sty in his condemnation of Molly. As he
gains the boudoir he starts, for there in the room, with the light
flashing warmly upon her, stands Molly Bawn alone.

She is dressed in a long trailing gown of black velveteen,--an
inexpensive dress, but one that suits her admirably, with its slight
adornment of little soft lace frillings at the throat and wrists.
Pausing irresolutely, Luttrell makes as though he would retrace his
steps.

"Do not go," says Molly's voice, clear and firm. "As you are here, I
wish to speak to you."

She beckons him to come a little nearer to her, and silently he obeys
the gesture. There is a small round table between them, upon which
Molly is leaning rather heavily. As he approaches, however, and waits,
gazing curiously at her for her next word, she straightens herself and
compels her eyes to meet his.

"Here is your ring," she says, drawing the glittering treasure from her
finger and placing it before him.

There is not the extremest trace of excitement or feeling of any kind
in her tone. Luttrell, on the contrary, shrinks as though touched by
fire.

"Keep it," he says, involuntarily, coloring darkly.

"No--no."

"Why?" he urges. "It will not hurt you, and"--with a quickly-suppressed
sigh--"it may perhaps compel you to think of me now and then."

"I have neither wish nor desire ever to think of you again," returns
she, still in the same cold, even tone, pushing the ring still closer
to him with her first finger. There is something of contempt in the
action. A ray from the dancing sun outside falls through the glass on
to the diamonds, making them flash and sparkle in their gold setting.

"That admits of no answer," says Luttrell, with low but passionate
bitterness; and, taking up the ring, he flings it lightly into the very
heart of the glowing fire.

With a sudden loss of self-restraint Molly makes a movement forward as
though to prevent him; but too late,--already the greedy flames have
closed upon it.

Not all the agitation, not all his angry words of the night before,
have affected her so keenly as this last act. She bursts into a very
storm of tears.

"Oh! what have you done?" cries she. "You have destroyed it; you have
burned it,--my pretty ring!"

She clasps her hands together, and gazes with straining eyes into the
cruel fire. Something within her heart feels broken. Surely some string
has snapped. The ring, in spite of all, was a last link between them;
and now, too, it