"And what's this that you were looking at, Lucy?" he asked after a while, turning the pretty bracelet round and round her wrist.
"Mamma bought it me yesterday for my New Year's étrenne. I was thinking--before you came--that I might not live to wear it."
"I was thinking yesterday, Lucy, as I walked along the Boulevards, that I would give a great deal to have some one to buy étrennes for. It is not too late, is it? Meanwhile----"
Breaking off his sentence, he took a very rare ring from his finger, one of the most brilliant of opals encompassed by diamonds. She had never seen him wear it before.
"Oh, how very beautiful!" she exclaimed, as it flashed in a gleam of reflected sunlight.
"I do not give it you, Lucy," he said, putting it upon her finger. "I lend it you until I can find another fit to replace it. That may be in a day, or so. This ring was my father's: made a present of to him by an Eastern Sultan, to whom he was able to render an essential service. At my father's death it came to my brother: and--later--to me."
Karl's voice dropped as he was concluding. Lucy Cleeve felt for him; she knew what he must feel at the allusion. She glided her hand into his, unsought.
"So until then this ring shall be the earnest of our betrothal, Lucy. You will take care of it: and of my love."
The ring was the same that had been seen on Sir Adam's finger at the trial. On that same day, after his condemnation, he had taken it off, and caused it to be conveyed to Karl--his, from henceforth. But Karl had never put it on his own finger until after his brother's death.