me see it!"

But he would not. "No, no! my dear lady, you must not--cannot. I only
knew it by the ring!"

Then he made me sit down again, whilst he replaced the firewood; and
then, with the utmost quietness, we set out to return, I holding the
lantern in one hand, and with the other clinging to his arm (for the
apparition that had been my guide before was gone), and he carrying the
awful relic in his other hand. Once, as we were leaving the yard, he
whispered--

"Look!"

"I see nothing," said I.

"Hold up your lantern," he whispered.

"There is nothing but the dog-kennel," I said.

"Miss Dorothy," he said, "_the dog has not barked tonight!_"

By the time we reached home, my mind had fully realized the importance
of our discovery, and the terribly short time left us in which to profit
by it, supposing, as I fully believed, that it was the first step to the
vindication of George's innocence. As we turned into the gate, Robert,
who had been silent for some time broke out--

"Miss Dorothy! Mr. George Manners is as innocent as I am; and
God forgive us all for doubting him! What shall we do?"

"I am going up to town," I said, "and you are going with me. We will go
to Dr. Penn. He has a lodging close by the prison: I have the address.
At eight o'clock to-morrow the king himself could not undo this
injustice. We have, let me see, how many hours?"

Robert pulled out his old silver watch and brought it to the lantern.

"It is twenty minutes to twelve."

"Rather more than eight hours. Heaven help us! You will get something to
eat, Robert, and put the horses at once into the chariot. I will be
ready."

I went straight up-stairs, and met Harriet at the door. I pushed her back
into the room and took her hands.

"Harriet! Robert has found poor Edmund's hand, _with the ring_, buried
under some wood in Thomas Parker's barn. I am going up to town with him
at once, to put the matter into Dr. Penn's hands, and save George
Manners' life, if it be not too late."

She wrenched her hands away, and flung herself at my feet. I never saw
such a change come over any face. She had had time in the (what must
have been) anxious interval of our absence, for some painful enough
reflection, and my announcement had broken through the blindness of a
selfish mind, and found its way where she seldom let anything come--to
her feelings.

"Oh, Dolly! Dolly! will you ever forgive me? Why did I not tell you
before? But I thought it was onl