"THE MOONSTONE\n\nA Romance\n\nby Wilkie Collins\n\n\n\n\nPROLOGUE\n\nTHE STORMING OF SERINGAPATAM (1799)\n\n\nExtracted from a Family Paper\n\n\nI address these lines--written in India--to my relatives in England.\n\nMy object is to explain the motive which has induced me to refuse the\nright hand of friendship to my cousin, John Herncastle. The reserve\nwhich I have hitherto maintained in this matter has been misinterpreted\nby members of my family whose good opinion I cannot consent to forfeit.\nI request them to suspend their decision until they have read my\nnarrative. And I declare, on my word of honour, that what I am now about\nto write is, strictly and literally, the truth.\n\nThe private difference between my cousin and me took its rise in a\ngreat public event in which we were both concerned--the storming of\nSeringapatam, under General Baird, on the 4th of May, 1799.\n\nIn order that the circumstances may be clearly understood, I must\nrevert for a moment to the period before the assault, and to the stories\ncurrent in our camp of the treasure in jewels and gold stored up in the\nPalace of Seringapatam.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nOne of the wildest of these stories related to a Yellow Diamond--a\nfamous gem in the native annals of India.\n\nThe earliest known traditions describe the stone as having been set in\nthe forehead of the four-handed Indian god who typifies the Moon. Partly\nfrom its peculiar colour, partly from a superstition which represented\nit as feeling the influence of the deity whom it adorned, and growing\nand lessening in lustre with the waxing and waning of the moon, it\nfirst gained the name by which it continues to be known in India to\nthis day--the name of THE MOONSTONE. A similar superstition was once\nprevalent, as I have heard, in ancient Greece and Rome; not applying,\nhowever (as in India), to a diamond devoted to the service of a god, but\nto a semi-transparent stone of the inferior order of gems, supposed to\nbe affected by the lunar influences--the moon, in this latter case also,\ngiving the name by which the stone is still known to collectors in our\nown time.\n\nThe adventures of the Yellow Diamond begin with the eleventh century of\nthe Christian era.\n\nAt that date, the Mohammedan conqueror, Mahmoud of Ghizni, crossed\nIndia; seized on the holy city of Somnauth; and stripped of its\ntreasures the famous temple, which had stood for centuries--the shrine\nof Hindoo pilgrimage, and the wonder of the Eastern world.\n\nOf all the deities worshipped in the temple, the moon-god alone escaped\nthe rapacity of the conquering Mohammedans. Preserved by three Brahmins,\nthe inviolate deity, bearing the Yellow Diamond in its forehead, was\nremoved by night, and was transported to the second of the sacred cities\nof India--the city of Benares.\n\nHere, in a new shrine--in a hall inlaid with precious stones, under\na roof supported by pillars of gold--the moon-god was set up and\nworshipped. Here, on the night when the shrine was completed, Vishnu the\nPreserver appeared to the three Brahmins in a dream.\n\nThe deity breathed the breath of his divinity on the Diamond in the\nforehead of the god. And the Brahmins knelt and hid their faces in their\nrobes. The deity commanded that the Moonstone should be watched, from\nthat time forth, by three priests in turn, night and day, to the end\nof the generations of men. And the Brahmins heard, and bowed before his\nwill. The deity predicted certain disaster to the presumptuous mortal\nwho laid hands on the sacred gem, and to all of his house and name\nwho received it after him. And the Brahmins caused the prophecy to be\nwritten over the gates of the shrine in letters of gold.\n\nOne age followed another--and still, generation after generation, the\nsuccessors of the three Brahmins watched their priceless Moonstone,\nnight and day. One age followed another until the first years of the\neighteenth Christian century saw the reign of Aurungzebe, Emperor of the\nMoguls. At his command havoc and rapine were let loose once more among\nthe temples of the worship of Brahmah. The shrine of the four-handed\ngod was polluted by the slaughter of sacred animals; the images of\nthe deities were broken in pieces; and the Moonstone was seized by an\nofficer of rank in the army of Aurungzebe.