"I have not got it, dear," she said quickly, and holding up her hand to keep him silent; "but it is only a short delay, not a disappointment. I shall have it in two or three days." George's countenance had fallen at her first words, but the remainder of the sentence reassured him, and he listened eagerly as she continued: "I am quite sure of getting it, George. If it does but set you free, I shall not regret the price I have paid for it." "Tell me what it is mother," George asked eagerly. "Stay, you must not sit so close to me." "I'm not sure that your voice ought to be heard either, speaking so familiarly, _tête-à-tête_ with the important Mrs. Carruthers of Poynings--a personage whose sayings and doings are things of note at Amherst," said Mrs. Carruthers with a smile, as he took a seat at a little distance, and placed one of the samples of periodical literature strewn about the table, after the fashion of dentists' and surgeons' waiting-rooms, ready to her hand, in case of interruption. Then she laid her clasped hands on the table, and leaned against them, with her clear dark eyes fixed upon her son's face, and her steady voice, still sweet and pure in its tones as in her youth, as she told him what she had done. "Do you remember, George, that on that wretched night you spoke of my diamonds, and seemed to reproach me that I should wear jewels, while you wanted so urgently but a small portion of their price?" "I remember, mother," returned George, frowning, "and a beast I was to hint such a thing to you, who gave me all that ever was your own! I hoped you had forgiven and forgotten it. Can it be possible that you have sold--But no; you said they were family jewels."