"I said I found out all this ancestral trouble some time before I was engaged; and, as you may imagine, I kept silence about it to Miss Burleigh. I think now it was a mistake to do so; but my ideas on many subjects have undergone modification of late. I believe I had forgotten all about the discovery by the time I had made up my mind to risk an avowal: at any rate, I had no misgivings about it; and when I came out from my interview with her--the happiest man in England!--ah Drayton, it seemed to me then that there could be no more pains nor shadows in life for me thence-forward for ever!" I devoutly wished, not for the first time that evening, that Calbot would not be so painfully in earnest. In his normal state it was difficult to get a serious word out of him; he was brimming over with quaint humour and fun; but, as he himself had remarked, he was another man to-day. After walking backwards and forwards once or twice in silence, he continued: "You know how happy I was those first few days. I daresay you wished me and my happiness in Jericho, when I insisted on deluging you with an account of it. Think! Drayton, that was hardly a week ago. Well, as soon as I had got a little bit used to the feeling of being engaged, I began to think what I should give her--Edna, you know--for a betrothal gift. A ring, of course, is the usual thing; but I couldn't be satisfied with a ring: I wanted my gift to be something rare--unique; in short, something different from what any other fellow could give his mistress; for I loved her more than any woman was ever loved before. After a good deal of fruitless bother, I suddenly bethought myself of a jewel-box which had belonged to my mother--God bless her!--and which she had bequeathed to me, intending, very likely, that I should use it for the very purpose I was now thinking of. I got out the box, and overhauled it. There was a lot of curious old trinkets in it; but the thing which at once took my eye was a delicately wrought gold necklace, that looked as though it had been made expressly for Edna's throat. There was a locket attached to it, which I at first meant to take off; but on examining it closely, I found it was quite worthy of the chain--was an exquisite work of art, indeed. It was made of a dark yellow or brownish sort of stone, semi-transparent, and was engraven with a very finely-wrought bas-relief." "Calbot!" exclaimed I, starting upright in my chair, "what sort of a stone did you say that locket was made of?" "What is the matter?" returned he, stopping short in his walk and facing me with a glance partly apprehensive, partly expectant. "I never saw exactly such a stone before--but why?" "Oh, nothing," said I, after a moment's excited thought; "it certainly is very strange! But, never mind, go on," I added, throwing a glance at the old manuscript which lay open on the table; "go on. I'll tell you afterwards; I must turn it over in my mind a bit."