"The immediate restitution of the ring. She is here, now, is she not?"

"Yes, she is here, but--"

The poor old man looked helplessly around him. The whole thing seemed
too terrible to be believed. He wondered if some dreadful nightmare
did not hold him prisoner and half expected, as he let his agonized
old eyes roam round the room, to wake up, presently, and find the
episode was but a dreadful dream.

"Call her; ask her to give it up--"

"No," said the old man softly, careful that his voice should not rise
so that it could easily be audible in the adjoining room, "I will not
ask her to give up the ring, for the ring is not in her possession.
She would not know of what I spoke. She would look at me, my Anna
would, with soft reproach in her sad eyes and wonder if her poor old
father had gone mad to bring an accusation such as that against her
soul--so pure--so innocent--so--"

"Certainly she has the ring." The woman, now, was definitely sneering
at his protestations of his daughter's worthiness.

"No; she has not got the ring. I--have it--"

From his pocket he drew forth his hand and in it lay the little box.
Out of the box, with trembling fingers, he removed the ring, and held
it up, smiling at her, as he did so, with a wondrous look of
triumph--not the look of one who has just placed his feet, quite