h her haste.

"Dear Mary," said Amelia, "what have you been doing? My mother's
diamond ring, which she left lying in the room where you were, is lost.
No one has been in the chamber but you. Do give it up at once, and no
harm will be done."

The unexpected charge of theft stunned and frightened Mary. Earnestly
she declared her innocence. She had never seen the ring, nor had she
moved from the place where she stood when she entered the room. But
Amelia found it impossible to believe her, and continued to urge her to
give up the ring, which she said was worth a large sum of money. To be
suspected of theft was bad enough, but to have her friend Amelia
unwilling to believe her, made Mary burst into tears.

"Truly," she cried, "I have no ring. Never in all my life have I
ventured to touch anything which did not belong to me, much less to
steal. My dear father has always taught me better."

Her father, who had been at work in his garden, now came in to learn
the young Countess's errand, and to him Amelia told the story. Shocked
beyond measure at the charge, the old man was so overcome that he was
obliged to sink into a chair.

"My dear child," he said to Mary solemnly, "to steal a ring of this
price is a crime which in this country is punished with death. But
this is not all. Your action is not only one for which you must
account to men, but to that God who reads the heart and with whom all
false denials amount to nothing. Have you forgotten His holy
commandment, 'Thou shalt not steal?' Have you forgotten all the advice
that I have given you? Were you tempted with the gold and the precious
stones? Alas, do not deny the fact, but give back the ring to the
Countess. It is the only return you can make for your crime."

"My father, oh, my father," cried Mary, weeping bitterly, "be sure, be
very sure that I have not the ring. If I had even found such a ring on
the road I could not have rested till I had restored it to its owner.
Indeed, believe me, I have it not."

"Look at this dear young lady," said the old man, without replying to
Mary's protestations, "her affection for you is so great that she
wishes to save you from the hands of justice. Mary, be frank, and do
not add falsehood to the crime of theft."

"My father," cried Mary, "well do you know that never in my life have I
stolen even the smallest coin, and how should I take anything so
valuable as the Countess's ring? I pray you, believe me; I have never
in my lif