\n\nPowerless to recover their lost treasure by open force, the three\nguardian priests followed and watched it in disguise. The generations\nsucceeded each other; the warrior who had committed the sacrilege\nperished miserably; the Moonstone passed (carrying its curse with it)\nfrom one lawless Mohammedan hand to another; and still, through all\nchances and changes, the successors of the three guardian priests kept\ntheir watch, waiting the day when the will of Vishnu the Preserver\nshould restore to them their sacred gem. Time rolled on from the first\nto the last years of the eighteenth Christian century. The Diamond fell\ninto the possession of Tippoo, Sultan of Seringapatam, who caused it to\nbe placed as an ornament in the handle of a dagger, and who commanded\nit to be kept among the choicest treasures of his armoury. Even then--in\nthe palace of the Sultan himself--the three guardian priests still kept\ntheir watch in secret. There were three officers of Tippoo's household,\nstrangers to the rest, who had won their master's confidence by\nconforming, or appearing to conform, to the Mussulman faith; and to\nthose three men report pointed as the three priests in disguise.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nSo, as told in our camp, ran the fanciful story of the Moonstone. It\nmade no serious impression on any of us except my cousin--whose love\nof the marvellous induced him to believe it. On the night before the\nassault on Seringapatam, he was absurdly angry with me, and with others,\nfor treating the whole thing as a fable. A foolish wrangle followed; and\nHerncastle's unlucky temper got the better of him. He declared, in\nhis boastful way, that we should see the Diamond on his finger, if\nthe English army took Seringapatam. The sally was saluted by a roar of\nlaughter, and there, as we all thought that night, the thing ended.\n\nLet me now take you on to the day of the assault. My cousin and I were\nseparated at the outset. I never saw him when we forded the river; when\nwe planted the English flag in the first breach; when we crossed the\nditch beyond; and, fighting every inch of our way, entered the town.\nIt was only at dusk, when the place was ours, and after General Baird\nhimself had found the dead body of Tippoo under a heap of the slain,\nthat Herncastle and I met.\n\nWe were each attached to a party sent out by the general's orders to\nprevent the plunder and confusion which followed our conquest. The\ncamp-followers committed deplorable excesses; and, worse still, the\nsoldiers found their way, by a guarded door, into the treasury of the\nPalace, and loaded themselves with gold and jewels. It was in the court\noutside the treasury that my cousin and I met, to enforce the laws of\ndiscipline on our own soldiers. Herncastle's fiery temper had been, as\nI could plainly see, exasperated to a kind of frenzy by the terrible\nslaughter through which we had passed. He was very unfit, in my opinion,\nto perform the duty that had been entrusted to him.\n\nThere was riot and confusion enough in the treasury, but no violence\nthat I saw. The men (if I may use such an expression) disgraced\nthemselves good-humouredly. All sorts of rough jests and catchwords were\nbandied about among them; and the story of the Diamond turned up\nagain unexpectedly, in the form of a mischievous joke. \"Who's got\nthe Moonstone?\" was the rallying cry which perpetually caused the\nplundering, as soon as it was stopped in one place, to break out in\nanother. While I was still vainly trying to establish order, I heard a\nfrightful yelling on the other side of the courtyard, and at once ran\ntowards the cries, in dread of finding some new outbreak of the pillage\nin that direction.\n\nI got to an open door, and saw the bodies of two Indians (by their\ndress, as I guessed, officers of the palace) lying across the entrance,\ndead.\n\nA cry inside hurried me into a room, which appeared to serve as an\narmoury. A third Indian, mortally wounded, was sinking at the feet of a\nman whose back was towards me. The man turned at the instant when I came\nin, and I saw John Herncastle, with a torch in one hand, and a dagger\ndripping with blood in the other. A stone, set like a pommel, in the end\nof the dagger's handle, flashed in the torchlight, as he turned on me,\nlike a gleam of fire. The dying Indian sank to his knees, pointed to\nthe dagger in Herncastle's hand, and said, in his native language--\"The\nMoonstone will have its vengeance yet on you and yours!\" He spoke those\nwords, and fell dead on the floor.\n\nBefore I could stir in the matter, the men who had followed me across\nthe courtyard crowded in. My cousin rushed to meet them, like a madman.\n\"Clear the room!\" he shouted to me, \"and set a guard on the door!\" The\nmen fell back as he threw himself on them with his torch and his dagger.\nI put two sentinels of my own company, on whom I could rely, to keep the\ndoor. Through the remainder of the night, I saw no more of my cousin.\n\nEarly in the morning, the plunder still going on, General Baird\nannounced publicly by beat of drum, that any thief detected in the\nfact, be he whom he might, should be hung. The provost-marshal was in\nattendance, to prove that the General was in earnest; and in the throng\nthat followed the proclamation, Herncastle and I met again.