Still he endeavoured to stop me. I was not pleased with this interruption. But there was something so beseeching and so kind in Jacob’s manner that I could not help attending to him. Had the poor fellow known the cause of my impatience, he would not certainly have detained me. He begged me, with some hesitation, to accept of a ring, which Mr. Manessa his partner and he took the liberty of offering me as a token of their gratitude. It was not of any great value, but it was finished by an artist who was supposed to be one of the best in the world. “Willingly, Jacob,” said I; “and it comes at the happiest moment--if you will allow me to present it, to offer it to a lady, who--” “Who will, I hope,” said my father, appearing at the top of the stairs, “soon be his bride.” “His bride!” Jacob saw Mr. Montenero’s face behind me, and clasping his, hands, “The very thing I wished!” cried he, opening the house-door. “Follow us, Jacob,” I heard Mr. Montenero say, as we stepped into the carriage; “follow us to the house of joy, you who never deserted the house of mourning.” The ring, the history of it, and the offering it to Berenice, prepared my way in the happiest manner, and prevented the danger, which Mr. Montenero feared, of my own or my father’s precipitation. We told her in general the circumstances that had happened, but spared her the detail. “And now, my beloved daughter,” said Mr. Montenero, “I may express to you all the esteem, all the affection, all the fulness of approbation I feel for _your choice_.” “And I, Miss Montenero!--Let me speak, pray, Mrs. Harrington,” said my father. “By and by,” whispered my mother; “not yet, my love.” “Ay, put the ring on her finger--that’s right, boy!” cried my father, as my mother drew him back. Berenice accepted of the ring in the most gracious, the most graceful manner. “I accept this with pleasure,” said she; “I shall prize it more than ever Lady de Brantefield valued her ring: as a token of goodness and gratitude, it will be more precious to me than any jewel could be; and it will ever be dear to me,” added she, with a softened voice, turning to her father, “very dear, as a memorial of the circumstances which have removed the only obstacle to _our_ happiness.” “Our,” repeated my father: “noble girl! Above all affectation. Boy, a truce with your transports! She is my own daughter--I must have a kiss.” “For shame, my dear,” said my mother; “you make Miss Montenero blush!” “Blushes are very becoming--I always thought yours so, Mrs. Harrington--that’s the reason I have given you occasion to blush for me so often. Now you may take me out of the room, madam. I have some discretion, though you think you have it all to yourself,” said my father.