Of course, we all considered it lost—­all except Mr. Trelyon, who took the trouble to go at once all the way to Plymouth for a dredging-machine, and the following afternoon I was overjoyed to find him return with the lost ring, which I had scarcely dared hope to see again.  How many gentlemen would have done so much for a mere acquaintance?  I am sure if you had been here you would have been ashamed of me if I had not been grateful to him.  Now, however, since you appear to attach importance to these idle rumors, I have asked Mr. Trelyon—­”

So the letter went on.  She would not have written so calmly if she had foreseen the passion which her ingenuous story about the dredging-machine was destined to arouse.  When Mr. Roscorla read that simple narrative, he first stared with astonishment as though she were making some foolish joke.  Directly he saw she was serious, however, his rage and mortification were indescribable.  Here was this young man, not content with hanging about the girl so that neighbors talked, but actually imposing on her credulity, and making a jest of that engaged ring which ought to have been sacred to her.  Mr. Roscorla at once saw through the whole affair—­the trip to Plymouth, the purchasing of a gypsy-ring that could have been matched a dozen times over anywhere, the return to Penzance with a cock-and-bull story about a dredging-machine.  So hot was his anger that it overcame his prudence.  He would start for England at once.  He had taken no such resolution when he heard from the friendly and communicative Mr. Barnes that Mr. Trelyon’s conduct with regard to Wenna was causing scandal, but this making a fool of him in his absence he could not bear.  At any cost he would set out for England, arrange matters more to his satisfaction by recalling Wenna to a sense of her position; and then he would return to Jamaica.  His affairs there were already promising so well that he could afford the trip.

Meanwhile, Wenna had just finished her letter when Mr. Trelyon drove up with the carriage, and shortly afterward came into the room.  He seemed rather grave, and yet not at all sentimentally sad.  He addressed himself mostly to Mrs. Rosewarne, and talked to her about the Port Isaac fishing, the emigration of the miners and other matters.  Then Wenna slipped away to get ready.

“Mrs. Rosewarne,” he said, “you asked me to find out what I could about that red-faced person, you know.  Well, here is an advertisement which may interest you.  I came on it quite accidentally last night in the smoking-room of the hotel.”

It was a marriage advertisement, cut from a paper about a week old.  The name of the lady was “Katherine Ann, widow of the late J.T.  Shirley, Esq., of Barrackpore.”

“Yes, I was sure it was that woman,” Mrs. Rosewarne said eagerly.  “And so she is married again?”