“Yes, yes, Marguerite! relieve him of it! He cannot wear it himself, you know, and to whom here could he properly offer it but to yourself,” hastily whispered Cornelia. Miss De Lancie hesitated, but unwilling to draw attention by making a scene out of such an apparent trifle, she smiled, drew off her glove, and held up her hand, saying, “If Mr. Helmstedt will put it on.” Philip Helmstedt slipped the ring on her finger, turned and adjusted it with a slight pressure, when Marguerite, with a half-suppressed cry, snatched away her hand and applied her handkerchief to it. “Have I been so awkward and unhappy as to hurt you, Miss De Lancie?” inquired Mr. Helmstedt. “Oh, no, not at all! it is nothing to speak of; a sharp flaw in the setting of the stones pierced my finger; I think that is all,” answered Marguerite, drawing off the ring that was stained with blood. Mr. Helmstedt took the jewel, walked up to the fireplace, and threw it into the glowing coals. “Well! if that is not the most wanton piece of destructiveness I ever saw in my life,” said Cornelia, indignantly; “you know, Marguerite, when I saw Mr. Helmstedt draw the ring and come and put it on your finger, I thought it was a happy sign; but now see how it is? everything that man touches, turns--not to gold, but to blood or tears, that he thinks only can be dried in the fire!” “Don’t use such fearful words here on your bridal evening, dear Nellie, they are ill-omened. You are, besides, unjust to Mr. Helmstedt, I think,” said Marguerite, who had now quite recovered her composure. “They were false diamonds after all, Miss De Lancie,” said Mr. Helmstedt, rejoining the ladies. The bishop had retired from the room; the musicians had entered and taken their places, and were now playing a lively prelude to the quadrilles; partners were engaged, and were only waiting for the bride and groom to open the ball, as was then the custom. Nellie gave her hand to her colonel, and suffered herself to be led to the head of the set.