I couldn't believe my eyes at first, for I've often left things on benches and steps outside the publics, and never knowed 'em touched afore this; for they're as honest a people in Crossbourne as you'll find anywhere. Howsomever, the bag were gone; there were no mistake about that. I went round into the yard and axed the hostler, but he hadn't seed nobody about. I looked up and down, but never a soul could I see as had a bag in his hand, so what to do I couldn't tell. Then I thought, `Maybe some one's carried it back to the station by mistake.' So I went back, but it weren't there. I can tell you Thomas, I were never more mad with myself in all my life; for though I haven't been one of your sort, I've always respected you, and I'd rather have lost almost any one else's things than yours. I only hope it ain't of much consequence, as it were a very shabby bag, and didn't seem to have much in it, for it were scarcely any weight at all." "Well, James, don't fret about it," said the other; "you meant no harm. As to the value of the bag, I know nothing more than you've told me, for I haven't been expecting anything of the sort. I only trust it'll be a warning to you, and that you'll stick firm to your pledge, and keep on the outside of the beer-shops and publics for the future." "I will, Thomas; I will. But you know I told you as that gent who put the bag in my keeping gave me a letter besides. Well, I ain't lost the letter, but I've really been ashamed to bring it you, as I couldn't bring the bag too. And the devil said to me, `You'd better throw the letter behind the fire, and there'll be an end of all bother;' but I couldn't do that, though I've never had the courage yet to give it you. But here it is;" and he took from his pocket a discoloured envelope, and handed it to Bradly. It was directed in a crabbed hand, with the writing sloping down to the corner--"Miss Jane Bradly, Crossbourne." "Stop here a minute or two, Jim," said his friend, "and I shall be able perhaps to set your mind at ease about the bag;" and he left the room. "Jane," he said, addressing his sister, who was seated in her usual place by the kitchen fire, "I've a letter for you, and it has come in rather an odd way;" and he then repeated to her James Barnes's story. Much puzzled, but with no great amount of curiosity or interest, Jane took the letter from her brother's hand. From whom could it have come? There was of course no postmark, as it had been sent by messenger; and she knew nothing of the handwriting. When she had opened it she found only one small leaf, and but very few words on that; but these words, few though they were, seemed to take her breath away, and to overwhelm her with overpowering emotion. She sat staring at the miserable scrawl as though the letters were potent with some mighty spell, and then, throwing the paper on the table by her, gave way to a passionate outburst of weeping.