This announcement quite staggered Sir Charles, and he was silent and uncomfortable. It gave him a chill.
The Sister watched him keenly, but said nothing.
Sir Charles did not know what to say, so he asked to see her face. “It must be as beautiful as your heart.”
The Sister shook her head. “My face has been disfigured by a frightful disorder.”
Sir Charles uttered an ejaculation of regret and pity.
“I could not bear to show it to one who esteems me as you seem to do. But perhaps it will not always be so.”
“I hope not. You are young, and Heaven is good. Can I do nothing for you, who have done so much for me?”
“Nothing—unless—” said she, feigning vast timidity, “you could spare me that ring of yours, as a remembrance of the part I have played in this affair.”
Sir Charles colored. It was a ruby of the purest water, and had been two centuries in his family. He colored, but was too fine a gentleman to hesitate. He said, “By all means. But it is a poor thing to offer you.”
“I shall value it very much.”