Philip took from one of his little fingers an odd, peculiar-looking seal ring. After showing his father’s and his grandmother’s initials and the date of its presentation, he touched a tiny spring back of the stone, and Nathalie saw a miniature picture of Mrs. Renwick. She knew it immediately from its resemblance to several pictures of her that were scattered about the house. At this moment there was a loud wail from Sheila, who, in picking flowers in the meadow where Sam was mowing, had been injured by the mower. It was some time before her cries were stilled, and her wound properly bandaged, so that, for the time being, the wonderful news that Philip had told was forgotten. When it finally came to mind, Nathalie was tempted to run and claim him as her cousin, to tell him about Mrs. Renwick’s peculiar letter, and what was expected to take place there that afternoon. But after some thought she wisely concluded to remain silent until after she had talked with Mr. Banker and her mother. Not but that she had faith in Philip’s story, but because it seemed the most prudent thing to do. These thoughts were hasty ones, for the girl had suddenly remembered that she had not selected the valuable thing as yet, and that it was almost four o’clock, the hour of Mr. Banker’s arrival. She had partly decided to select a set of rubies,—a necklace and pair of bracelets,—and then a Russian curio had made its appeal, but somehow she bordered upon a state of indecision that was becoming intolerable. As she turned to enter the house, her eyes fell on the little Bible that, in her hasty rush to Sheila, when she appeared with her bleeding foot, she had left lying on the chair under the trees. She ran hastily across the lawn and picked it up. As she did so, the book flew open and her attention was arrested by the name, _Philip Renwick_, on the fly-leaf, and its connection with what Philip had just told her. And then, she stood a minute, pondering. Why had not she thought of that before? and then, with a dimpling face, she closed the book and hurried back to the veranda, almost knocking down Tony, who stood wistfully regarding her. “Pleass, scusa, Mees Natta, haf you gotta da theeng for de preez?—Mister Banka, hees com’ bimeby to looka for eet.” Tony’s big, velvety eyes were mutely pleading as he looked up at Nathalie.