Two days later Mr. Warmore received a certified check for nine hundred dollars; and thus the account between him and G. Field Catherwood was closed.  He was never seen in Bellemore again.  Ten years later he died, while travelling abroad with a woman whom he had made his wife.  Then, for the first time, Tom Gordon learned the particulars of the night when Mr. Warmore assisted the detective.

Let us take one more, and the final, leap forward.  Three years have passed since Tom Gordon checked runaway Jack, and saved the life of pretty Jennie Warmore.  They have been three years of undimmed happiness to both; for during the last one of those years they two became man and wife.

Oh, it all came about so naturally, that you would not care to know the particulars.  Tom was given a share in the business which he had done so much to develop; and on the day previous to his wedding his prospective father-in-law presented him with a half interest, thus insuring him a handsome income for life.

Tom made one condition, which was carried out in spirit and letter.  Mr. Pitcairn, from whose hospitable roof he took his final departure, was to have all the groceries, dry-goods, and every sort of supplies from the store as long as he lived, without paying one penny therefor.  And it is a pleasure to record that this arrangement continued without break until the old couple were finally laid to rest in the churchyard beside poor Jim Travers who had passed on long before.

Among the wedding presents to the bride was the locket and chain which she herself had taken from her neck years previous, when drowning in the North River, and linked about the button on the coat of her rescuer.  She and her parents were amazed beyond measure as they stood with only her smiling husband present, examining the treasure.

“It is the same,” said the wondering mother, opening the locket, and looking at the childish features, “the very one you wore about your neck on that awful night.”

“But where did it come from?” asked the father, taking it from his wife’s hand, and examining it with an interest that can hardly be described.

“There is no name with it,” added Jennie, “and—­do you know anything about it, Tom?” she asked abruptly, turning short upon him.

“Didn’t I tell you years ago, when you related the story, that the boy would turn up sooner or later.  Well, he has done so, and what of it?”

“But where is he?”

He opened his arms, and the proud, happy bride rushed into his embrace, while the parents stared, not able quite to understand what it all meant.

“Yes,” said he, looking around, “I was the fortunate boy who jumped into the water after you, and found that chain wound round the button of my coat.  I have kept it and the locket ever since, but I never knew you were the original until I heard the story from your lips.”

“You scamp!” exclaimed Mr. Warmore.  “And you never said a word about it.”