“It is my ring, sir.”

The clerk looked at her, and then asked quite gently,—

“You have your papers?”

“Papers? What for?”

“The papers that establish your identity. Your passport, a receipt for rent, or any thing.”

The whole company laughed at the ignorance of this girl. She stammered out,—

“I have no such papers, sir.”

“Then we can make no advance.”

One more hope, her last, vanished thus. She held out her hand, saying,—

“Please give me back my ring.”