“Tell me,” cried Holden, a little sternly, “what thou knowest of the boy.  My soul travaileth sore, and hope and doubt rend me in twain.”

“Hold fast your hope my friend,” said Mr. Pownal, “for all will yet be well.  Prepare yourself to hear what, without preparation, might overcome your strength.”

“Fear not,” said Holden.  “Yet alas! who knoweth his own heart?  But a moment ago, I thought myself as an iron mountain, and now am I weaker than the untimely birth.”

“Eliza,” said Mr. Pownal turning to his wife, “bring the token you preserved.”

During the absence of his wife, Mr. Pownal endeavored to prepare the mind of the Solitary for the joyful discovery he was about to make.  It was now, too, that Holden perceived, from the agitation of his feelings, that he was weak, like other men, and that with whatever hope and confidence and calmness he might contemplate the prospect of distant happiness, its near approach shook him like a reed.  Mrs. Pownal presently returned, with a coral necklace in her hand, and presented it to Holden.

“Do you recognize it?” she said.

He took it into his hands, and as if overcome by the violence of his emotions, was unable to speak a word.  He gazed steadily at it, his lips moved but made no sound, and tears began to fall upon the faded coral.  At last, with broken utterance, he said: 

“The last time my eyes beheld these beads they were upon the neck of my dear child.  They were the gift of his mother, and she hung them around his neck.  Examine the clasp and you will find S.B., the initials of her maiden name, engraved upon it.  My tears blind my sight.”

“They are, indeed, upon the clasp,” said Mrs. Pownal, who appeared to have a greater control over herself than her husband over his feelings:  “we have often seen them, but little did we expect they would ever contribute to the discovery of the parentage of our dear”——­

She turned to young Pownal, and threw her arms again about his neck.

“Come hither, Thomas,” said Mr. Pownal, “the necklace was taken from your neck.  This is your father.  Mr. Holden, embrace your son.”

The young man rushed to his father, and threw himself at his feet.  Holden extended his hands, but the sudden revulsion of high wrought feeling was more than he could bear.  The color fled face and lips, and he fell forward insensible into the arms of his long lost son.

“I feared it would be so,” said Mr. Pownal; “but joy seldom kills.  See,” he added, after Mrs. Pownal had sprinkled some water in the face of the gasping man, “he is recovering.  He will soon be himself again.”