‘Goodness! where did you learn their slang?’ cried Charley. ‘But impenitence, if you like,--not backsliding. I never made any _profession_. After all, however, their opinions don’t seem to hurt them--I mean my mother and sister.’ ‘They must hurt them if only by hindering their growth. In time, of course, the angels of the heart will expel the demons of the brain; but it is a pity the process should be retarded by your behaviour.’ ‘I know I am a brute, Wilfrid. I _will_ try to hold my tongue.’ ‘Depend upon it,’ I went on, ‘whatever such hearts can believe, is, as believed by them, to be treated with respect. It is because of the truth in it, not because of the falsehood, that they hold it; and when you speak against the false in it, you appear to them to speak against the true; for the dogma seems to them an unanalyzable unit. You assail the false with the recklessness of falsehood itself, careless of the injury you may inflict on the true.’ I was interrupted by the entrance of Clara. ‘If you gentlemen don’t want us any more, we had better go,’ she said. I left Charley to answer her, and went back into the next room. Mary stood where I had left her, mechanically shifting and arranging the volumes on a shelf at the height of her eyes. ‘I think this is your ring, Miss Osborne,’ I said, in a low and hurried tone, offering it. Her expression at first was only of questioning surprise, when suddenly something seemed to cross her mind; she turned pale as death, and put her hand on the bookshelves as if to support her; as suddenly flushed crimson for a moment, and again turned deadly pale--all before I could speak. ‘Don’t ask me any questions, dear Miss Osborne,’ I said. ‘And, please, trust me this far; don’t mention the loss of your ring to any one, unless it be your mother. Allow me to put it on your finger.’ [Illustration: “I THINK THIS IS YOUR RING, MISS OSBORNE.”] She gave me a glance I cannot and would not describe. It lies treasured--for ever, God grant!--in the secret jewel-house of my heart. She lifted a trembling left hand, and doubtingly held--half held it towards me. To this day I know nothing of the stones of that ring--not even their colour; but I know I should know it at once if I saw it. My hand trembled more than hers as I put it on the third finger. What followed, I do not know. I think I left her there and went into the other room. When I returned a little after, I know she was gone. From that hour, not one word has ever passed between us in reference to the matter. The best of my conjectures remains but a conjecture; I know how the sword got there--nothing more.