There was breathless silence in the room as Warren unfolded the paper lying on top of the packet like a thick letter. All--honor for dead and living, ancient lands and name, home for the fondly loved child--lay sealed in the certificate of marriage and birth lying in Maxwell’s right hand. The other papers related to his own story--a record of happenings after the fugitive from justice had arrived in America. The jewelry was jeweled family portraits, including one of Captain Henry when a young man; also a ring bearing the family crest. Nothing was missing--the chain of evidence was complete, even to the trained eye of the legal critic. Then followed congratulations and good wishes from the friends who had done so much to make the present joy possible. “I for one,” said the representative to Congress, “from this day out condemn this cursed ‘system’ of ours. We’re a laughing stock for the whole world, to say nothing of the wickedness of the thing.” “Right you are, Jameson: put them sentiments down for every man of us,” cried a voice in the crowd. Judah could say nothing, but he wrung Warren’s hand hard. “You go with us to England, Judah, and share prosperity as you have shared adversity. You shall choose your own path in life and be a man among men.” “I ain’t any words to say, my girl!” Maybee said huskily to Winona; “but you know what’s in my ol’ heart, I reckon, by what’s in your own. I know you won’t forget us when you’re a great lady. Poor White Eagle, he had a rocky time of it, sure.” * * * * * Many visits were made to the island by our three friends before the day when they embarked from Canada for old England. Oh, the rare delight they felt in the movement of the light canoe as they glided over the blue waters of the lake, and the thunders of Niagara sounded in their ears like a mighty orchestra rejoicing in their joy. Again they stood on the high ridge where lay the sun-flecked woods, climbed the slopes and listened to the squirrel’s shrill, clear chirp; watched the blackbirds winging the air in flight and heard the robin’s mellow music gushing from the boughs above their heads. The Indian-pipes with their faint pink stems lay concealed among the bushes as of old. Beneath the great pine that shaded White Eagle’s grave they rested reverent, tempered sadness in their hearts. Winona buried her face in her lover’s bosom with smothered, passionate sobs. Warren folded her close to him. “My heart’s dearest, you must not grieve; your time of mourning is past. He is happy now as he sees your future assured. Through you he has conquered death and the grave; justice and honor are his after many years of shame.” And she was comforted.