"Kismet and Miss Cunningham"
Had I paused for an instant's reflection I must have felt that it would
be impossible for me to take any open notice of the ring, but so great
was my surprise at seeing Harvey Farnham's treasured possession on Miss
Cunningham's finger that involuntarily I uttered a slight exclamation.
Biting her lip she hastily withdrew the hand, dashing the pen she had
been holding with a petulant little gesture on to the desk where she had
been writing.
"Why do you look so astonished," she cried, a certain bitterness in her
voice, "at seeing me wear the sign of my bondage?"
She tried to laugh as she spoke, giving an effect of lightness to the
words, but the effort was a failure.
I would not let her continue to think that she was right in the guess
she had made as to my emotion.
"It was not wholly that, Miss Cunningham," I returned. "Say, rather I
was surprised at seeing you wear this particular ring."
"It _is_ a remarkable one, isn't it? Far too gorgeous and
conspicuous to please me, for myself; but Mr. Wildred was anxious for me
to have it. I believe it has been in his family a long time, and has
been handed down from generation to generation of betrothed
brides--happier than myself." The last three words were spoken almost in
a whisper, but I heard and understood them as I would have understood
the faintest murmur from those lips so dearly loved.
Some dim awakening thought, scarcely clear to my own consciousness,
stirred in my mind at her strange announcement. I could not resist
further questioning.
"Did Mr. Wildred tell you that the ring was an heirloom in his family?"
"Yes. There is a romance attached to it."
She sighed faintly, as though at the death of romance in her own young
life. Then, more quickly--
"Why, Mr. Stanton? Why do you ask me that?"
I could not tell her why; but my heart was bounding with a new
excitement.
"Forgive my curiosity," I said evasively. "I am interested in all that
concerns you."
She turned from me, ostensibly to arrange her scattered papers on the
little davenport, and, relieved of the thraldom of those lovely eyes, I
endeavoured to collect my scattered thoughts.
Somehow I felt that I was on the eve of a discovery which might be of
vast importance in both our lives. How had Wildred obtained that ring
from Harvey Farnham? Why had he lied about it to Karine? That he was a
villain and a schemer I was sure, though I had had no possible means of
proving it. What if this seemingly small matter should put a clue into
my hands.
So clever a scoundrel should not have committed himself to a lie thus
easily disproved, I thought. Only _necessary_ lies were worth the
risk for a man of acumen such as his. But even the most crafty of
mortals is fallible, I reflected, and liable to make some insignificant
mistake, which, like one stone wrongly placed in the foundation of a
vast building, renders the whole structure unstable. Possibly Wildred
had found a stealthy pleasure in weaving a pretty romance round the ring
which he had chosen as the sign of his betrothal, and in weaving it he
had forgotten that I, as an acquaintance of Farnham's, might have been
conversant with its real history. Or, perhaps, he had not counted upon
the fact that Karine might retell the version he had given her to me.
I know how greatly Farnham had valued the marvellous diamond, in its
quaint setting, and I remembered how, only on the night of our last
meeting, he had reiterated to me his determination to keep it. It was
too small to be removed save by cutting, he had said, and I had
satisfied myself by observation that he had not exaggerated.
He must, then, have gone so far as to have the ring cut from his finger
before sailing for America, that he might leave it as a parting pledge
of friendship with Carson Wildred.
The rich, red gold circlet hung loosely enough, however, on Karine's
slim little finger, and a sudden strong desire that she should allow me
to look at it caught hold of me.
"Would it be asking too much," I said, "to have the wonderful heirloom
in my hand to examine for a moment?"
Without a word she slipped the ring off and gave it to me, almost as
though it was a relief to feel its absence.
In a flash a certain recollection had leaped into my mind. There was an
inscription inside, Harvey Farnham had told me. If the ring had been cut
doubtless the words written within would show some trace of the violent
treatment to which the band of gold had been subjected; and I wished,
for a reason I hardly dared admit to myself, to ascertain if this were
the case.
I moved towards the window and, ostensibly catching the light upon the
facets of the matchless stone, peeped into the circlet. To my surprise
the words inscribed on the gold were "Kismet and Miss Cunningham." They
were absolutely unbroken, not a letter blurred, and the surface of the
ring gave the appearance of having been untouched since first it was
fashioned. I was certain that it had not been cut. This being so, how
had the thing been removed from the finger of its owner?
"You are wondering at the words written inside, aren't you?" Karine
asked, coming a little nearer to me. "It does seem extraordinary that
they should be there, doesn't it, when you think that the ring was made
many years ago, and was not intended for me at all? But--Mr. Wildred has
explained the mystery, which is a part of the history of the heirloom,
and accounts for his being particularly anxious for me to wear it."
