When his footsteps died away the old merchant reached under the divan and drew forth the shittim-wood box.

Producing a key he unlocked and opened it.

From his bosom he drew forth the letter from Philadelphus and laid it within.
"Let her take it with her," he said, speaking aloud.

"Here," lifting a cylinder of old silver exquisitely chased, "are her marriage papers; this," lifting delicately embroidered squares of linen, "her marriage tokens, and here, her dowry." He opened the inner box and laid the sheepskin wallet in upon the gems.

He closed the lid, and, locking the case, lifted it and set it beside him on the divan.
When he looked up, he saw a man standing within a few paces of him and perfunctorily gazing at anything but the display of Laodice's fortune.
He was lean, muscular, somewhat younger than forty but already gray at the temples, of nervous temperament, direct of gaze and of attractive presence.