Mrs. Carter looked at Eva with distress in her eyes, and hesitation in her manner. “What can I do? It does seem hard.” Before Eva could answer, the man broke in, “Besides, madam will remember, that I am a poor man, and have spent much time in searching for that shawl, which time is a dead loss, if I fail to bring it back to the owner, who is ready to pay me.” “That does seem hard!” said the good woman, appealing to Eva, who was so lost in admiration of the shawl, that the man’s greedy eloquence half escaped her. “The owner has been to my shop again and again, wild to get it. At first he wanted to have it back for a little; but now he will pay anything. The last time he said, ‘get it, and I will not count the cost. It is a case of life and death. I must have that shawl.’ Then I went to work in earnest. This was an inducement for one who toils so hard and gets so little. After all my pains, madam will not be so cruel as to take a poor man’s time for nothing.” “Eva, I think he must have it!” “Wait a moment. Let me call Mr. Ross. He will comprehend the claim this man has better than is possible for us. He is in the study; I will find him in a minute.” Eva ran up stairs, while the pawnbroker, half-baffled and wholly anxious, stood eyeing the shawl with mercenary craving, and Mrs. Carter felt like a victim. CHAPTER LXVII. THE PAWNBROKER GETS HIS PRICE. Directly Mr. Ross came down, and followed Eva into the room. The pawnbroker stepped back to the wall, and uttered an exclamation full of trouble and surprise. “What! The gentleman here!—here, in this very house! I cannot understand!” Ross turned, his eyes kindled, and his cheeks flushed. “Here at last? You have found it then? The shawl!—the shawl! Oh, sister, you have it! But how can you tell if it is the same? I must be assured of that.” “Why, Ross, what is the matter? Do you know this man? What is my shawl to you?” “Your shawl!” “Yes, brother!” “And you got it of this man?” “It seems that it came from him!” “Yes, it is the same! I will swear to it! Oh, sir! the time I have taken to search it out is well worth all you promised.” “Perhaps. I do not know yet. Give me the shawl, sister; in half an hour I will return.” Ross was white in the face. He took up the shawl, and gazed upon it, until tears absolutely trembled in his eyes. Then he folded the garment carefully, as one handles a shroud, and went forth, carrying it in his hand. Mrs. Laurence was busy in her kitchen, absolutely humming over an old-fashioned love-song, for the great load of a hard life had been lifted from her shoulders, and awkward gleams of cheerfulness were beginning to dawn in upon her. All at once a man entered the back door, and came toward her. “Why, Mr. Ross, is that you? I didn’t hear the bell,” she exclaimed, smoothing down her apron.