Amy, Alice, the two Harries, great and little, were immediately searching for it in every corner; it was not to be found. “It is your father’s ring, is it not, Hester?” said my husband; “you have dropped it in the church most likely. I shall walk down immediately, and see; don’t be uneasy—it cannot be lost—any one who found it would know it for yours.”
“Oh, Harry, stop! I am not uneasy,” I cried eagerly; “wait a little, there is no hurry—pray don’t go at all, then—I do not care—I shall be very glad if it is lost.”
“What do you mean, Hester!” he cried in amazement.
I took him aside and whispered all the story into his ear; but Harry was sceptical, and laughed at my superstition. “Why, then, the ring is not yours, Hester,” he said, laughing, “but your second son’s—and you have no right to lose other people’s property so coolly. Never fear, we will exorcise the demon—and, even on your own showing, it is better to look after it, that the mysterious powers who have it in charge may know you were unwilling to lose it. Now, let me go.”
I was obliged to let him go, though very reluctantly—and, when he went away, Flora came running up stairs to condole with me. “Oh, Hester, have you lost your beautiful ring?” cried Flora; “and do you know Mr. Southcote is laughing about it, and says you do not want to find it again; tell me the story—do tell me the story, Hester! Mr. Osborne has gone with him, and the Rector and Miss Saville are in very earnest conversation, and I want my little goddaughter—oh, Hester, I do so wish you would give her to me!”
Yes, Flora was very envious; so we permitted her to hold the young lady in her arms, while Alice told her the story of Edgar the Scholar, and his revenge. Flora was very much awed by it, and full of eager interest now for the return of Harry: “She hoped—she did so hope, that he would never find that dreadful ring!—she should be quite frightened to look at it again!”
For my part, I was also a little anxious about it; but Harry’s good example, and my own light heart, brought me out of the power of the supernatural. I knew already that love and peace reigned at Cottiswoode—that my own sins, my mother’s wrongs, the lifelong sin and punishment of my father, had found a merciful conclusion in the happy family life which once more consecrated with daily thanksgiving the ancient family home. The constant feuds between the elder and the younger, had merged in the perfect union of the two branches of our house. God and Providence were with us, and we could afford to smile at Mystery and Fate.
But the ring was not to be found; though it was sought for in every direction, rewards offered, and every means tried—for Harry was obstinate in his endeavors to recover it—the ring of Edgar the Scholar never returned to Cottiswoode. I do not mean to confess that I am still superstitious about it—for, of course, such a jewel as that was no small prize, and some stranger might have picked it up upon the road, and I have no doubt, did—yet it was very strange, it must be admitted, that it should disappear so. We have not only a second son now, but a third, and a fourth! and Cottiswoode is almost overflowing, and our patrimonial acres will have enough to do to provide for all the children with whom God has blessed us. Sorrow has been in our house—sickness—once death,—but strife has never entered at the peaceful doors of Cottiswoode; and I should smile now, with the smile of perfect confidence and security, did any one whisper to me that discord could come between Harry and his brave brother Brian, our little knight-errant—our St. George—our eager champion of the distressed. The children are God’s children—I do not tremble for them; and life comes to have a very different aspect, with all its unknown haps and chances, when one can say Providence, heartily, instead of Fate.
THE END.