The House of the Whispering Pines by Anna Katherine Green Page A

attempt
in my behalf was welcome.
    "One thing more," I now added. "My ring was missing from Miss
Cumberland's hand when I took away those pillows. I have reason to
think—or it is natural for me to think—that she planned to return it to
me by some messenger or in some letter. Do you know if such messenger or
such letter has been received at my apartments? Have you heard anything
about this ring? It was a notable one and not to be confounded with any
other. Any one who knew us or who had ever remarked it on her hand would
be able to identify it."
    "I have heard the ring mentioned," he replied, "I have even heard that
the police are interested in finding it; but I have not heard that they
have been successful. You encourage me much by assuring me that it was
missing from her hand when you first saw her. That ring may prove our
most valuable clew."
    "Yes, but you must also remember that she may have taken it off before
she started for the club-house."
    "That is very true."
    "You do not know whether they have looked for it at her home?"
    "I do not."
    "Will you find out, and will you see that I get all my letters?"
    "I certainly will, but you must not expect to receive the latter
unopened."
    "I suppose not."
    I said this with more cheerfulness than he evidently expected. My heart
had been lightened of one load. The ring had not been discovered on
Carmel as I had secretly feared.
    "I will take good care of your interests from now on," he remarked, in a
tone much more natural than any he had before used. "Be hopeful and show
a brave front to the district attorney when he comes to interview you. I
hear that he is expected home to-morrow. If you are innocent, you can
face him and his whole office with calm assurance." Which showed how
little he understood my real position.
    There was comfort in this very thought, however, and I quietly remarked
that I did not despair.
    "And I
will
not," he emphasised, rising with an assumption of ease
which left him as he remained hesitating before me.
    It was my moment of advantage, and I improved it by proffering a request
which had been more or less in my mind during the whole of this
prolonged colloquy.
    First thanking him for his disinterestedness, I remarked that he had
shown me so much consideration as a lawyer, that I now felt emboldened to
ask something from him as my friend.
    "You are free," said I; "I am not. Miss Cumberland will be buried before
I leave these four walls. I hate to think of her going to her grave
without one token from the man to whom she has been only too good and
who, whatever outrage he may have planned to her feelings, is not without
reverence for her character and a heartfelt repentance for whatever he
may have done to grieve her. Charles, a few flowers,—white—no wreath,
just a few which can be placed on her breast or in her hand. You need not
say whom they are from. It would seem a mockery to any one but her.
Lilies, Charles. I shall feel happier to know that they are there. Will
you do this for me?"
    "I will."
    "That is all."
    Instinctively he held out his hand. I dropped mine in it; there was a
slight pressure, some few more murmured words and he was gone.
    I slept that night.

VIII - A Chance! I Take It
*
    I entreat you then
From one that so imperfectly conjects,
You'd take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble
Out of his scattering and unsure observance:
It were not for your quiet, nor your good,
Nor for my manhood, honesty or wisdom,
To let you know my thoughts.
    Othello
    I slept, though a question of no small importance was agitating my mind,
demanding instant consideration and a definite answer before I again saw
this friend and adviser. I woke to ask if the suggestion which had come
to me in our brief conversation about the bottles taken from the
wine-vault, was the promising one it had then appeared, or only a fool's
trick bound to end in disaster. I weighed the matter in every
conceivable way, and ended by trusting to the instinct which impelled