I had them dragged out into the light, all mildewed and cob-webbed as they were; whereupon an army of spiders rushed out in every direction, a bat rose up, shrieking, and whirled in blind circles overhead.  In a corner of the pagoda we found an empty bird’s-nest.  The table was small, and could be got out without much difficulty; so I helped the workman to carry it down the ladder, and sending it on before me to the house, sauntered back through the glancing shadows of the acacia-leaves, musing upon the way in which these long-forgotten things had been brought to light, and wondering how they came to be stored away in my own stable.

“Do you know anything about it, Collins?” I said, coming up suddenly behind him in the hall.

“About what, sir?” asked that respectable servant, looking round with some perplexity, as if in search of the 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.