It is here that I shall stop the course of my story to explain the whole matter of the ring, which at the time I was too weak and spent with pain to comprehend fully as Catherine Cavendish related it. It was a curious and at the same time a simple tale, as such tales are wont to be, and its very simplicity made it seem then, and seem now, well-nigh incredible. For it is the simple things of this world which are always most unbelievable, perhaps for this reason: that men after Eden and the Serpent, expect some subtlety of reasoning to account for all happenings, and always comes the suspicion that somewhat beside two and two go to make four.
My Lord Robert Ealing who had come to the ball at Cavendish Court that long last year, was a distant kinsman of our family, and unwedded, but a man who went through the world with a silly leer of willingness toward all womenkind. And 'twas this very trait, perhaps, which accounted for his remaining unwedded, although a lord, though the fact that his estates were incumbered may have had somewhat to do with it. Be that as it may, he lived alone, except for a few old servants, and was turned sixty, when, long after my transportation, he wedded his cook, who gave him three daughters and one son, to whom the estate went, but the ring and the letter came to the Chelmsfords. The letter, which I afterwards saw, was a most curious thing, both as to composition and spelling and chirography, for his lordship was no scholar. And since the letter is but short, I may perhaps as well give it entire. After this wise it ran, being addressed to Col. John Chelmsford, who was his cousin, though considerably younger.
"Dear Cousin.—(So wrote my Lord Ealing.) When this reaches you I shall be laid in silent tomb, where, perchance, I shall be more at peace than I have ever ben in a wurld, which either fitted me not, or I did not fit. At all odds there was a sore misfit betwixt us in some way. If it was the blam of the world, good ridance and parden, if it was my blam, let them which made me come to acount fo'rt. I send herewith my great emruld ringg, with dimends which I suspect hath been the means of sending an inosent man into slavery. I had a mind some years agone to wed with Caterin Cavendish, and she bein a hard made to approche, having ever a stiff turn of the sholder toward me, though I knew not why, I was not willin to resk my sute by word of mouth, nor having never a gift in writin by letter. And so, knowin that mades like well such things, I bethought me of my emruld ring, and on the night of the ball, I being upstair in to lay off my hatt and cloak, stole privily into Catherin's chamber, she being a-dancin below, and I laid the ring on her dresing table, thinkin that she would see it when she entered, and know it for a love token.
"And then I went myself below, and Caterin, she would have none of me, and made up such a face of ice when I approached, that methought I had maybe wasted my emruld ring. So after a little up the stare I stole, and the ring was not where I had put it. Then thinkin that the ring had been stole, and I had neither that nor the made, I raised a great hue and cry, and demanded that a search be maid, and the ring was found on Master Wingfield, and he was therefor transported, and I had my ring again, and myself knew not the true fact of the case until a year agone. Then feeling that I had not much longer to live, I writ this, thinking that Master Wingfield was in a rich country, and not in sufferin, and a few months more would make not much odds to him. The facs of the case, cousin, I knew from Madam Cavendish's old servant woman Charlotte who came to my sister when the Cavendishs left for Virginia, having a fear of the sea, and later when my sister died, to my wife, and died but a year agone, and in her deathbed told me what she knew. She told me truly, that she did see Madam Cavendish on the night of the ball go into Caterin's chamber, and espying my emruld ring on her dressing-table, take it up and look at it with exceeding astonishment, and then lay it down not on the spot whereon I had left it, but on the prayer-book on the little stand beside her bed, and then go down stairs, frowning. Then this same Charlotte, having litle interest in life as to her own affairs, and forced to suck others, if she would keep her wits nourished, being watchful, saw me enter, and miss the ring, and heard the hue and cry which I raised. And then she, still watching, saw Master Harry Wingfield, who with others was searching the house for the lost treasure, stop as he was passing the open door of Caterin's chamber, because the green light of the emruld fixed his eyes, and rush in and secrete the ring upon his person. This Charlotte saw, and told Madam Cavendish, who bound her over to secresy to save the honour of the family, believing that her own granddaughter Caterin was the thief. This epistle, cousin, is to prove to you that Caterin was no thief, but simply a cold maid, who hath no love for either hearts or gems, but of that I complain not, havin as I believe, wedded wisely, if not to please my famly, and three daughters and a son, hath my Betty given me, and most exceedin fine tarts hath she made, and puddens, and I die content, with this last writ to thee, cousin to clear Caterin Cavendish, and may be of an innosent gentleman likewise.
"No more from thy cousin,
"Ealing."
One strange feature was there about this letter, which the writer had not foreseen, while it cleared me well enough in the opinion of the family, to strangers it cleared me not at all, for who was to know for what reason I had entered Catherine's chamber, and took and secreted that ring of his lordship's? Strict silence had I maintained, and so had Madam Cavendish all these years, and naught in that letter would clear me before any court of law. Catherine being the only one whose innocence was made plain, I could now tell my story with no fear of doing her harm, but let those believe my part of it who would! Still I may say here, that I verily believe that I was at last cleared in the minds of all who knew me well, and for others I cared not. My term expired soon after that date, and though I chose to remain in Virginia and not return to England, yet my property was restored to me, for my half-brother, John Chelmsford, when confronted by any gate of injustice leapt it like an English gentleman, with no ado. And yet after I heard that letter, I knew that I was a convict still, and knew that for some I would be until the end of the chapter, and when I grew a little stronger, that wild hope that now I might have Mary, dimmed within me, for how could I allow her to wed a man with a stain upon his honour? And even had I been pardoned, the fact of the pardon had seemed to prove my guilt.
It was three days after this, my brother and various others striving all the time, but with no effect, to secure my release, that Mary herself came to see me. Catherine, as I afterward discovered, had unlocked her chamber door and set her free while her grandmother slept, and the girl had mounted Merry Roger, and come straight to me, not caring who knew.
I heard the key grate in the lock, and turned my eyes, and there she was: the blessing of my whole life, though I felt that I must not take it. Close to me she came and knelt, and leaned her cheek against mine, and stroked back my wild hair.
"Harry, Harry," she whispered, and all her dear face was tremulous with love and joy.