He ran his fingers over it, and a curious look flashed across his face.

He held the paper up to the light quickly, and looked through it.

It was thin, half-foreign paper, without lines, and there was a water-mark in it-large, shadowy, filmy--Kathleen.
It was paper made in the mills which had belonged to Kathleen's uncle.
This water-mark was made to celebrate their marriage-day.

Only for one year had this paper been made, and then the trade in it was stopped.

It had gone its ways down the channels of commerce, and here it was in his hand, a reminder, not only of the old life, but, as it were, the parchment for the new.