have gone to the pawnshop except to pledge something, and that that
something was the rings, would also be swept aside, easily enough: his
real object, the other side would say, had been robbery when the old man
was alone: what evidence had he that the two rings which he had in his
hand when Ayscough found him hurrying out of the shop were really his?

Here, Lauriston knew he was in a difficulty. He had kept these two rings
safely hidden in his old-fashioned trunk ever since coming to London, and
had never shown them to a single person--he had, indeed, never seen them
himself for a long time until he took them out that afternoon. But where
was his proof of that! He had no relations to whom he could appeal. His
mother had possessed an annuity; just sufficient to maintain her and her
son, and to give Lauriston a good education: it had died with her, and all
that she had left him, to start life on, was about two hundred pounds and
some small personal belongings, of which the rings and his father's watch
and chain were a part. And he remembered now that his mother had kept
those rings as securely put away as he had kept them since her death--
until they came into his hands at her death he had only once seen them;
she had shown them to him when he was a boy and had said they were very
valuable. Was it possible that there was any one, far away in Scotland,
who had known his mother and who would come forward--if need arose--and
prove that those rings had been her property? But when he had put this
question to himself, he had to answer it with a direct negative--he knew
of no one.

There was one gleam of hope in this critical situation. John Purdie was
coming to London. Lauriston had always felt that he could rely on John
Purdie, and he had just received proof of the value of his faith in his
old schoolmate. John Purdie would tell him what to do: he might even
suggest the names of some of Mrs. Lauriston's old friends. And perhaps the