ness as she professed to be;
but of one thing I felt perfectly certain. Nothing but sheer necessity
should induce me to speak another syllable to the London merchant.

"Circumstances did not altogether favour my resolution. I scrupulously
avoided so much as a look at Mr. Smith, though in some mysterious way
I became conscious that he and my father were having a long
_tete-a-tete_ conversation in a corner. I devoted myself exclusively
to the rector's wife till supper, and then I carefully chose the
opposite side of the table to that to which the merchant seemed to be
going. But when I was fairly seated, for some reason he gave up his
place to someone else, and when it was impossible for me to change my
seat, he took the one next to it. It was provoking, but I steadily
resisted his attempts to talk, and kept my face as much averted as
possible. Once or twice he helped me to something on the table, but I
barely thanked him, and never lifted my eyes to his face. I could
not, however, avoid seeing the hand that helped me, and idly noticing
a ring that I had remarked before, when he was playing. It was a fine
blue stone, a lapis lazuli, curiously and artistically set. 'Rich
merchants can afford such baubles!' I thought. It was very tasteful,
however, and did not look like English work. There was something
engraven upon it, which did not look like English either. Was it
Greek? I glanced at it with some curiosity, for it reminded me of--but
that was nonsense, a fancy that came because the subject was in my
mind. At this moment the hand and ring were moved close to me and I
looked again.

"It was not a fancy. There was no mistaking the inscription this time.
I had learnt it too thoroughly--written it too often--loved it too
well--it was _Reka Dom_.

"For a moment I sat in blind astonishment. Then the truth suddenly
flashed upon me. The merchant's name was the name of our predecessors
at Reka Dom. True, it was such a common one that I had met more than
one family of Smiths since then without dreaming of any connection
between them and the River House. And yet, of course, it was there
that the Misses Brooke had known him. Before our time. Which could he
be? He was too young to be the father, and there was no John among the
little Russians--unless, yes, it was the English version of one of the
Russian names--and this was Ivan.

"It crowned my misfortunes. What would Miss Martha say if she knew
what had been the subject of our