She spoke as though wishing to dismiss the matter, and, rising from her chair, walked over to the window and stood looking off over the meadow lands and toward the sea.
It was a cheering, hopeful sight, for the snow was gone, and everything in nature was beginning to show a touch of the coming spring.
Later that same morning they were in Mary's room, the young wife busy with some sewing, while Dorothy, with much of the former color showing in her face, was moving restlessly about.
"Dorothy!"
Mary spoke suddenly, as though impelled by a hasty resolution, and there was a look in her blue eyes that made a fitting accompaniment to her words; but she kept them averted from Dorothy, who had turned and was coming slowly toward her.
"Dorothy," she repeated, as the girl drew close to her, "where is that ruby ring?"
Dorothy came to a stop, and every drop of blood seemed to find its way to her face.
"Eh,—ring,—what ring?" She glanced at her hands, and then at Mary's face, still turned partially away from her.
"That ruby ring I gave you back, and advised that you throw it into the fire or into the sea, and with it all thought of the dastardly giver."
Dorothy did not reply, and Mary now looked at her as she said slowly and distinctly, "If you cannot tell, I can. It is over your heart, hanging about your neck on a chain."