e it to me," I said, as if I cursed him.

"It's a sacred book," he answered, hesitating.

"Maybe it's sacred. Let me see."

"There may be holy mysteries in it, to be read only of him who has the
key."

"I have a key!"

I took it out of the snuffbox. Johnny Appleseed fixed his rapt eyes on
the little object in my fingers.

"Mebby you are the one appointed to open and read what is sealed!"

"No, I'm not! How could my key fit a padlocked book that belonged to
prisoners killed by the Indians?"

He held it out to me and I took hold of the padlock. It was a small
steel padlock, and the hole looked dangerously the size of my key.

"I can't do it!" I said.

"Let me try," said Johnny Appleseed.

"No! You might break my key in a strange padlock! Hold it still, Johnny.
Please don't shake it."

"I'm not shaking it," Johnny Appleseed answered tenderly.

"There's only one way of proving that my key doesn't fit," I said, and
thrust it in. The ward turned easily, and the padlock came away in my
hand. I dropped it and opened the book. Within the lid a name was
written which I had copied a thousand times--"Eagle Madeleine Marie de
Ferrier."

Still I did not believe it. Nature protects us in our uttermost losses
by a density through which conviction is slow to penetrate. In some
mysterious way the padlocked book had fallen into strange hands, and
had been carried to America.

"If Eagle were in America, I should know it. For De Chaumont would know
it, and Skenedonk would find it out."

I stooped for the padlock, hooked it in place, and locked the book
again.

"Is the message to you alone?" inquired Johnny Appleseed.

"Did you ever care for a woman?" I asked him.

Restless misery came into his eyes, and I noticed for the first time
that he was not an old man; he could not have been above thirty-five. He
made no answer; shifting from one bare foot to the other, his body
settling and losing its Indian lightness.

"A woman gave me the key to this book. Her name is written inside the
lid. I was to read it if it ever fell into my hands, after a number of
years. Somebody has stolen it, and carried it among the Indians. But
it's mine. Every shilling in my wallet, the clothes off my back you're
welcome to--"

"I don't want your money or your clothes."

"But let me give you something in exchange for it."

"What do I need? I always have as much as I want. This is a serviceable
coat, as good as any man need wish for; and