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Rh ture Northern Lights; topaz-rings, warm as honey distilled by the busiest of the queen-bees; amethysts rivalling the lavender tinted hepaticas of the woods; and rubies!

Their crimson beauty fascinated the girl, and she thrust her hand between the yellow discs, and picked up the largest gem. Holding it in her fingers, she turned it slowly until the sun, not in jealousy this time but in warning perhaps, shot another arrow through it, spilling little crimson reflections on the pieces in the chest.

"See, see!" shrieked the gypsy. "It is the blood! The yellow is stain' with red."

The girl looked down.

The crimson splashes were very vivid.

The ruby dropped from her limp fingers into the chest again.

Ben bent over, and, perhaps, to soothe her fears as much as to seal their troth, picked up a ring—it was a plain gold band—and tenderly took her hand.

"You haven't had a ring yet, you know, Dear."

"No—not that. Not from that chest. See! It is a wedding ring, perhaps cut off with the hand of some girl bride. No, there's blood on it," she gasped. "Wait till we get up North."

She hadn't noticed the latest comer who had joined the group, he whose face told of many things, as he listened to that last speech. As he glanced at the treasure in the chest, then at the awestruck mariners, the sadness of his eyes was lost in that half-quizzical expression, so mixed with shadow and sunshine that it had won Sally's heart—in a way.