"Look at that!" she said, detaching from the mass of shining metal a crown, which she held up for my inspection. While I looked she drew forth several other articles, all of peculiar make but of dainty and delicate design, some more richly wrought than others. There were collars, brooches, rings, bracelets,—thin bracelets, such as were worn in the olden days by kings and warriors.
"My dear," I said, "this is wonderful—like some Irish edition of the 'Arabian Nights.' I feel as if I had got into the cave of the Forty Thieves or some such place. Where on earth did those things come from?"
"I can't answer questions," Winifred said; "but I wanted you to see them, they are so beautiful and so very old. Occasionally I take them out to play with them."
"Costly playthings!" I murmured. "And since they are so old, how did they come to be so bright?"
Winifred grew red as she explained:
"Somebody polishes them with stuff to make them bright, but you mustn't ask who."
"But, my dear child, I ought to tell you that I know who has given you these things," I said gravely.
The flush faded from the girl's face, leaving it very pale.
"Ah, I must have betrayed his secret, then!" she cried. "He trusted me and I was false!"