k the form of a pearl
necklace, her one possession of value, last surviving heirloom of the
Quineys, of whom she was the last surviving descendant: her last
tangible evidence, too, of those bygone better days. She never wore it,
and it never saw the light save when she unlocked the worn jewel-case to
make sure that her treasure had not been stolen.

She entered Ruth's room with it furtively. Despite her injunction
against hurry, the girl had already indued the white brocade and stood
before the mirror conning herself. She wore no jewels; she owned none.

"Shut your eyes, dear," commanded Miss Quiney, and, stealing up behind
her, slipped and clasped the necklace about her throat, then fell back,
admiring the reflection in the glass.

"Oh, Tatty!"

But Ruth, too, had to pause for a moment to admire. When she turned,
Miss Quiney, forgetting her own injunction, had stolen in haste from the
room.

The girl's eyes moistened. For a moment she saw herself reflected from
the glass in a blur. Then through the blur the necklace took shape,
point by point of light, pearl by pearl, until the whole chain grew
definite in the parting of the bodice, resting on the rise of her young
bosom.

Yes, and the girl saw that it was good.

A string of words danced upon her brain, as though the mirrored pearls
reflected them.

_She shall be brought unto the King . . . the virgins that be her
fellows shall bear her company_.

Chapter V.

SIR OLIVER'S HEALTH.

"De lady is here, yo' Honah!"

Manasseh announced it from the doorway and stood aside. Of the company
four had already succumbed and slid from their chairs. The others
staggered to their feet, Sir Oliver as promptly as any. With a face
unnaturally white he leaned forward, clutching the edge of the long oval
table, and stared between the silver candelabra down the broken ranks of
his guests--Mr. Silk, purple of face as his patron was pale; Ned Manley,
maundering the tag of a chorus; Captain St. Maur, Captain Goodacre, and
Ensign Lumley, British officers captured by the French at Fort Chanseau
and released to live at Boston on parole until the war should end; Mr.
Fynes, the Collector's Secretary; Mr. Bythesea, Deputy-Collector; young
Shem Hacksteed and young Denzil Baynes, sons of wealthy New Englanders,
astray for the while, and sowing their wild oats in a society openly
scornful of New England traditions.

Batty Langton's was the chair nearest the door, and