“No, dear.  The ring is safe.  It was taken from the box, but in quite an ordinary, simple way.  Don’t tremble so!  It is not lost.  It is just as if I had gone to the box and borrowed it—­”

As she faltered, the poor woman raised her head in an agony of hope.  “Have you got it, Esther?  Oh, Esther, give it to me!  I love you, Esther!  You shall have it when I am dead.  But I can’t die without it.  I promised somebody—­I—­I can’t remember.  Oh, Esther, don’t keep it away from me—­give it to me now!”

Bitter, angry tears filled the girl’s eyes as she took the pleading, fluttering hands in hers.

“Don’t, dear!  Listen.  It is quite safe.  But I haven’t got it.  I promise you solemnly I will get it back.  You’ll believe me, won’t you?  You know I would not deceive you.  And you won’t be frightened?  No one had anything to do with taking it but ourselves.  I am going to tell you just how it happened—­”

“Don’t bother.  I’ll tell her myself.”

In the doorway stood Mrs. Coombe, her eyes venomous with the anger of tortured nerves.  Her high voice trembled on the verge of hysteria, yet she tried to speak with her usual mocking lightness.

“There is no need to make a mystery of the thing, I’m sure.  I took the ring because I was hard up—­needed money at once.  You understand what that means, I suppose, Amy?  You never wore the ring, nor would you allow me to wear it.  It was simply wasted lying in that silly box.  My own jewelry is of much less value.  Besides, I use it.  One would have thought that you would be glad to assist in some way with the—­er—­household expenses.  In any case, no such fuss is necessary, and I should advise you,” her voice grew suddenly cold and menacing, “not to scream like that again.  A few more such shrieks and—­people will begin to wonder.”  Without so much as a glance at Esther she passed on to her own room.

“Don’t mind her!” The indignant girl tried to draw the trembling woman close.  But Aunt Amy cowered away.  Five minutes had undone the work of weeks.  All the doctor’s carefully laid foundations were crumbling.  Esther, wrung with pity and remorse, stroked the grey hair in silence.  She expected an outbreak of childish tears, but it did not come.  Rather, the shivering grew less and presently Aunt Amy raised her head.

“It was she—­Mary—­who took it?” she asked in a whisper.

“Yes.  But remember I have promised to get it back.”

Aunt Amy looked at her blankly.  She did not seem to hear.

“I never guessed it was Mary.  Never!  But now I know.  I’ll never be fooled again.”

“Know what?” asked Esther uneasily.  There was a look in Aunt Amy’s eyes which she disliked, a sly, cool look—­more nearly mad than any look she had ever surprised there.  “Tell me what it is that you know,” she repeated coaxingly.

But Aunt Amy would not tell.  It was just as well, she thought, that Esther should not know that at last, after many years, she had found out the agent employed by “they” for her undoing.  Ah, if she had only found out sooner.  The ruby ring might still be shining in its box.  But of course “they” knew that she would never suspect Mary, her own niece.  They were so clever!  But now she could be as clever as they—­oh, very, very clever!