"Rosamund," said Lady Ursula, suddenly, "it strikes me that you and Rupert must be some kind of relations; that is, if that ring were left to you by a relation." "My mother's cousin left me the ring," I said. "Your mother's cousin?" said Captain Valentine. "Do you mind giving me some particulars? It is interesting to trace relationships; in this case especially so." I mentioned Cousin Geoffrey's name, and then added: "My mother can tell you all about him. I only saw him once in my whole life; but my mother and I attended his funeral, and afterwards I found he had left me this ring." Captain Valentine uttered an exclamation. "So old Geoffrey Rutherford was your cousin?" he said. "Of course I knew him,--he was also my cousin,--the queerest and the richest old man of my acquaintance." "Were you at the funeral?" I asked suddenly. "No; why do you ask?" "I thought all the relations were," I answered, demurely. Captain Valentine smiled. "Ah," he said, "a good many people had expectations from poor old Geoffrey. Who did he leave his wealth to, by the way?" "I don't know," I replied. "You don't know? But wasn't the will read after the funeral?" "Something was read. I don't think it was a will; and the only thing given away was my ruby ring." "Just like Geoffrey," exclaimed Captain Valentine. "Then I presume all the wealth of his miserly old life went to endow a hospital." "Even though you are a relation, you must not abuse Cousin Geoffrey," I said. "His wealth has not gone to endow any hospital, but is waiting." "Waiting--for whom?" "For the heir." Lady Ursula suddenly broke in. "The longer I know you, Rosamund," she said, "the more mysterious you grow. Who in the world is the heir? Why is not the wealth divided? Is not that poor relation," she pointed with a comical finger at Captain Valentine, "to share in any of the spoil?" "I don't know," I replied. "You had better go and ask Mr Gray; he will tell you everything." CHAPTER ELEVEN. A BEAR'S HUG. About a fortnight after the events mentioned in the last chapter, my quiet time in the queer little lodgings at Putney came to an end. Jack was declared free from infection, Hetty was quite well again, and with some difficulty we managed to get them both admitted to a Convalescent Home at Broadstairs. It was quite affecting to see the meeting between Jack and Hetty. Jack's illness had both improved and refined him. He was always the best-looking of the family, and he really looked quite handsome as he took that little confiding gentle wife of his into his arms and kissed her three or four times. Poor Jack,--he kissed me too with a fervour he had never hitherto shown. He murmured something I could not quite catch about never being able to show sufficient gratitude to me, and then he and Hetty went away.