A ray of dazzling light darted from the ashes at his feet.  In some surprise he stooped to ascertain the cause, and picked up a ring; examined it curiously; found it to be set with a diamond of rare beauty and great value.  Then in sudden amazement he turned to the reverse side of the golden cup that clasped the gem and saw a monogram.

“I thought so,” he muttered to himself; “I thought that there was not another such a peculiar setting to any gem in the world but that; and now the monogram proves it beyond the shadow of a doubt to be the same.  But how in the name of wonder should the lost talisman be found here—­in the ashes of some charcoal burner’s hut?”

With these words he took out and opened his pocket-book and carefully placed the ring in its safest fold, closed and returned the book to his pocket, and arose and left the spot.  The duke turned to descend the mountain.

At length, however, he reached the foot, and then, under the shadow of the ridge that threw the whole narrow valley into premature twilight, he hurried to the ferry.

The boat was not there.  Indeed, he had not expected to find it after what old Lebanon had told him.  It was too obscure in the valley to permit him to see across the river, so he shouted: 

“Boat!”

“All wight, young marster, but needn’t split your t’roat nor my brain pan, nider!  I can hear you!  I’s coming!” came the voice from mid-stream, for the old ferryman was already half across the river with a chance passenger.

In a few minutes more the boat grated upon the shore and the passenger jumped out, tipped his hat to the duke, and hurried up the river road toward North End.

“Dat pusson were Mr. Thomas Rylan’, fust foreman ober all de founderies.  Dere’s a many foremen, but he be de fust.  Come down long ob de ole mars dis arternoon arter some ‘counts, I reckon, an’ now gone back wid a big bundle ob papers an’ doc’ments.  Yes, sah.  Get in.  I’s ready to start,” said the ferryman, as he cleared a seat in the stern of the boat for the accommodation of the passenger.

“Who used to live in that hut on the mountain before it was burned down?” inquired the duke as he took his seat.

“Ole Injun ’oman named Siffier.”

“Where did she come from?”

“Dunno dat nudder.  Nobody dunno.”

“Can’t you tell me something about such a strange person who lived right here in your neighborhood?”

“Look yere, marster, leas’ said soones’ mended where she’s ’cerned.  I can’t tell you on’y but jes’ dis:  She ’peared yere ’bout twenty year ago, or mo’.  She built dat dere hut wid her own han’s, an’ she use to make baskets an’ brackets an’ sich, an’ fetch ’em roun’ to de people to sell.  She made ’em out’n twigs an’ ornimented ’em wid red rose berries an’ hollies an’ sich, an’ mighty purty dey was, an’ de young gals liked ‘em, dey did.  An’ she made her libbin outen de money she got for her wares.  She use to tell