'I wish to show you,' he said, 'a ring.'
'A ring, Mr. Townley! What a curious ring! Silver, set with a ruby heart. Why, this is the ring—the mysterious ring that belonged to the priest, and was found in his box in the vault.'
'No, that is not the ring. The ring is in a safe and under seal. That is but a facsimile. But, Miss M'Crimman, the ring in question did not, I have reason to believe, belong to the priest Stewart, nor was it ever worn by him.'
'How strangely you talk and look, Mr. Townley!'
'Whatever I say to you now, Miss M'Crimman, I wish you to consider sacred.'
The lady laughed, but not lightly.
'Do you think,' she said, 'I can keep a secret?'
'I do, Miss M'Crimman, and I want a friend and occasional adviser.'
'Go on, Mr. Townley. You may depend on me.'
'All we know, or at least all he will tell us of Murdoch's—your nephew's—illness, is that he was frightened at the ruin that night. He did not lead us to infer—for this boy 53 is honest—that the terror partook of the supernatural, but he seemed pleased we did so infer.'