she seemed
almost calm, as she asked to know all that was known, all the terrible
particulars that Fanny knew so well.

She was worse after that. We thought she would die, one night. But she
did not die. Either she was too weak or too strong to die of a broken
heart. Perhaps she was not strong enough to love so earnestly such a one
as Mr. Carr, or else she had such strength as could bear the trial that
was given her to bear. She lived, but life seemed very feeble in her for
a long time.

One day she began to talk with me.

"You would like to know, Jeanie, the story of that ring," she said.

I told her I was afraid to have her talk about it, but she went on:--

"It is an old heirloom, and all our family history is full of stories of
this ring. There are so many tales connected with it, that every one of
us has looked upon it with a sort of superstition, and cherished it as
a talisman connected with our lives. It was always a test of constancy,
and the stories of those occasions when it has detected falsehood have
always been remembered. I suppose there are many when it has been
quietly worn, undisturbed, that have been forgotten. It has told many a
sad tale in my own family. It came back, broken, to my brother Arthur,
and he died of a broken heart. My sister Eveline gave it to her young
cousin, to whom she engaged herself. But afterwards, when she went to
live with a gay and heartless aunt of mine, she broke her promise to him
for the sake of a richer match. The day that she was married, our cousin
far away saw the black letters turn red upon the signet-ring."

"Oh, Miss Agnes!" I exclaimed.

"And why should not letters change?" she asked, abruptly; and I saw her
eyes look out dreamily, as if at something I did not see. "The letter
clothes the spirit; and the spirit gives life to the form. A face grows
lovely or unlovely with the spirit that lies behind it. I cannot say if
there be a spirit in such things. Yet what we have worn we give a value
to. It has an expression in our eyes. Do we give it all that expression,
or has it some life of its own?"

She interrupted herself, and went on:--

"I had known that Ernest was not true to me. I had known it by the words
he wrote to me. They did not have the ring of pure silver; there was a
clang to them. When Fanny read aloud the loss of that ring, it spoke to
a suspicion that was lying in the depth of my heart, and roused it into
life. My little Jeanie, I was very sad