nominative.

I pointed to the table, now being carried into the dismantled
dining-room.

Collins smiled--he had a remarkably civil, apologetic way of smiling
behind his hand, as if it were a yawn or a liberty.

"Oh, sir," said he, "don't you remember? To be sure, you were quite a
young gentleman at that time--but---"

"But what?" I interrupted, impatiently.

"Why, sir, that table once belonged to a poor little conjuring chap who
called himself Almond Pudding, and died...."

I checked him with a gesture.

"I know all that," I said, hastily. "I remember it perfectly; but how
came the things into my stable?"

"Your respected father and my honored master, sir, had them conveyed
there when the Red Lion was sold off," said Collins, with a sidelong
glance at the dining-room door. "He was of opinion, sir, that they might
some day identify the poor man to his relatives, in case of inquiry."

I heard the sound of a suppressed sob, and, brushing past him without
another word, went in and closed the door.

"My own Hortense!" I said, taking her into my arms. "My wife!"

Pale and tearful, she lifted her face from my shoulder, and pointed to
the table.

"I know what it is," she faltered. "You need not tell me. My heart tells
me!"

I led her to a chair, and explained how and where it had been found. I
even told her of the little empty nest from which the young birds had
long since flown away. In this tiny incident there was something
pathetic that soothed her; so, presently, when she left off weeping, we
examined the table together.

It was a quaint, fragile, ricketty thing, with slender twisted legs of
black wood, and a cloth-covered top that had once been green, but now
retained no vestige of its original color. This cloth top was covered
with slender slits of various shapes and sizes, round, square,
sexagonal, and so forth, which, being pressed with the finger, fell
inwards and disclosed little hiding-places sunk in the well of the
table; but which, as soon as the pressure was removed, flew up again by
means of concealed springs, and closed as neatly as before.

"This is strange," said Hortense, peering into one of the recesses. "I
have found something in the table! Look--it is a watch!"

I snatched it from her, and carried it to the window. Blackened and
discolored as it was, I recognised it instantly.

It was my own watch--my own watch of which I was so boyishly vain years
and years ago, and which I had lost