Such had been the parcel with which Miss Crawford was provided, and such the object of her intended visit. In the kindest oddest manner she now urged Fanny’s taking one for the cross and to keep for her sake, saying everything she could think of to obviate the scruples which were making Fanny start back at first with a look of horror at the proposal.

“You see what a collection I have,” said Miss Crawford; “more than I ever use or think of. I do not offer them as new. I offer nothing but an old necklace. Naturally, no crosses here. But also nothing one might consider unholy. You must forgive the liberty, and oblige me.”

Fanny still resisted, and from her heart. The gift was too valuable, and the intentions too suspect. But Miss Crawford persevered, and argued the case with so much earnestness, as to be finally successful.

Fanny found herself obliged to yield, and proceeded to make the selection. She looked and looked, longing to know which might be least valuable. She fancied there was one necklace more frequently placed before her eyes than the rest. It was of gold, prettily worked. And though Fanny would have preferred a longer, plainer chain, she hoped, in fixing on this, to be chusing what Miss Crawford least wished to keep.

Miss Crawford smiled her perfect wicked approbation; and hastened to complete the gift by putting the necklace round her, and making her see how well it looked. Fanny had not a word to say against its becomingness, and was exceedingly pleased. She would rather be obliged to some other less undead person. But Miss Crawford had anticipated her wants.

“When I wear this necklace I shall always think of you,” said Fanny with genuine feeling, “and feel how very kind you were—despite the dark nature of yourself.”

“You must think of somebody else too, when you wear that necklace,” replied Miss Crawford. “You must think of Henry, for it was his choice in the first place. He gave it to me, and with the necklace I make over to you all the duty of remembering the original giver.”

Fanny, in great astonishment and confusion, would have returned the present instantly. To take what had been the gift of another person, of a brother too—impossible!

With embarrassment quite diverting to her companion, she laid down the necklace again on its cotton, resolved either to take another or none at all.