Well--What was I saying? Oh yes!, Don't you think
if you were away in the Adriatic, and sitting up on deck at night, you
would make the people have a quiet cry when you sang 'Home, Sweet
Home'? The words are rather silly, aren't they? But they make you
think such a lot if you hear them abroad."

"And when are you going away?--this year, Mr. Trelyon?" Wenna said,
looking down.

"Oh, I don't know," he said cheerfully: he would have no question of
his going away interfere with the happiness of the present moment.

At length, however, they had to bethink themselves of getting back,
for the western skies were deepening in color and the evening air was
growing chill. They ran the small cutter back to her moorings: then
they put off in the small boat for the shore. It was a beautiful,
quiet evening. Wenna, who had taken off her glove and was allowing
her bare hand to drag through the rippling water, seemed to be lost in
distant and idle fancies not altogether of a melancholy nature.

"Wenna," her mother said, "you will get your hand perfectly chilled."

The girl drew back her hand and shook the water off her dripping
fingers. Then she uttered a slight cry. "My ring!" she said, looking
with absolute fright at her hand and then at the sea.

Of course they stopped the boat instantly, but all they could do was
to stare at the clear, dark water. The distress of the girl was beyond
expression. This was no ordinary trinket that had been lost: it was a
gage of plighted affection given her by one now far away, and in his
absence she had carelessly flung it into the sea. She had no fear of
omens, as her sister had, but surely, of all things in the world, she
ought to have treasured up this ring. In spite of herself, tears
sprang to her eyes. Her mother in vain attempted to make light of the
loss.

And then at last Harry Trelyon, driven almost beside himself by seeing
the girl so plunged in grief, hit upon a wild fashion of consoling
her. "Wenna," he said, "don't disturb yourself. Why, we can easily get
you the ring. Look at the rocks there: a long bank of smooth sand
slopes out from them, and your ring is quietly lying on the sand.
There is nothing easier than to get it up with a dredging machine: I
will undertake to let you have it by to-morrow afternoon."

Mrs. Rosewarne thought he was joking, but he effectually persuaded
Wenna, at all events, that she should have her ring next day. Then he
discovered that he would be just in