"There was an orchestra on that boat that was frozen into the ice, Miss Picolet. One of the musicians spoke to me. He knew you—or said he did"
The girl hated to go on, Miss Picolet turned so pale and looked so frightened. But it had to be done, and Ruth pursued her story:
"I had seen the man before—the day we came to school here, Helen and I. He played the harp on the Lanawaxa."
"Ah!" gasped the French woman, holding out her hand. "No more, my dear! I understand. Let me have it."
But now Ruth hesitated and stammered, and felt in the bosom of her dress with growing fear. She looked at Miss Picolet, her own face paling.
"Oh, Miss Picolet!" she suddenly burst out. "What will you think? What can I say?"
"What—what is the matter?" gasped the French teacher.
"I—I haven't got it—it is gone!"
"What do you mean, Ruth Fielding?" cried Miss Picolet, springing to her feet.
"It's gone—I've lost it! Oh, my dear Miss Picolet! I didn't mean to. I tried to be so careful. But I have lost the letter he gave me addressed to you!"
