only that I signed away your all, and that, rather than have done so, I ought to have endured unto death."

"Mother, dearest mother, do not, I beseech you, give me the pain-the torture-of hearing you talk thus! I cannot, indeed I cannot, bear this!" and she sobbed as though her heart were breaking.

Edith had listened to her mother's narrative with intensity of interest. She had not moved; her eyes had been fixed in deep earnestness on her mother's face; her hands had been tightly clasped; but, till it was finished, she did not utter a sound. Mrs. Maitland sank back exhausted, and it was long before she spoke again. Edith stood beside her. At length she said—

"Edith, there is more that I would say to you."

"Not now-not now, dear mother!"

But her mother pointed to a cabinet which stood in a corner of the chamber.

"In the second drawer of that cabinet is a casket; bring it to me, Edith; the key of the cabinet is in my desk."

Edith brought the casket.

"This," said her mother, "has not been opened for many years; but it is necessary that it should be opened now. It contains jewels of value-jewels that belonged to my mother, and which I remember to have seen her wear. To see them will bring back many painful memories, but the effort must be made. Edith, I must part with some of these jewels; they are our only resource-our only present means of repaying Peggy."

Mrs. Maitland took the casket; but her hand trembled so much that she could not fit the key.

"I cannot do it," she said, and she was returning the casket to Edith, when, in her agitation, it fell to the ground. The fall forced open the lid, and some of the jewels and a miniature-case were scattered on the floor. Edith took up

the jewels, and replaced them in the casket;

then she took

up the miniature-case; her finger accidentally pressed upon the spring-the case flew open. It was the picture of a gentleman in the prime of life; his features were strikingly handsome, but his countenance was repulsive-it was dark, sullen, and morose. It was but for an instant that Edith saw that countenance-only for one instant—yet the recollection haunted her memory. She shuddered as she hastily

closed the spring. She could not doubt who was the original. It was a miniature of her father!

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CHAPTER X.

THE excitement caused by the narration of these painful events had been very great. Overpowered by the exertion, Mrs. Maitland slept profoundly, and on the following morning she was so tranquil as to be able to discuss the best method of selling the trinkets. It was arranged that Edith should undertake the disposal of them. Mrs. Maitland tried to remember jewellers that she thought might become purchasers, and then Edith traced out in the map the streets in which were the residences of two of the most likely ones.

The jewels to be first disposed of were a set of pink topazes-earrings, necklace, and bracelets. Mrs. Maitland remembered to have heard that the original cost of these was sixty guineas; but being aware of the difference between buying and selling, she said she should be satisfied to part with them for a third of that sum. She took them out of the casket, folded them in silver-paper, and put them in a small leather case. When it came to the point she felt a strange reluctance to part with these relics of former daysmementoes which recalled forcibly the happy time of her child

hood. She could remember standing by her mother when she was dressing for a party, and she could remember that she had clasped one of the bracelets on her arm-that was the last time she had seen her wear them. These pink topazes were a chain which connected her with the past. She unfolded the paper-looked at them with an expression of tender regret-and then she returned them to the little leather case. Edith deposited this case in her pocket, and, after having embraced her mother, she set out on her expedition.

The position was a new one, and she was greatly embarrassed as to the mode in which her offering should be made. When she came near the jeweller's door her heart beat quickly; but she made a strong effort to appear unconcerned, and as if what she was about to do was only something in the ordinary course of things. She did not succeed very well, for her manner was flurried, and her hand shook so nervously that she could scarcely bring out the leather case. The jeweller was a short, hard-featured man, with wiry, erect hair—his head looking very much like a porcupine in full bristle.

"Well!" he said, after Edith had presented the case, told him her object, and he had examined the jewels," and pray how much do you expect for these?"

"What you think them worth," said Edith; "anything reasonable anything that you may be disposed to give." "Humph!" said the jeweller, "I am not going to be both buyer and seller. You are the seller, and you must think them worth."

say

what you "I cannot," said Edith; "I only know that the original cost was sixty guineas; but I don't expect-"

"Ha! ha! ha!" said the jeweller, laughing, and rudely interrupting her; "you may expect long enough for that, I guess ;-why-" and as he spoke he applied some test to the stone-" the stones ar'n't real!" And with an insolent

sneer he put them back in the case, and returned them to Edith. She was very much damped.

"But you'll please to tell me you will surely tell me what you think them worth?"

"I'm not going to give advice gratis; it's like asking a physician for his opinion, and expecting him to give it without a fee-ha! ha ha! I know well enough what they're worth; but it's for you to tell me what you'll take for them." “That I cannot do," said Edith; and she turned to leave the shop.

In progress to the next jeweller Edith resolved to profit by the experience she had gained, and so name her own price for the topazes; but fearful of naming too little, she would take the precaution of experimentalising first on the earrings.

The owner of this shop was a striking contrast to the gentleman of the wiry hair. He was very tall and very slender; his dress was in the extreme of fashion; his handherchief might have contained the concentrated essence of a perfumer's shop, and his fingers were laden with rings.

"Mademoiselle! what may be de pleasure of mademoiselle?" and extending his arms, he remained in a suspended bow. It was very expressive. It was not such a bow as he would have given had Edith descended from her carriage; it was not the bow obsequious-it was the bow satirical.

Edith was quick to catch its meaning, and she rushed to her object with an air of proud dignity that rather astonished the jeweller, and caused him to observe her more attentively. She presented the earrings.

"I should be glad to dispose of these earrings, and five guineas is the sum I wish for them."

He took them, examined them through a glass, tested them, and shrugging his shoulders, he said—

"If mademoiselle do credit me what I do say, she would be glad to take de one-tenth of de money; de stones be not

stones at all-dey be composites-dey be worth nothing— nothing at all. Look you here, mademoiselle, if you would please to look but at dis case, you would see de real thing; these be de stones-de pink topaz stones."

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'Is it so, indeed? And these ?" she said, taking out the case containing the necklace and bracelets, are the stones

of these the same?"

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The jeweller subjected them to similar examination, shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head.

"Dis necklace and dis pair of bracelets be worth nothing at all for de composite; all dey be worth is for de gold. I will weigh de gold of one, and den I will tell you de value of de whole; but dat be not much, de gold is light. It will not be worth more—not more dan de tree guineas. But perhaps you have de other things-de pearls, or de other things dat do sell for more?"

Edith said she would consult the friend for whom she was acting, and would return on the following day.

Mrs. Maitland had been watching for Edith's return. She would not believe that the stones were unreal-she would not believe it possible that so great a deception could have remained undiscovered. Yet they had been subjected to the tests of jewellers, and who could dispute the decision of one who had "Jeweller to His Majesty" suspended over his door? But the casket still contained other jewels, the reality of which did not admit of dispute-there were pearls, and there were rings which Mrs. Maitland now felt the necessity of parting with. So Edith returned to the jeweller.

The value of the gold settings to the pink topazes was pronounced not more than two guineas. Edith looked at them as they lay on the counter. The stones seemed so exactly to resemble the real ones that lay beside them, that she was puzzled to understand by what peculiar organ of vision jewellers are enabled to discover the difference. She presented the pearls and the rings.