Mrs. Burnham leaned over to Goodlaw and whispered something to him.  He nodded, smiled and said to the witness:  “That’s all, Mr. Buckley,” and Bachelor Billy came down from the stand and pushed his way back to a seat among the people.

There was a whispered conversation for a few moments between Sharpman and his client, and then the lawyer said:—­

“We desire to recall Mrs. Burnham for one or two more questions.  Will you be kind enough to take the stand, Mrs. Burnham?”

The lady arose and went again to the witness-stand.

Craft was busy with his leather hand-bag.  He had taken a parcel therefrom, unwrapped it and laid it on the table.  It was the cloak that Old Simon had shown to Robert Burnham on the day of the mine disaster.  Sharpman took it up, shook it out, carried it to Mrs. Burnham, and placed it in her hands.

“Do you recognize this cloak?” he asked.

A sudden pallor overspread her face.  She could not speak.  She was holding the cloak up before her eyes, gazing on it in mute astonishment.

“Do you recognize it, madam?” repeated Sharpman.

“Why, sir!” she said, at last, “it is—­it was Ralph’s.  He wore it the night of the disaster.”  She was caressing the faded ribbons with her hand; the color was returning to her face.

“And this, Mrs. Burnham, do you recognize this?” inquired the lawyer, advancing with the cap.

“It was Ralph’s!” she exclaimed, holding out her hands eagerly to grasp it.  “It was his cap.  May I have it, sir?  May I have them both?  I have nothing, you know, that he wore that night.”

She was bending forward, looking eagerly at Sharpman, with flushed face and eyes swimming in tears.

“Perhaps so, madam,” he said, “perhaps; they go with the boy.  If we succeed in restoring your son to you, we shall give you these things also.”

“What else have you that he wore?” she asked, impatiently.  “Oh! did you find the locket, a little gold locket?  He wore it with a chain round his neck; it had his—­his father’s portrait in it.”

Without a word, Sharpman placed the locket in her hands.  Her fingers trembled so that she could hardly open it.  Then the gold covers parted and revealed to her the pictured face of her dead husband.  The eyes looked up at her kindly, gently, lovingly, as they had always looked on her in life.  After a moment her lips trembled, her eyes filled with tears, she drew the veil across her face, and her frame grew tremulous with deep emotion.

“I do not think it is necessary,” said Sharpman, courteously, “to pain the witness with other questions.  I regard the identification of these articles, by her, as sufficiently complete.  We will excuse her from further examination.”

The lady left the stand with bowed head and veiled face, and Conductor Merrick was recalled.

“Look at that cloak and the cap,” said Sharpman, “and tell me if they are the articles worn by the child who was going to the city with this old man after the accident.”