the enchanted properties of the ring. But there is a kind of
playfulness that comes in moments of despair, when the reality of
misfortune, if entirely felt, would crush the soul at once. He now, for
a brief space, was lost in thought, while the countess contemplated him
with malignant satisfaction.

"This ring," he resumed, in another tone, "alone remains, of all that my
royal mistress's favor lavished upon her servant. My fortune once shone
as brightly as the gem. And now, such a darkness has fallen around me,
methinks it would be no marvel if its gleam--the sole light of my
prison-house--were to be forthwith extinguished; inasmuch as my last
earthly hope depends upon it."

"How say you, my lord?" asked the Countess of Shrewsbury. "The stone
is bright; but there should be strange magic in it, if it can keep your
hopes alive, at this sad hour. Alas! these iron bars and ramparts of
the Tower are unlike to yield to such a spell."

Essex raised his head involuntarily; for there was something in the
countess's tone that disturbed him, although he could not suspect that
an enemy had intruded upon the sacred privacy of a prisoner's dungeon,
to exult over so dark a ruin of such once brilliant fortunes. He looked
her in the face, but saw nothing to awaken his distrust. It would have
required a keener eye than even Cecil's to read the secret of a
countenance, which had been worn so long in the false light of a court,
that it was now little better than a mask, telling any story save the
true one. The condemned nobleman again bent over the ring, and
proceeded:

"It once had power in it,--this bright gem,--the magic that appertains