Uncle Sylvester wore. A swift impulse seized her. To the audacious Marie
impulse and action were the same thing. Bending stealthily over the
aperture, she suddenly snatched the ring from the extended finger. The
hand was quickly withdrawn with a start and uncontrolled exclamation,
and she availed herself of that instant to glide rapidly down the
stairs.

She regained her room stealthily, having the satisfaction a moment later
of hearing Uncle Sylvester's door open and the sound of his footsteps in
the corridor. But he was evidently unable to discover any outer ingress
to the inclosure, or believed the loss of his ring an accident, for he
presently returned. Meantime, what was she to do?

Tell Kitty of her discovery, and show the ring? No--not yet! Oddly
enough, now that she had the ring, taken from his wicked finger in
the very act, she found it as difficult as ever to believe in his
burglarious design. She must wait. The mischief--if there had been
mischief--was done; the breaking in of the bricked closet was, from the
appearance of the ruins, a bygone act. Could it have been some youthful
escapade of Uncle Sylvester's, the scene of which he was revisiting as
criminals are compelled to do? And had there been anything taken from
the closet--or was its destruction a part of the changes in the old
house? How could she find out without asking Kitty? There was one way.
She remembered that Mr. Gunn had once shown a great deal of interest
to Kitty about the old homestead, and even of old Mr. Lane's woodland
cabin. She would ask HIM. It was a friendly act, for Kitty had not of
late been very kind to him.

The opportunity presented itself at dusk, as Mr. Gunn, somewhat
abstracted, stood apart at the drawing-room window. Marie hoped he had