The studies were varied, and in all stages of advancement; here two elk heads and a buffalo; there a gaunt coyote crouching in the chaparral; a cluster of giant oaks; far off, a waving line of mountain peaks; a canon with vultures sailing high above it; cow boys, and a shoreless sea of prairie, with no shadows except those cast by filmy clouds drifting against the sun.  Slowly turning the leaves, which showed everywhere a master’s skilful hand, Beryl found two sheets of paper tied together with a strand of silk; and between them lay a fold of tissue paper, to preserve some delicate lines.  She untied the knot, and carefully lifted the tissue, looking at the sketch.

A faint, inarticulate cry escaped her, and she sank back an instant in the corner of the seat; but the chatter of the nurses, and the whimpering wail of one dissatisfied baby mercifully drowned the sound.  The car, the trees on the Street, the belfry of a church seemed spinning in some witch’s dance, and an icy wind swept over and chilled her.  She threw aside her veil, stooped, and her lips whitened.

What was there in the figure of a kneeling monk, to drive the blood in cold waves to her throbbing heart?  The sketch represented the head and shoulders of a man, whose cowl had fallen back, exposing the outlines and moulding of a face and throat absolutely flawless in beauty, yet darkened by the reflection of some overpowering and irremediable woe.  The features were youthful as St. Sebastian’s; the expression that of one prematurely aged by severe and unremitting mental conflict; but neither shaven crown, nor cowl availed to disguise Bertie Brentano, and as his sister’s eyes gazed at the sketch, it wavered, swam, vanished in a mist of tears.

In one corner of the sheet a man’s hand had written “Brother Luke”, August the 10th.  Had relenting fate, or a merciful prayer-answering-God placed in her hand the long sought clue?  When Beryl recovered from the shock of recognition, and looked around, she found the car empty; and discovered that she had been carried several squares beyond the street where she intended to get out and walk.

Carefully replacing the tissue paper and silk thread, she tied the leathern straps of the portfolio, and left the car, holding the sketches close to her heart as she hurried homeward.  When she turned a corner and caught sight of the bronze anchor over the door, she involuntarily slackened her pace, and at the same moment a policeman crossed the street, stood in front of her, and touched his cap.  The sight of his uniform thrilled her with a premonition of danger.

“Pardon me, Sister, but something has been lost on the street.”

“A portfolio?  I have found it.”

“It is very valuable to the owner.”

“I intend having it advertised in to-morrow’s paper.”

“The person to whom it belongs, wishes to leave the city; to-night, hence his haste in trying to recover it.”