"It _is_ a remarkable one, isn't it? Far too gorgeous and conspicuous to please me, for myself; but Mr. Wildred was anxious for me to have it. I believe it has been in his family a long time, and has been handed down from generation to generation of betrothed brides--happier than myself." The last three words were spoken almost in a whisper, but I heard and understood them as I would have understood the faintest murmur from those lips so dearly loved. Some dim awakening thought, scarcely clear to my own consciousness, stirred in my mind at her strange announcement. I could not resist further questioning. "Did Mr. Wildred tell you that the ring was an heirloom in his family?" "Yes. There is a romance attached to it." She sighed faintly, as though at the death of romance in her own young life. Then, more quickly-- "Why, Mr. Stanton? Why do you ask me that?" I could not tell her why; but my heart was bounding with a new excitement. "Forgive my curiosity," I said evasively. "I am interested in all that concerns you." She turned from me, ostensibly to arrange her scattered papers on the little davenport, and, relieved of the thraldom of those lovely eyes, I endeavoured to collect my scattered thoughts. Somehow I felt that I was on the eve of a discovery which might be of vast importance in both our lives. How had Wildred obtained that ring from Harvey Farnham? Why had he lied about it to Karine? That he was a villain and a schemer I was sure, though I had had no possible means of proving it. What if this seemingly small matter should put a clue into my hands. So clever a scoundrel should not have committed himself to a lie thus easily disproved, I thought. Only _necessary_ lies were worth the risk for a man of acumen such as his. But even the most crafty of mortals is fallible, I reflected, and liable to make some insignificant mistake, which, like one stone wrongly placed in the foundation of a vast building, renders the whole structure unstable. Possibly Wildred had found a stealthy pleasure in weaving a pretty romance round the ring which he had chosen as the sign of his betrothal, and in weaving it he had forgotten that I, as an acquaintance of Farnham's, might have been conversant with its real history. Or, perhaps, he had not counted upon the fact that Karine might retell the version he had given her to me. I know how greatly Farnham had valued the marvellous diamond, in its quaint setting, and I remembered how, only on the night of our last meeting, he had reiterated to me his determination to keep it. It was too small to be removed save by cutting, he had said, and I had satisfied myself by observation that he had not exaggerated. He must, then, have gone so far as to have the ring cut from his finger before sailing for America, that he might leave it as a parting pledge of friendship with Carson Wildred.