Colonel Carlyle took up the hand that wore the opal ring and looked at it fondly.
"My dear," he said, "that is a very pretty ring you wear, but it is not beautiful enough for your perfect hand. I have brought you a much handsomer one with which to replace it."
He took it from his pocket and showed it to her—a lovely, shimmering opal set round with gleaming pearls.
"I have heard that opals are unlucky stones," he said, "but if you are not superstitious, and like to wear them, will you lay aside the simple one you now have and put this on instead?" and he made a movement as if he would withdraw the tabooed one from her finger.
Bonnibel withdrew her hand quickly, and looked up into Colonel Carlyle's face.
He saw her delicate lips quiver, and a dimness creep over her eyes, while her cheeks grew, if anything, paler than ever. Her voice trembled slightly as she answered:
"I thank you for your beautiful gift; but I cannot consent to wear it in the place of the plainer one I now have."
"And why not, my dear little wife? It would look much handsomer than the one you now wear on your finger."
A faint flush tinged her snow-white cheek at the half-sarcastic emphasis of his words. Her glance wandered off to the sunlit sea and a tear rolled down her check as she said, very gently: