof of your innocence,” he said, “thanks to the dog!  Will you write and tell Mr. Hardyman what has happened?” he asked, with his head down and his eyes on the ground.

She answered him, with the bright color suddenly flowing over her face.

“You shall write to him,” she said, “when the time comes.”

“What time?” he asked.

She threw her arms round his neck, and hid her face on his bosom.

“The time,” she whispered, “when I am your wife.”

A low growl from Tommie reminded them that he too had some claim to be noticed.

Isabel dropped on her knees, and saluted her old playfellow with the heartiest kisses she had ever given him since the day when their acquaintance began.  “You darling!” she said, as she put him down again, “what can I do to reward you?”

Tommie rolled over on his back—­more slowly than usual, in consequence of his luncheon in the tent.  He elevated his four paws in the air and looked lazily at Isabel out of his bright brown eyes.  If ever a dog’s look spoke yet, Tommie’s look said, “I have eaten too much; rub my stomach.”

POSTSCRIPT.

Persons of a speculative turn of mind are informed that the following document is for sale, and are requested to mention what sum they will give for it.

“IOU, Lady Lydiard, five hundred pounds (L500), Felix Sweetsir.”

Her Ladyship became possessed of this pecuniary remittance under circumstances which surround it with a halo of romantic interest.  It was the last communication she was destined to receive from her accomplished nephew.  There was a Note attached to it, which cannot fail to enhance its value in the estimation of all right-minded persons who assist the circulation of paper money.

The lines that follow are strictly confidential: 

“Note.—­Our excellent Moody informs me, my dear aunt, that you have decided (against his advice) on ‘refusing to prosecute.’  I have not the slightest idea of what he means; but I am very much obliged to him, nevertheless, for reminding me of a circumstance which is of some interest to yourself personally.

“I am on the point of retiring to the Continent in search of health.  One generally forgets something important when one starts on a journey.  Before Moody called, I had entirely forgotten to mention that I had the pleasure of borrowing five hundred pounds of you some little time since.