“’You know, Hugh, that this stone is a talisman against shipwreck, fires, floods, robbery, murder, illness, and all the perils by land or by sea, and all the ills that flesh is heir to.  While I wear this ring I expect to be safe from the evils of the world, the flesh, and the devil.  So it shall never leave my living hand while I am away; but it shall bring me home safe to live to a patriarchal age and then die peacefully in my bed, with my children and children’s children of many generations weeping and wailing around me.’

“These or words to this effect he was speaking, while I, standing by the chair in which he sat, toyed with his hand, and gazed curiously upon the talismanic jewel, and got into my mind an impression of it that never was lost.  My uncle soon after left the house, and we never saw him alive again.”

“He was the victim of this mad woman?”

“I know it.  News was slow in those days.  We seldom heard from my uncle.  His letters were but the mark of the cities he stopped at.  We had one letter from Boston; a month later one from New York; a fortnight later, perhaps—­for I only remember these matters by hearing them talked over by my parents—­from Philadelphia; later still, and later, Baltimore, Washington, Nashville, New Orleans, and so on as he journeyed southward.  Then came a long interval, during which we heard nothing from him, while all his family suffered the deepest anxiety, fearing that he had fallen a victim to the terrible fever that was then desolating the Crescent City.  Then at length came a letter from his valet—­a deep black-bordered letter—­which announced the terrible news of the murder of his master by a Mexican Indian woman, supposed to be mad.  There were no details, but only the explanation that he, the valet—­who had seen the murder, which was the work of an instant—­was detained in New Orleans as a witness for the prosecution, and should not be able to return home until after the trial.  It was two months after the latter that the valet came back to England in charge of his late master’s effects, which had all been sealed by the New Orleans authorities, and reached us intact.  Only the family talisman was missing, and could nowhere be found.  And as the family’s prosperity, and even continuity, was supposed to depend upon the possession of that ring, its loss was considered only a less misfortune than my uncle’s death.  Later, my uncle’s remains were brought home from New Orleans and deposited in the family vault at Cumbervale Castle.

“The ring was never again heard of.  On the death of my grandfather, the seventh duke, my father, who was the second son, succeeded to the title.  But fortune seemed to have deserted us.  By a series of unlucky land speculations my father lost nearly all his riches, which calamities preyed upon his mind so that his health broke down and he sank into premature old age and died.  I came into the title with but little to support it.  So that when I honestly loved a lady believed to be wealthy, my motives were supposed to be mercenary.”