Grant stood, tightly compressing his lips, for some moments. He then said: "You remember that affair of the gold ring?" "Very well." "You mentioned this to C--." "No. Nor to a living soul since the occurrence of the fact." "What?" "Nothing on that subject has ever passed my lips. I believed that you saw and repented of your error, and in honour and in conscience refrained from even the remotest allusion to the subject." "How, then, did Mr. C--become cognisant of the fact?" "If cognisant all, it was from another source than the one you supposed." "I never mentioned it. You were the only one to whom the circumstance was communicated. How, then, could the matter have gotten abroad?" "I don't believe a single member of the congregation ever heard of it." "Oh, yes, they have. These has been a marked change in the manner of very many towards me. So apparent was this at one time, that I absented myself from church, rather than encounter it." "All your imagination, brother Grant, and nothing else. I believe that I mingle as freely with the congregation as any one, and I know that I never heard a breath against you. At present, every one is at a loss to know in what way Mr. C--pointed you out; he is equally in the dark." "I was sure he meant me. It was so plain," said Mr. Grant, his countenance falling, and his manner becoming subdued. "There was nothing of the kind, you may depend upon it," replied Mr. Harrison. "And you never spoke of it?" "Never!" "A guilty conscience, it is said, needs no accuser. The likeness to me