father; at the same time she could not wilfully hurt the feelings of anyone—she walked out into the lane.
"You haven't your easel," she said, after they had shaken hands; and then she stopped and wished she had said anything but that: it was so reminiscent.
Vernon did not appear to notice anything.
"No," he replied, "I came just for a last look; I have to go back to-morrow."
Letty did not say anything. Everything she could think of, every commonplace that arose in her mind, seemed to lead back to that last dreadful interview. In silence they walked on, and presently found themselves standing by the ruins that formed the ostensible reason of Vernon's visits.
"Do you know," said the artist at length, "there seems to be very little that one can learn about this place? There is not enough left to tempt the antiquarians, and the country people seem to have no traditions at all. Yet it was an important stronghold two or three hundred years ago, and held out bravely against Cromwell."
"Yes," said the girl, "that is all that we know of it, almost. I believe that our cottage is built from its stones. Nobody seems to own the place; only a few weeks ago a neighbour of ours took away whole cartloads of earth and stones to use in his garden and in making a wall; when they were digging they found a curious old silver ring; see, here it is."
Vernon took the clumsy silver band, and scrutinised the inner side closely. "There has been a motto," he said, "but it is all worn away except the "ing" of the word 'King.'"
"Oh, let me look," said the girl eagerly. "I did not know that there was anything there."
Vernon handed it back, but his fingers trembled as they touched hers, and the ring fell to the ground, then it
