Lelia’s heart leaped in alarm, then sank heavily, while her face whitened to the hue of marble, as she demanded hoarsely: “Laurie brought you a gift to-day! What was it, pray?” “Did he not tell you?” exclaimed Gipsy, in surprise. “Oh, it is such a pretty ring! But I prize his kind words even more. He said it was in token of undying gratitude, and he placed it on my finger himself, with some kind wish that he is to tell me when we meet again.” In her enthusiasm she had forgotten the tales she had heard of Lelia’s jealousy of her betrothed. She did not dream that the proud beauty and heiress could stoop to envy a poor young girl. She was soon to realize all the horrors of the real truth. Lifting her eyes, she saw Lelia glaring at her with eyes like points of blue steel, as she muttered, in hoarse, strained accents: “Let me see the ring.” And Gipsy held out her dainty little hand, where Lelia’s ring was shining like a drop of globed dew. One glance, and the haughty beauty knew the fatal truth. She could never get Laurie back. To punish her for her pride and anger, he had given her betrothal-ring to another, and left her forever. It was the bitterest moment of her whole life, this terrible defeat. Her whole being flamed with such despairing anger that it was a wonder she did not fall dead instantly of excitement. She could scarcely mutter the fierce words that leaped to her lips: “It is my ring, Gipsy Darke! Give it to me!” “Oh, Miss Ritchie!” cried Gipsy, in consternation, then for a moment their eyes met, while dead silence reigned. Gipsy shuddered at the implacable hate of her enemy’s gaze. Lelia made a fierce effort to hold herself in check, but her voice had the hiss of a serpent as she muttered: “You did not know it was my engagement-ring Laurie gave you?” “Oh, no, no, surely not! Why should he give it to me? This is some horrible jest!” Lelia laughed hysterically. “Yes, a jest on Laurie’s part. We--we had a little tiff to-day, and, in a moment of anger, I gave him back his ring. I have done so before, but he always made me take it back. A lover’s quarrel, that is nothing, you know--just the renewal of love, the poets say. It was a sorry jest to give you the ring, for he will take it away to-morrow, to give it back to me.” “But he is gone,” faltered the startled girl. “He will soon return. He cannot stay away long from me, we love each other too well. Oh, Gipsy Darke, you cannot understand the madness it stirs in me to see my ring on your hand. Give it back to me, I command you!” She held out an imperious hand, but Gipsy recoiled, faltering: “Oh, I cannot grant your wish. He made me promise not to remove the ring till he came back--that it would break the charm of the wish. Oh, forgive me, but I must wear it till he comes.” Lelia sprang from her chair and stood threateningly over the girl. “How dare you refuse my wish, you wretched, low-born foundling!”