"Mother has a friend who lives in Richmond Hill, Long Island," ventured Bess.
"Oh, that can't be it!" declared Corinne, scornfully. "That's only a little new suburb that's hardly been in existence thirty years! It has nothing whatever to do with this! And I wonder who 'H.' is, too. Well, go on, Margaret."
Margaret obediently continued:
"At hearing him, my heart did beat gladly, for he is the one person I have seen who reminds me of home. I leaned far out and called to him softly, and presently he threw into my window a letter weighted with a stone. It said he and his uncle had not been back to Bermuda, nor would they dare to go for many a long day. One of their traitorous sailors had divulged the plot, and the authorities were wild only to lay hands on them. This they had learned in roundabout fashion. They had been cruising along the coast lately, and had had not a few adventures. They were sailing at midnight for parts unknown. He did but come up hastily to see how I fared, before they left.
"In a moment I threw down an answering missive, telling of my present plight, and begging that he and his uncle would take me back to Bermuda should they ever be sailing there again. That was all I had time for, since he knew he dared not linger. He went away silently into the night. 'Twas brave of him to come, since he knows it would be ill for him to be seen hereabout, now that so much seems to have been discovered."
"He gazed hard at me as I stood on the lawn"
Margaret paused here and half whispered: "Hold your breath now, girls! We're coming to the sapphire signet!" Then she went on with the reading:
"I must now explain about the sapphire signet. Night after night I lie awake and ask myself why I ever took it—why I was ever tempted to add this mistake to the rest of my misdoings. At the time it seemed no wrong,—nay, it seemed entirely right that I should take with me what Grandfather has so often said was mine, though he deemed it safer not to allow me to have it in my keeping till I should come of age.
"'Tis such a pretty bauble—this wonderful blue stone larger than my thumb-nail, with our family crest graved on it and set all round the edge with tiny, sparkling diamonds. Grandfather told me that the sapphire was once in a great ring, and from generation to generation had been handed down to the eldest son of the family. He said, moreover, that it ever should have remained a ring; that 'twas a crime it should have been changed. But 'twas my mother's whim that it should be taken from the ring, set round with diamonds, and made into an ornament for her neck. He said that once, when they were in London not long after their marriage, she wheedled my father into having it changed, and came home to Bermuda with the jewel hanging from a slender chain about her white throat. And Grandfather was filled with wrath at her and never forgave her. Had I been a boy, he says, he would have had the stone reset in a ring. But since the only heir to it is a girl, he has allowed it to remain thus, and once scornfully told me that 'twas 'as useless now as I was,' and might as well so remain.
"On rare occasions, Grandfather has let me wear it—once to a grand tea-drinking at St. George's, where 'twas much admired. But mainly he has kept it in his great strong box. It seemed no harm that day for me to take it. The box stood invitingly open. The jewel was really mine, and I possessed no other ornament. Even then I realized that I might never see my home or Grandfather again. So I took it—Heaven forgive me!—thinking it no wrong. But I have come to feel differently since. In these long, lonely months, when I have had so much time to think and to regret, I can see how this act of mine must appear to Grandfather and to all who know me. Even though it was in effect my own, it was still in his keeping, and I should never have taken it without his consent. I dare not even wonder what he must think of me, and I live only for the opportunity to return home and place the signet in his hands.
"From the very first I have never dared openly to wear the beautiful thing; and since my conscience began to trouble me, I have never wished to. Long since, I removed it from its velvet riband and concealed it. Nor must I, even here, disclose where it is hidden. To do so would be neither safe nor wise. Suffice it that I will never more wear the bauble till I have restored it to its rightful keeper, my grandfather."
Margaret paused again, and there was a blissful sigh from all her assembled listeners.