Below the ring lay a miniature, the portrait of a fair woman with deep
blue eyes. It was set round with brilliants and on the gold back was
engraved, "Gertrude Merriam."
Miss Merriam stared at it and then handed it to Mr. Emerson.
"What a marvellous likeness!" he exclaimed. "You must be able to see
it yourself."
Gertrude nodded again, not trusting herself to speak.
"There's no question that she's your ancestor. Now, I'd like to see if
the correct number of coins is here if you'll let Roger and me count
your guineas for you."
"Count my guineas?" cried Miss Merriam.
"Certainly they're your guineas. You're a direct descendant of
Algernon and Patience. The bag and its contents belong to you."
Gertrude stared at Mr. Emerson as if she could not understand him.
"Mine?" she repeated, "mine?" but when Mr. Emerson insisted and the
other elders congratulated her and the girls kissed her and Roger shook
hands formally, she began, to realize that this little fortune really
was hers by right and not through the kindness of her friends.
The count of the coins proved exact. There were 569 of them.
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