‘She has also lost something that hung round her throat.’ ‘Very likely. She was, for once, hard at work in the garret, moving boxes and hampers. It is lying somewhere on the floor. If you wish it I will search for her ornament, and hope my success will be equal to that of last night.’ He looked down at her hand. The ring was not on it. She observed his glance and said coldly, ‘My ring does not fit me, and I shall reserve it till I am old, or till I find some young lady friend to whom I must make a wedding present.’ Then she turned away. She walked across the Abbot’s Meadow, through which the path led to the rocks, because she knew that Eve had gone in that direction. Before long she encountered her sister returning with a large bunch of foxgloves in her hand. ‘Do look, Bab!’ exclaimed Eve, ‘is not this a splendid sceptre? A wild white foxglove with thirty-seven bells on it.’ ‘Eve!’ said Barbara, her honest face alight with pleasure; ‘my dearest, I was wrong to doubt you. I know now where you found the ring, and I am not in the least cross about it. There, kiss and make peace.’ ‘I wish the country folk had a prettier name for the foxglove than _flop-a-dock_,’ said Eve. ‘My dear,’ said Barbara, ‘you shall show me the pretty things you have found in the attic.’ ‘What—Bab?’ ‘I know all about it. Jasper has proved a traitor.’ ‘What has he told you?’ ‘He has told me where you found the turquoise ring, together with a number of fancy ball dresses.’ Eve was silent. A struggle went on in her innocent heart. She hated falsehood. It pained her to deceive her sister, who had such perfect faith in her. She felt inclined to tell her all, yet she dared not do so. In her heart she longed to hear more of Martin. She remembered his handsome face, his flattering and tender words, the romance of that night. No! she could not tell Barbara. ‘We will go together into the garret,’ said Barbara, ‘and search for your mother’s ring. It will easily be found by the blue ribbon to which it is attached.’ Then Eve laughed, held her sister at arms’ length, thrusting the great bunch of purple and white foxgloves against her shoulder, so that their tall heads nodded by her cheek and ear. ‘No, Bab, sweet, I did not find the ring in the chest with the gay dresses. I did not lose the ring of my mother’s in the loft. I tell you the truth, but I tell you no more.’ ‘Oh, Eve!’ Barbara’s colour faded. ‘Who was it? I implore you, if you love me, tell me.’ ‘I love you dearly, but no.’ She curtsied. ‘Find out if you can.’ Then she tripped away, waving her foxgloves. CHAPTER XXI. THE SCYTHE OF TIME. ‘MY papa! my darling papa!’ Eve burst into her father’s room. ‘I want you much to do something for me. Mr. Jasper is so kind. He has promised to have a game of bowls with me this evening on the lawn, and the grass is not mown.’ ‘Well, dear, get it mown,’ said Mr. Jordan dreamily. ‘But there is no man about, and old Davy is in bed. What am I to do?’