Here Euphra stopped suddenly, and caught hold of Hugh’s left hand, which he had lifted to brush an insect from his face. “Where is your ring?” she said, in a tone of suppressed anxiety. “Gone, Euphra. My father’s ring! It was lying beside Lady Euphrasia’s.” Euphra’s face was again hidden in her hands. She sobbed and moaned like one in despair. When she grew a little calmer, she said: “I am sure I did not take your ring, dear Hugh—I am not a thief. I had a kind of right to the other, and he said it ought to have been his, for his real name was Count von Halkar—the same name as Lady Euphrasia’s before she was married. He took it, I am sure.” “It was he that knocked me down in the dark that night then, Euphra.” “Did he? Oh! I shall have to tell you all.—That wretch has a terrible power over me. I loved him once. But I refused to take the ring from your desk, because I knew it would get you into trouble. He threw me into a somnambulic sleep, and sent me for the ring. But I should have remembered if I had taken yours. Even in my sleep, I don’t think he could have made me do that. You may know I speak the truth, when I am telling my own disgrace. He promised to set me free if I would get the ring; but he has not done it; and he will not.” Sobs again interrupted her. “I was afraid your ring was gone. I don’t know why I thought so, except that you hadn’t it on, when you came to see me. Or perhaps it was because I am sometimes forced to think what that wretch is thinking. He made me go to him that night you saw me, Hugh. But I was so ill, I don’t think I should have been able, but that I could not rest till I had asked him about your ring. He said he knew nothing about it.” “I am sure He has it,” said Hugh. And he related to Euphra the struggle he had had with Funkelstein and its result. She shuddered. “I have been a devil to you, Hugh; I have betrayed you to him. You will never see your ring again. Here, take mine. It is not so good as yours, but for the sake of the old way you thought of me, take it.” “No, no, Euphra; Mr. Arnold would miss it. Besides, you know it would not be my father’s ring, and it was not for the value of the diamond I cared most about it. And I am not sure that I shall not find it again. I am going up to London, where I shall fall in with him, I hope.” “But do take care of yourself. He has no conscience. God knows, I have had little, but he has none.” “I know he has none; but a conscience is not a bad auxiliary, and there I shall have some advantage of him. But what could he want that ring of Lady Euphrasia’s for?” “I don’t know. He never told me.” “It was not worth much.”