He took from the tin box an oblong package, wrapped in letter paper, yellowed by age, and carefully sealed with red wax.  As he held it up, she read thereon:  “My last folly.”  He tore off the paper, lifted an old fashioned morocco case, and attempted to open it, but the catch was obstinate, or rusty, and several ineffectual efforts were made, ere he succeeded in moving the spring.  The once white velvet cushion, had darkened and turned very yellow, but time had robbed in no degree, the lustre of the magnificent sapphires coiled there; and the blue fires leaped out, as if rejoicing in the privilege of displaying their splendor.  “This set of stones was intended as a gift to your mother, when she was graduated at boarding-school.  The time fixed for the close of the session was only one month later than the day on which she eloped with that foreign fraud, who should never have been allowed in the school.  My wife had promised that if your mother won the honor of valedictorian, she should have the handsomest present ever worn at a commencement.  These costly sapphires were my poor wife’s choice.  Poor Helena! how often she admired them!” His voice faltered, and he bit his under lip to still its quiver.

Was there some necromancy in the azure flames, that suddenly revealed the beloved face of the wife of his youth, and the lovely vision of their only child?  His eagle eyes were dim with tears, and his hand shook; but, as if ashamed of the weakness, he closed the jewel case with a snap, and held it out.

“Here—­take them.  I had intended to give them as a bridal present to my son’s wife, when he marries to suit me—­as he certainly will; but somehow, such a disposal seems hard on my dear Helena’s wishes, and for her sake, I don’t feel quite easy about leaving them to Prince’s bride.  Your mother never saw them, never knew of their existence.  They are very valuable, and the amount they will bring must relieve all present necessities.  Tell Ellice the sight of the case disturbs me, like a thorn in the flesh, so I send them away, to rid myself of an annoyance.  She must not thank me; they come from her—­dead mother.”

“A knowledge of their history would give her infinitely more pain than the proceeds of their sale could bring comfort.  I would not stab her aching heart for twenty times the value of the jewels.”

“Then sell them, or do as you like.  It matters not what becomes of them, if I am spared in future all reminders of the past.  Put them in your pocket.  What?  The case is too large?  Where is your trunk—­ your baggage?”

“I have none, except my basket and shawl.”

She picked them up from the carpet near the library door, and dropped the case into her basket.

“You are a brave, and a loyal woman, and you appear to deserve far better parents than fell to your lot.  Before you go, let me offer you a glass of wine, and a biscuit.”

“Thank you—­no.  I could not possibly accept it.”