Poor Thomas! He could not help feeling a little disheartened. He had hoped, as Ned Taylor proceeded with his confession, that something was coming that would lead to the discovery of the long-lost and earnestly- desired evidence of Jane's innocence; and now that confession only showed that the bag had been carried hopelessly out of their reach. Had it been hidden away somewhere in Crossbourne, there would have been a good hope of hunting it out; but now that it had been conveyed away to the great metropolis, and had been carried off from the railway terminus, further search and inquiry seemed absolutely useless. Of course, if an honest man had accidentally got hold of it, and found out his mistake, it was possible he might have found some clue to the rightful owner in Hollands' letter, if he discovered that letter in the bag; but as nearly half a year had now gone by since the loss, there was no reason to suppose that the bag had fallen into the hands of any one willing, or, if willing, able to restore it. If, on the other hand, a dishonest person had got hold of it, of course the bracelet would have been broken up, or hopelessly sold away, and the bag destroyed. It was now the beginning of June, when one evening Bradly was sitting in his arm-chair at home, with a shadow on his face, as he meditated on these things. Jane, whose quick eye marked every change in her brother's countenance, was persuaded that there was something more than usually amiss, for the light on Bradly's habitually cheerful face to be clouded, and gently asked the cause. "To tell you the truth, dear Jane," he replied, "I am troubled, spite of myself, about your matter." "What, Thomas! Have you heard anything fresh?" "Yes, I have; but I wasn't meaning to say anything about it at present to you, as I wouldn't trouble you to no purpose, and I thought I'd wait for more light." "Oh, tell me, Thomas, tell me! What is it?" "Why, the simple truth is that the bag's been found; and yet it's lost, and worse lost than ever." "O Thomas!" "Well, Jane dear, don't fret; I'll tell you all about it." He then proceeded to give her the full particulars of Ned Taylor's story, and of the endeavour he had made, but without success, to trace the bag in London. Jane listened patiently, and did not speak when her brother had finished, but her lips moved in silent prayer. "Thomas," she said, quietly and sadly, "it is a sore trial of faith, but let us still trust in the Lord, and follow your favourite maxim, `Do the next thing.'" "The Lord bless you, dear Jane, for your patience. You're right; only I don't clearly see what _is_ the next thing." "Will it not be of any use to advertise?" she asked.