The Iron King might have felt this thrust, but he gave no sign.  The duke continued: 

“My after life does not concern the story of the ring.  On learning, since my return from long travel in the East, that your fair granddaughter was widowed nearly two years before, you know I wrote to you asking her address, with a view of renewing my old suit.  You replied by telling me that Mrs. Rothsay made her home with you, and inviting me to visit you.  I refer to this only to keep the sequence of events in order.  I came.  Yesterday morning I went to Scythia’s Roost, climbed from that shelf to the top of the mountain and viewed the scene from it.  After I came down again to Scythia’s Roost I sat down to rest.  The sun was sinking behind the ridge, but through a crevice in the rocks a ray—­’a line of golden light’—­pierced and seemed to strike fire and bring out an answering ray from some living light left in the ashes.  I went to see what it was, and picked up the magic ring, the family talisman.  There it was, the wonderful stone for which no other could possibly be mistaken, the gem of intolerable light and fire that had to be shaded before it could be steadily looked at and before the delicate lines of its flaws delineating the human eye could be discerned.  Here is the ring, Mr. Rockharrt.  Examine it for yourself.”

Mr. Rockharrt took the ring, examined it curiously, turned it toward the clouded window, then toward the blazing sea coal fire; in both positions it burned and sparkled just like any other diamond.  Then he shaded it and looked at it through his eye-glasses; finally he shook his head and returned it to its owner, saying: 

“It is a fine gem, barring a flaw, and I congratulate you on its recovery, but I see no human eye in it.  I see some indistinct lines, fine as the thread of a spider’s web, that is all.  There is the breakfast bell, duke.  We will go into the drawing room and find Cora.  She must be down by this time.”

Cora was standing at one of the front windows, looking out upon the driving rain.  She turned as the two gentlemen entered the room, and responded to their greeting.

“Well, now we will go in to breakfast.  Did the fresh venison come in time, Cora?”

“I think so, sir.”

“We cook it on the breakfast table, duke, each one for himself.  Put a slice on a china plate over a chafing dish.  The only way to eat a venison cutlet,” said old Aaron Rockharrt, as he led the way into the breakfast room, where his eyes were immediately rejoiced by the sight of three chafing dishes filled with ignited charcoal ready for use, and a covered china dish, which he knew must contain the delicate venison cutlets.

When breakfast was over and they had all left the table, the Iron King, addressing his guest, said: 

“Well, sir, I must be off to North End.  I hope you will find some way of entertaining yourself within doors, for certainly this is not a day to tempt a man to seek recreation abroad.  Nothing but business of importance could take me out in such weather.”