“I could not bear to show it to one who esteems me as you seem to do. But perhaps it will not always be so.” “I hope not. You are young, and Heaven is good. Can I do nothing for you, who have done so much for me?” “Nothing--unless--” said she, feigning vast timidity, “you could spare me that ring of yours, as a remembrance of the part I have played in this affair.” Sir Charles colored. It was a ruby of the purest water, and had been two centuries in his family. He colored, but was too fine a gentleman to hesitate. He said, “By all means. But it is a poor thing to offer _you.”_ “I shall value it very much.” “Say no more. I am fortunate in having anything you deign to accept.” And so the ring changed hands. The Sister now put it on her middle finger, and held up her hand, and her bright eyes glanced at it, through her veil, with that delight which her sex in general feel at the possession of a new bauble. She recovered herself, however, and told him, soberly, the ring should return to his family at her death, if not before. “I will give you a piece of advice for it,” said she. “Miss Bruce has foxy hair; and she is very timid. Don't you take her advice about commanding her. She would like to be your slave! Don't let her. Coax her to speak her mind. Make a friend of her. Don't you put her to this--that she must displease you, or else deceive you. She might choose wrong, especially with that colored hair.” “It is not in her nature to deceive.” “It is not in her nature to displease. Excuse me; I am too fanciful, and look at women too close. But I know your happiness depends on her. All your eggs are in that one basket. Well, I have told you how to carry the basket. Good-by.” Sir Charles saw her out, and bowed respectfully to her in the hall, while his servant opened the street door. He did her this homage as his benefactress. When admiral and Miss Bruce reached Baden Mrs. Molineux was away on a visit; and this disappointed Admiral Bruce, who had counted on her assistance to manage and comfort Bella. Bella needed the latter very much. A glance at her pale, pensive, lovely face was enough to show that sorrow was rooted at her heart. She was subjected to no restraint, but kept the house of her own accord, thinking, as persons of her age are apt to do, that her whole history must be written in her face. Still, of course, she did go out sometimes; and one cold but bright afternoon she was strolling languidly on the parade, when all in a moment she met Sir Charles Bassett face to face. She gave an eloquent scream, and turned pale a moment, and then the hot blood came rushing, and then it retired, and she stood at bay, with heaving bosom--and great eyes. Sir Charles held out both hands pathetically. “Don't you be afraid of me.” When she found he was so afraid of offending her she became more courageous. “How dare you come here?” said she, but with more curiosity than violence, for it had been her dream of hope he would come.