"There is still something more," she said in an imploring tone, "and it must be a secret sacredly kept between you and me. It may happen that you will become acquainted with the name of the guardian of my child. I have a small memorial which I desire she shall retain until she is of age, say until she is twenty-one, or until, in the event of my husband's death, I am free to seek her in years to come. If you do not discover who the guardian is I ask you to keep this memorial for me until I reclaim it--which may be never. Will you do this for me?" "I will." "Thank you for all your goodness to me. But I have nothing to put the memorial in. Could you add to your many kindnesses by giving me a small box which I can lock and secure? Dear Dr. Spenlove, it is a mother who will presently be torn from her child who implores you." He bethought him of a small iron box he had at home, which contained some private papers of his own. He could spare this box without inconvenience to himself, and he promised to bring it to her--and so, with sincere words of consolation, he left her. In the course of an hour he returned. Mr. Gordon had consented to the condition she imposed. "Should I be thankful or not?" she asked wistfully. "You should be thankful," he replied. "Your child, rest assured, will have a comfortable and happy home. Here is the box and the key. It is a patent lock--no other key will unlock it. I will show you how to use it. Yes, that is the way." He paused a moment, his hand in his pocket. "You will be ready to meet Mr. Gordon at three to-morrow?" "And my child?" she asked, with tears in her voice. "When will that be taken from me?" "At twelve." His hand was still fumbling in his pocket, and he suddenly shook his head, as if indignant with himself. "You may want to purchase one or two little things in the morning. Here are a few shillings. Pray accept them." He laid on the table the money with which he had intended to pay his fare to London. "Heaven reward you," said the grateful woman, "and make your life bright and prosperous!" Her tears bedewed his hand as she kissed it humbly, and Dr. Spenlove walked wearily home once more, penniless, but not unhappy. CHAPTER VIII. WHAT WAS PUT IN THE IRON BOX.