I, too, could have explained the "mystery." I had been told by Farnham
that the stone had come from the first diamond mine in which he had been
interested. It had been fancifully dubbed "Kismet," and the gold mine,
which he had lately sold to Carson Wildred, had (as he had informed me
that night of our meeting at the theatre) rejoiced in the name of the
"Miss Cunningham." Doubtless the inscription was intended to commemorate
the fact that the gold forming the ring had been taken from the one
mine, the diamond from the other. But, knowing all this, I was none the
less anxious to hear what Karine might have to say.
"It does sound an odd coincidence," I remarked. "Will you tell me the
story?"
I had a very specific object in carrying on this conversation; but as
for Karine, I could feel that her part of it was sustained merely for
the sake of keeping me from treading upon more dangerous ground. Yet
despite this nervous anxiety of hers, I could see--or I flattered
myself--that she was vaguely surprised and piqued that I should be
willing to discuss so trifling a subject during the fleeting moments
before Lady Tressidy might be expected to appear.
"You may hear the little romance if you like," the girl said, a faint
wistfulness in her sweet voice. "Sixty or seventy years ago, Mr. Wildred
tells me, a very dashing ancestor of his fell in love with a Miss
Cunningham. That is not a very uncommon name, you know. He was
penniless, and she an heiress. Her father would have nothing to do with
him, and told him he need not hope to win his daughter unless within a
year he could afford to buy her the finest diamond betrothal ring ever
seen in the country.
"The lover vowed it was 'Kismet' that he should marry Miss Cunningham,
and swore to return and claim her, by slipping such a ring on her
finger, exactly twelve months from the day he was sent away.
"He had the most extraordinary adventures in search of a fortune, always
ending in failure, until the last month of the appointed time. He was in
India, working in the diamond mines, when one day he found this very
stone.
"He sailed at once for England, had the ring made, and the words you see
engraved inside. As he had said, he arrived on the very day appointed,
but only to find the girl coming out from church after her marriage with
another man. He threw the ring at her feet, and flung himself away; but
at her death it was sent back to him again, and though he never married,
he gave it to his brother's bride on her wedding-day. Since then it has
remained in the Wildred family."
I could have laughed aloud at this sentimental tale invented by the man
(whom I now believed had somehow contrived to steal the jewel) to
account for the commonplace words it would have been difficult to erase.
Had I laughed, however, my laughter would have been bitter indeed,
ending in an even increased desire to save from him and his trickery the
girl I loved.
It is needless to say that I did not laugh, but something of what was in
my mind must have been visible on my face, for Karine, as she finished
her story, looked up at me searchingly. "What are you hiding from me,
Mr. Stanton?" she anxiously questioned. "It is about the ring--and if
you are my friend, as you say, you will not keep it a secret from me."
"It _is_ about the ring, Miss Cunningham," I replied impulsively.
"I can't tell you all, for the facts have hardly yet grouped themselves
in my own brain. But if they have such bearing upon your happiness as I
have some reason to think, you shall know them as soon as I can make
them clear to you. Will you trust me meanwhile--will you try to remember
that I am striving to collect facts which may help to release you from
the necessity for an unworthy marriage? Never for one moment since I saw
you last have I let slip the hope of saving you from what you confessed
must be a blighted future. Now, I may be mistaken, but I believe that I
begin to see my way!"
She looked at the ring, which I had returned to her, with startled,
dilating eyes. "Something connected with _this_!" she murmured.
"Yes. It is as if I had placed my eye to that little circlet, looking
through it as through a spyglass towards my goal. I shall work after
this, Miss Cunningham, as I could not work before, because I have now a
fixed starting-point. It may be an intricate tangle that I shall have to
unravel, it may be a tedious task, yet----"
"There are only six weeks--_less_ than six weeks to do it in!" she
murmured, but a faint colour had sprung to her cheeks, a light of hope
to her eyes.
"Is it not possible," I begged, "if I find myself near success, yet
stopped temporarily midway by some unforeseen obstacle, that you can
delay your marriage? Let me have that to hope for. It will help me to
win."
She shook her head sadly, and the rose-flush died.
"It is useless to think of it," she said. "You may imagine, since I have
confessed so much to you, that it was not _my_ plan to name such an
early date. It was Mr. Wildred who suggested it--indeed, he insisted,
and unfortunately he is in a position to insist."
"Has nothing changed since we met at the Savoy?" I hurriedly asked.
"Can't you explain to me the power which you admitted then that this man
holds over you?"
"No, _nothing_ is changed, Mr. Stanton! The reason that I cannot
explain is--a part of his power, if you like to call it that."
"Heaven knows I do _not_ like it!" I exclaimed, almost savagely.
And as the words fell from my lips Lady Tressidy entered the room. She
had finished superintending her packing, and the sight of her was a
sudden sharp reminder that next day she would take Karine away.