"But Hoffmeir has been dead several years."

"More than six; but the ring has just come into my hands."

The intaglio was a dark sard beautifully cut with the head of Minerva,
and Mrs. Greyson's artistic instincts were keenly alive to the
exquisite delicacy of its workmanship. She inquired something of its
origin and probable age, and then dropped it from her attention, save
that, being a woman, she wondered a little what was the personal
bearing of this token, and whether the sculptor's sadness arose from
the awakening of memories connected with it.

"It must seem like a token from the grave," she said, "coming as it
does, so long after Hoffmeir's death."

"It does," the other replied, soberly; "but it brought a message with
it. Oh, the wretchedness of hearing a voice from the dead, to whom you
can send no answer!"

The burst of emotion with which he said this was very unusual, and Mrs.
Greyson regarded him with perhaps as much surprise as sympathy, having
never before seen him so deeply moved.

"I am afraid," she ventured, hesitatingly, "that what I said seemed
intrusive, though of course it was not meant to be."

"It did not seem so; but I am out of sorts this afternoon. I have sent
my model away because I am too much unstrung to work."

"I hope nothing bad has happened," said Helen, quickly.