know,
he was right.

In her hand Deborah clutched the ring, of whose genuineness she had
come to entertain such painful doubts. It might be genuine, she
tried to hope, even if it came from an impostor; but her hope was
small. She felt a presentiment that it would prove as false as the
man from whom she received it. As for the story of the manner in
which he became possessed of it, doubtless that was as false as the
rest.

"How blind I was!" groaned Deborah in secret. "I saw he didn't look
like the family. What a goose I was to believe that story about his
changin' the color of his hair! I was an old fool, and that's all
about it."

"Drive to the jeweller's," said Miss Deborah, when they reached
Brandon.

In some surprise, Abner complied.

Deborah got out of the wagon hastily and entered the store.

"What can I do for you, Miss Kensington?" asked the jeweller, who
recognized the old lady.

"I want to show you a ring," said Aunt Deborah, abruptly. "Tell me
what it's worth."

She produced the ring which the false Ferdinand had intrusted to her.

The jeweller scanned it closely.

"It's a good imitation of a diamond ring," he said.

"Imitation!" gasped Deborah.

"Yes; you didn't think it was genuine?"

"What's it worth?"

"The value of the gold. That appears to be genuine. It may be worth
three dollars."

"Three dollars!" ejaculated Deborah. "He told me it cost six hundred
and fifty."

"Whoever told you that was trying to deceive you."

"You're sure about its being imitation, are you?"

"There can be no doubt about it."

"That's what I thought," muttered the old lady, her face pale and
rigid. "Is there anything to pay?"

"Oh, no; I am glad to be of service to you."

"Good-afternoon, then," said Deborah, abruptly, and she left the
store.

"Drive home, Abner, as quick as you can," she said.

"I haven't had any dinner," Abner remarked, "You said you'd get some
at the tavern."

"Did I? Well, drive over there. I'm not hungry myself, but I'll pay
for some dinner for you."

Poor Aunt Deborah! it was not the loss alone that troubled her,
though she was fond of money; but it was humiliating to think that
she had fallen such an easy prey to a designing adventurer. In her
present bitter mood, she would gladly have ridden fifty miles to see
the false Ferdinand hanged.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE PLOT AGAINST FLETCHER.

The intimacy between Harry and Oscar Vincent continued, and, as