“In Oleander Point, Long Island, in the cottage of Dr. Charles W. Bonner, who was tutoring me. I had a couple of conditions and I stayed until the third of September!” “Thank you! Thank you! That is all--unless, Mr. Merriwether, you wish to do me and yourself three very great favors. Three!” He looked at Tom with a sort of intelligent curiosity, as of a chemist conducting an experiment. “Let's hear what they are,” said young Mr. Merriwether, calmly. It was at times like these that he showed whose son he was--alert, his imagination active, his nerves under control, and his courage steady and at par. He had, moreover, made up his mind that he would do some questioning later on. “First favor: Concentrate your mind on how you used to spend your bright, sunshiny days in Oleander Point and your beautiful moonlight nights. Recall the pleasant people you were friendly with during those happy weeks. Visualize that summer! Make an effort! Think!” It was a command, and Tom Merriwether found himself thinking of that summer. He closed his eyes. His grip on the revolver in his pocket relaxed.... He saw his friends. Some of them he had not seen in years. Others he saw almost daily. And somehow it seemed to him that all the girls were pretty and kindly; and in particular--well, there were in particular three. But the affairs had come to nothing. He could not have told how long his reverie lasted--the mind traverses long stretches of time, as of space, in seconds. “Well?” said Tom at length. “Thank you,” said the man, with the matter-of-fact gratitude a man feels toward a servant for some attention. He took from his pocket a small black-velvet bag, opened it, and spread on the table before Tom Merriwether a dozen pearls, ranging in size from a pea to a filbert. They were all of a beautiful orient. “I beg you to select one of these. You need not use it. You may give it to your valet if you wish, or throw it out of the window. Only accept it as a souvenir of our meeting. That, Mr. Merriwether, would be favor number two.” He pointed toward the pearls. Tom picked one--pear-shaped, white, beautiful--and put it in his waistcoat pocket. The man swept the rest into one of the drawers of the long library table. “I thank you very much,” said Tom. He was not sure the pearls were not genuine. “No; please don't,” said the man. There was a pause. Presently he asked, “Do you know anything about pearls, sir?” “I am no expert,” answered Tom. “Characteristic. You Merriwethers are brave enough to be truthful, and wise enough to be cautious. Have you any opinions?” “I think they are beautiful,” said Tom. “They are more than that. They represent, Mr. Merriwether, the hope of the Kingdom of Heaven. The pearl is the symbol of purity, humility, and innocence. Do you know the legend of the mild maid of God--Saint Margaret of Antioch?” “No.”