Angela opened the bag. "Five hundred dollars," she said counting rapidly. "Now, isn't that odd? I didn't think I had quite so much! How queer the _money_ should have come back without the purse it was in, and especially the check-book. One would think that would be of little value to a thief." "There's no accounting for a thief's ways," said Nick solemnly. "And I guess a lady can't always remember to a dollar or two what money she had." "No-o," Angela admitted. "But--it looks different, somehow." She glanced again at the outside of the bag, and Nick's heart jumped. "The _bag_ looks different, too," she said. "Newer, and----" "As a matter of fact I took the liberty of having it cleaned up before it came back to your hands." "But the stones----" "The worst of it is they had to be put back in again," said Nick. "That gives a different look." "The thief had taken out the stones?" "Somebody had, anyhow--some of them." "And I'm not to ask questions! It's the most mysterious thing I ever heard." "I expect it's one of those cases where 'the least said soonest mended,'" Nick remarked. "But do _you_ know who took the bag, and what happened?" "No more than you do. I--just had to make the best of a bad business. I hope you don't think I did wrong?" "No, indeed. That would be ungrateful. Only--it's very strange. I suppose this _must_ be my bag, but----" "You can take your oath of that, anyhow. And it's your money." "More than I thought I had. And the bag looks prettier. It's as if I'd cast my bread on the waters and it had returned--buttered. One good thing is, I can pay you. Four hundred dollars I borrowed. Here it is." Nick had not bargained for this transaction, and it was the last thing he wanted. "But--but--you're not leaving yourself enough," he objected. "Oh, yes. I can pay for my ticket as far as my first stopping-place. Already I've written the bank to have money to meet me there, and it will be in time, for I shall stay in that town several days. You must take it--really." He could not refuse, although it meant that he would not have her address, or an excuse for giving his. Slowly he drew the miniature frame out from an inside pocket of his coat. "I kept it there so as to be sure it was safe," he explained, lest the lady should think he had taken a liberty in wearing her property close to his heart. Then, with many more thanks from Angela, and protestations on his part, they said good-bye. Although the newspapers had told her that Mr. Hilliard lived near Bakersfield, California, she had no association with that part of the State, and it seemed improbable to Angela that she should ever meet the handsome forest creature again. As she had no home she could not, even if it seemed best, invite him to call upon her at some future time; but she felt a stirring of regret that her travelling adventure was over--quite over--now.