The Heart

"My Lord Ealing is dead," she said, "and thou knowest that he was a

kinsman of the Chelmsfords, and after his funeral came this ring and

a letter, and--and--thou art cleared, Harry. And--and--now I know

why thou didst what thou did, Harry, 'twas--'twas--to shield me."

With that she burst into a great flood of tears, even throwing

herself upon the floor of my cell in all her slim length, and not

letting my brother John raise her, though he strove to do so.

"'Tis here, 'tis here I belong, John," she cried out wildly, "for

you know not, you know not what injustice I have done this innocent

man. Never can I make it good with my life."

It is here that I shall stop the course of my story to explain the

whole matter of the ring, which at the time I was too weak and spent

with pain to comprehend fully as Catherine Cavendish related it. It

was a curious and at the same time a simple tale, as such tales are

wont to be, and its very simplicity made it seem then, and seem now,

well-nigh incredible. For it is the simple things of this world

which are always most unbelievable, perhaps for this reason: that

men after Eden and the Serpent, expect some subtlety of reasoning to

account for all happenings, and always comes the suspicion that

somewhat beside two and two go to make four.

My Lord Robert Ealing who had come to the ball at Cavendish Court

that long last year, was a distant kinsman of our family, and

unwedded, but a man who went through the world with a silly leer of

willingness toward all womenkind. And 'twas this very trait,

perhaps, which accounted for his remaining unwedded, although a

lord, though the fact that his estates were incumbered may have had

somewhat to do with it. Be that as it may, he lived alone, except

for a few old servants, and was turned sixty, when, long after my

transportation, he wedded his cook, who gave him three daughters and

one son, to whom the estate went, but the ring and the letter came

to the Chelmsfords. The letter, which I afterwards saw, was a most

curious thing, both as to composition and spelling and chirography,

for his lordship was no scholar. And since the letter is but short,

I may perhaps as well give it entire. After this wise it ran, being

addressed to Col. John Chelmsford, who was his cousin, though

considerably younger.

"Dear Cousin.--(So wrote my Lord Ealing.) When this reaches you

I shall be laid in silent tomb, where, perchance, I shall be more at

peace than I have ever ben in a wurld, which either fitted me not,

or I did not fit. At all odds there was a sore misfit betwixt us in

some way. If it was the blam of the world, good ridance and parden,

if it was my blam, let them which made me come to acount fo'rt. I

send herewith my great emruld ringg, with dimends which I suspect

hath been the means of sending an inosent man into slavery. I had a

mind some years agone to wed with Caterin Cavendish, and she bein a

hard made to approche, having ever a stiff turn of the sholder

toward me, though I knew not why, I was not willin to resk my sute

by word of mouth, nor having never a gift in writin by letter. And

so, knowin that mades like well such things, I bethought me of my

emruld ring, and on the night of the ball, I being upstair in to lay

off my hatt and cloak, stole privily into Catherin's chamber, she

being a-dancin below, and I laid the ring on her dresing table,

thinkin that she would see it when she entered, and know it for a

love token.