were on
her lips, a feeling, an instinct, almost a superstition caused them
to remain unspoken. "You are very kind," she said, "but this is your
signet-ring--is not that what you call it? You cannot wish to give it to
a chance acquaintance."

"Yes, it is my signet-ring, and if you will look at the crest and motto
you will see that they are not inappropriate. And I do wish to give it
even 'to a chance acquaintance,' Miss Rodd, if you will allow me no more
intimate term."

"I have looked at them," she answered, as she examined the ring
curiously. It was of plain and somewhat massive gold, and deeply cut
into the shield-faced bezel was the Outram crest, a hand holding a drawn
sword, beneath which the motto was engraved. "What is the last word of
the motto?" she went on; "it is so rubbed that I cannot read it--'For
Home, Honour----'"

"'And Heart,'" said Leonard.

Juanna blushed, though why the word "heart" should make her blush she
knew not.

"Well, I will wear the ring, if you wish it, Mr. Outram, in memory
of our adventure--that is, until you ask it back again," she said
confusedly; then added with a change of tone: "There is one detail
of the adventure that I hope you will not allude to more than you can
avoid, for the recollection of it is most painful to me, probably more
so even than to you."

"I suppose you mean the ceremony of marriage, Miss Rodd."

"I mean the wicked and abominable farce in which we were made to play
a part," she answered passionately. "Most of the witnesses of that
shameful scene are dead and cannot speak of it, and if you will keep
your servant the dwarf silent I will do the same by Father Francisco.
Let it be forgotten by both of us."

"Certainly, Miss Rodd," said Leonard, "that is, if anything so strange
can be forgotten. And now, will you come to breakfast?"

She bowed her head in assent and swept past him, the red lilies in her
hand.

"I wonder what hold she has over that priest," thought Leonard to
himself, "that she talked of being able to keep him silent. By the way,
I must find out whether we are to have the pleasure of his company. I
would rather be without him myself. A strange girl! One can account for
her beauty, she inherited that; but it is difficult to understand the
manner. By rights she should be a half-wild hoyden, but I never saw an
English lady with more grace and dignity. Perhaps I have forgotten;
it is so long since I associated with ladies, or perhaps, like b