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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Frontier Stories"

"
"You thought it might have been dropped by some one in passing?"
"I thought so, yes--it belonged to no one in the camp."
"Before your cabin or on the highway?"
"Before my cabin."
"You are _sure_?" There was something so very sweet and sad in her
smile that it oddly made Cass color.
"But my cabin is near the road," he suggested.
"I see! And there was nothing else; no paper nor envelope?"
"Nothing."
"And you kept it because of the odd resemblance one of the names bore
to yours?"
"Yes."
"For no other reason?"
"None." Yet Cass felt he was blushing.
"You'll forgive my repeating a question you have already answered, but
I am _so_ anxious. There was some attempt to prove at the inquest that
the ring had been found on the body of--the unfortunate man. But you
tell me it was not so?"
"I can swear it."
"Good God--the traitor!" She took a hurried step forward, turned to the
window, and then came back to Cass with a voice broken with emotion. "I
have told you I could trust you. That ring was mine!"
She stopped, and then went on hurriedly.


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