Page:The trail of the golden horn.djvu/21



OR several minutes Hugo knelt there holding the ring in his right hand. It was a delicate circlet, a fragile wisp of gold to contain such an exquisite gem. What fair finger had it adorned? What eyes, looking down upon it, had rivalled its sparkling beauty? What comely cheeks had flushed in the joy of its possession? He felt sure that Mrs. Haines had not worn it. What use would such an ornament have been to her in that rude cabin? At any rate, he had never seen it upon her finger. Her hands, he had noted, were rough and toil-worn. But had she once worn it? Was it a precious keepsake, a memento of other and happier days? Had it in any way figured in the terrible tragedy which had so recently taken place? Why was it wedged in the crack between those two planks? Why had it not been broken and crushed in the terrible struggle that had ensued?

These were some of the thoughts which surged through Hugo’s mind as he stared hard at the ring. The value of the diamond he did not know. That it was no ordinary stone he felt certain. How it gleamed and sparkled as he held it to the sun. He turned it over and over in his fingers. He was gradually becoming its slave. Its beauty was fascinating him; its radiance was dazzling him.

A sound from the bunk startled him. He glanced quickly and guiltily around like one caught in a criminal