The pearl necklace in question was one which Lord Avondale had given Calantha on the eve of her marriage. She was now accused of having given it to Lord Glenarvon. It is true that she had placed in his hands all the jewels of which she was mistress, that his presents might not exceed in value such as she had power to offer; they had been too magnificent otherwise for her to receive; and though only dear because they were his gifts, yet to have taken them without return had been more pain than pleasure; one smile of his were worth them all—one approving look, far dearer. This gift of Lord Avondale’s, however, she had considered as sacred, and neither Lord Glenarvon’s love, nor her own perversion, had led her to touch it. She had received it when innocent and true; it was pain to her even to look upon it now; and when she heard the accusation made against her, she denied it with considerable warmth; for guilt but irritates the mind, and renders the perpetrator impatient of accusation. “This indignation is rather ill-timed however,” said Lady Margaret, sarcastically: “there are things more sacred than pearls thrown away; and if the necklace has not been given, it is, I believe, the only thing, that has been retained.” Such unpleasant conversation was now interrupted by Sophia, who entered the room.—“The necklace is found,” she said; “and who do you think had taken it?” “I care not,” said Calantha proud and offended at their former suspicions. “Zerbellini!” “Oh impossible!” “Some of Lady Margaret’s servants first suggested the possibility,” said Sophia. “His desk and wardrobe were consequently examined, and scarce giving credit to the testimony of their sight, the lost prize was discovered in his silken vest.” Calantha indignantly resisted the general belief that the boy was the real culprit. Every one left the room, and eagerly enquired into the whole affair. “If ocular proof is necessary to convince you,” said Lady Margaret, returning to Calantha and leading her from the billiard room, accompanied by many others, “you shall now have it; and see,” she cried, pausing as she entered the boy’s apartment, “how soundly criminals can sleep!” “Aye, and how tranquil and innocent they can appear,” continued Gondimar smiling as he stood by the side of the page’s bed. Glenarvon’s countenance, rendered more terrible by the glimmering of the lamp, changed at these words.