o
Cairnforth, when her persistent refusal of all his offered kindnesses
had almost produced a breach between them--at least the nearest
approach to a quarrel they had ever known. She, seeing how deeply she
had wounded him, had accepted this ring as a pledge of amity, and had
worn it ever since--by his earnest request--until it had become as
familiar to her finger as the one beside it. But now she kept looking
at it, and taking it off and on with a troubled air.

"I am going to ask you a strange question, Lord Cairnforth--a rude
one, if you and I were not such old friends that we do not mind any
thing we say to one another."

"Say on."

"Is this ring of mine very valuable?"

"Rather so."

"Worth how much?"

"You certainly are rude, Helen," replied the earl, with a smile. "Well,
if you particularly wish to know, I believe it is worth two hundred
pounds."

"Two hundred pounds!"

"Was that so alarming? How many times must I suggest that a man may do
what he likes with his own? It was mine--that is, my mother's, and I
gave it to you. I hope you are worth to me at least two hundred
pounds."

But no cheerfulness removed the settled cloud from Mrs. Bruce's face.

"Now--answer me--you know, Helen, you always answer me candidly
and truly, what makes you put that question about the ring?"

"Because I wished to sell it."

"Sell it! why?"

"I want money; in fact, I must have money--a good large sum," said
Helen, in exceeding agitation. "And as I will neither beg, borrow, not
steal, I must sell something to procure that sum, and this diamond is
the only thing I have to sell. Now you comprehend?"

"I think I do," was the grave answer. "My poor Helen!"

She might have held out, but the tenderness of his tone overcame her.
She turned her head away.

"Oh, it's bitter, bitter! After all these years!"

"What is bitter? But you need not tell me. I think I can guess. You
did not show me your boy's letter of this morning."

"There it is!"

And the poor mother, with her tears fast flowing--they had been
restrained so long that now they burst out like a tide--gave way to
that heart-break which many a mother has had to endure--the discovery
that her son was not the perfect being she had thought him; that he was
no better than other women's sons, and equally liable to fall away.
Poor Cardross had been doing all sorts of wrong and foolish things,
which he had kept to himself as long as he could, as long as