But I was glad when Alice came into the room, and interrupted my thoughts. I had still sufficient discretion to know that, at this moment at least, it was safer not to indulge them. I made Alice sit down by me, and talk to me, though she looked wistfully round the room, and into my face, as if to ask me where he had gone. Alice had learned caution now, and was silent about him. We began to speak of my father. The harsh tempest of my unhappiness had swallowed the tears, the tenderness, the complaints of grief. I had scarcely mourned at all for my father, as people call mourning. His loss added a perfect desolation to my other misfortunes, but I did not weep for it as for a great calamity. It shut up my heart in a closer seclusion--it did not soften and lay me prostrate. I was under a process of hardening, and not of subduing. Contact with death did not humble me--it only made me withdraw myself the more into my own disturbed and darkened world, my own desolated and solitary heart. But since I had been reconciled to her, I found a little refuge, a little comfort with Alice. I sat and wept when she spoke of him. I was glad to hear her do it. I felt myself lightened and eased by a conversation such as we were having now. While we talked thus, my eye happened to fall upon my father's ring. I had to wear it on my forefinger, it was so much larger than the other; and I did not like to have profane hands touch it, or to give it away from me, even for an hour, to have it altered. A misfortune! I had no clue to what my father meant when he called it so. "Did you ever hear any story of this, Alice?" I said, holding it up to her; "he said it was a misfortune. I cannot tell what he meant." "Yes, Miss Hester! I've heard the story," said Alice; "it belongs to the family, dear. And there's a strange tale to it, and a prophecy, though whether it's just fancy, or true, or what trust you may put upon it, it's not for the like of me to tell. But I never believe myself, Miss Hester, that there's power in a bit of gold and a shining stone, even if it's as precious as that." "I have never heard of it. Tell me, Alice," I said. "It's called the Star of Misfortune, dear," said Alice, lowering her voice with some awe, though she had professed her scepticism, "and I've heard say it was a very grand diamond, and could buy up many a poor man's house; but this I know to be true, Miss Hester, that though it's been sold, and lost, and given away, the house of Cottiswoode never can keep it from them--it always comes back again--and it never can be lost till the time, let them do what they will." "But I do not understand this. Tell me the story, Alice," said I.