“Bring it! I am in agony till I see it. Oh, my darling! my darling! It can't be true. It was not my Christie. He lies in the depths of the ocean. Lord Tadcaster was in the ship, and he says so; everybody says so.” “And I say he sleeps in hallowed ground, and these hands laid him there.” Rosa lifted her hands to heaven, and cried piteously, “I don't know what to think. You would not willingly deceive me. But how can this be? Oh, Uncle Philip, why are you away from me? Sir, you say he gave you a letter?” “Yes.” “Oh, why, why did you not bring it?” “Because he told me the contents; and I thought he prized my poor efforts too highly. It did not occur to me you would doubt my word.” “Oh, no: no more I do: but I fear it was not my Christie.” “I'll go for the letter at once, Mrs. Staines.” “Oh, thank you! Bless you! Yes, this minute!” The artful rogue did not go; never intended. He rose TO GO; but had a sudden inspiration; very sudden, of course. “Had he nothing about him you could recognize him by?” “Yes, he had a ring I gave him.” Falcon took a black-edged envelope out of his pocket. “A ruby ring,” said she, beginning to tremble at his quiet action. “Is that it?” and he handed her a ruby ring. CHAPTER XXVII. Mrs. Staines uttered a sharp cry and seized the ring. Her eyes dilated over it, and she began to tremble in every limb; and at last she sank slowly back, and her head fell on one side like a broken lily. The sudden sight of the ring overpowered her almost to fainting. Falcon rose to call for assistance; but she made him a feeble motion not to do so. She got the better of her faintness, and then she fell to kissing the ring, in an agony of love, and wept over it, and still held it, and gazed at it through her blinding tears. Falcon eyed her uneasily. But he soon found he had nothing to fear. For a long time she seemed scarcely aware of his presence; and when she noticed him, it was to thank him, almost passionately. “It was my Christie you were so good to: may Heaven bless you for it: and you will bring me his letter, will you not?” “Of course I will.” “Oh, do not go yet. It is all so strange: so sad. I seem to have lost my poor Christie again, since he did not die at sea. But no, I am ungrateful to God, and ungrateful to the kind friend that nursed him to the last. Ah, I envy you that. Tell me all. Never mind my crying. I have seen the time I could not cry. It was worse then than now. I shall always cry when I speak of him, ay, to my dying day. Tell me, tell me all.”