"It is such a
curious and unusual one, dear, that we wondered to whom it belonged.
Brown found it when she was sweeping my boudoir this morning. Take it
home to your mother, and suggest that she has a stronger clasp put on
it."

The girl held the golden snake in her open hand. This was the first time
she had ever seen it. A fine example of old Italian workmanship, it was
made flexible, with its flat head covered with diamonds, and two bright
emeralds for the eyes. The mouth could be opened, and within was a small
cavity where a photo or any tiny object could be concealed. Where her
mother had picked it up she could not tell. But Lady Heyburn was always
purchasing quaint odds and ends, and, like most giddy women of her
class, was extraordinarily fond of fantastic jewellery and ornaments
such as other women did not possess.

Several members of the house-party at Connachan entered and chatted, all
being full of the success of the previous night's entertainment. Lady
Murie's husband had, it appeared, left that morning for Edinburgh to
attend a political committee.

A little later Walter succeeded in getting Gabrielle alone again in a
small, well-furnished room leading off the library--a room in which she
had passed many happy hours with him before he had gone abroad. He had
been in London reading for the Bar, but had spent a good deal of his
time up in Perthshire, or at least all he possibly could. At such times
they were inseparable; but after he had been "called"--there being no
necessity for him to practise, he being heir to the estates--he had gone
to India and Japan "to broaden his mind," as his father had explained.

"I wonder, Gabrielle," he said hesitatingly, holding her hand as they
stood at the open window--"I wonder if you will forgive me if I put a
question to you. I--I know I ought not to ask it," he stammered; "but it
is only because I love you so well, dearest, that I ask you to tell me
the truth."

"The truth!" echoed the girl, looking at him with some surprise, though
turning just a trifle paler, he thought. "The truth about what?"

"About that man James Flockart," was his low, distinct reply.

"About him! Why, my dear Walter," she laughed, "whatever do you want to
know about him? You know all that I know. We were agreed long ago that
he is not a gentleman, weren't we?"

"Yes," he said. "Don't you recollect our talk at your house in London
two years ago, soon after you came back from school? Do yo