\n\nHe held out his hand, as usual, and said, \"Good morning.\"\n\nI waited before I gave him my hand in return.\n\n\"Tell me first,\" I said, \"how the Indian in the armoury met his death,\nand what those last words meant, when he pointed to the dagger in your\nhand.\"\n\n\"The Indian met his death, as I suppose, by a mortal wound,\" said\nHerncastle. \"What his last words meant I know no more than you do.\"\n\nI looked at him narrowly. His frenzy of the previous day had all calmed\ndown. I determined to give him another chance.\n\n\"Is that all you have to tell me?\" I asked.\n\nHe answered, \"That is all.\"\n\nI turned my back on him; and we have not spoken since.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nI beg it to be understood that what I write here about my cousin (unless\nsome necessity should arise for making it public) is for the information\nof the family only. Herncastle has said nothing that can justify me in\nspeaking to our commanding officer. He has been taunted more than once\nabout the Diamond, by those who recollect his angry outbreak before\nthe assault; but, as may easily be imagined, his own remembrance of the\ncircumstances under which I surprised him in the armoury has been\nenough to keep him silent. It is reported that he means to exchange into\nanother regiment, avowedly for the purpose of separating himself from\nME.\n\nWhether this be true or not, I cannot prevail upon myself to become his\naccuser--and I think with good reason. If I made the matter public, I\nhave no evidence but moral evidence to bring forward. I have not only no\nproof that he killed the two men at the door; I cannot even declare that\nhe killed the third man inside--for I cannot say that my own eyes saw\nthe deed committed. It is true that I heard the dying Indian's words;\nbut if those words were pronounced to be the ravings of delirium,\nhow could I contradict the assertion from my own knowledge? Let our\nrelatives, on either side, form their own opinion on what I have\nwritten, and decide for themselves whether the aversion I now feel\ntowards this man is well or ill founded.\n\nAlthough I attach no sort of credit to the fantastic Indian legend of\nthe gem, I must acknowledge, before I conclude, that I am influenced by\na certain superstition of my own in this matter. It is my conviction,\nor my delusion, no matter which, that crime brings its own fatality with\nit. I am not only persuaded of Herncastle's guilt; I am even fanciful\nenough to believe that he will live to regret it, if he keeps the\nDiamond; and that others will live to regret taking it from him, if he\ngives the Diamond away.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY\n\n\n\n\nFIRST PERIOD\n\nTHE LOSS OF THE DIAMOND (1848)\n\n\nThe events related by GABRIEL BETTEREDGE, house-steward in the service\nof JULIA, LADY VERINDER.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nIn the first part of ROBINSON CRUSOE, at page one hundred and\ntwenty-nine, you will find it thus written:\n\n\"Now I saw, though too late, the Folly of beginning a Work before we\ncount the Cost, and before we judge rightly of our own Strength to go\nthrough with it.\"\n\nOnly yesterday, I opened my ROBINSON CRUSOE at that place. Only this\nmorning (May twenty-first, Eighteen hundred and fifty), came my lady's\nnephew, Mr. Franklin Blake, and held a short conversation with me, as\nfollows:--\n\n\"Betteredge,\" says Mr. Franklin, \"I have been to the lawyer's about some\nfamily matters; and, among other things, we have been talking of the\nloss of the Indian Diamond, in my aunt's house in Yorkshire, two years\nsince. Mr. Bruff thinks as I think, that the whole story ought, in the\ninterests of truth, to be placed on record in writing--and the sooner\nthe better.\"\n\nNot perceiving his drift yet, and thinking it always desirable for the\nsake of peace and quietness to be on the lawyer's side, I said I thought\nso too. Mr. Franklin went on.\n\n\"In this matter of the Diamond,\" he said, \"the characters of innocent\npeople have suffered under suspicion already--as you know. The memories\nof innocent people may suffer, hereafter, for want of a record of the\nfacts to which those who come after us can appeal. There can be no doubt\nthat this strange family story of ours ought to be told. And I think,\nBetteredge, Mr. Bruff and I together have hit on the right way of\ntelling it.\"\n\nVery satisfactory to both of them, no doubt. But I failed to see what I\nmyself had to do with it, so far.\n\n\"We have certain events to relate,\" Mr. Franklin proceeded; \"and we have\ncertain persons concerned in those events who are capable of relating\nthem. Starting from these plain facts, the idea is that we should all\nwrite the story of the Moonstone in turn--as far as our own personal\nexperience extends, and no farther. We must begin by showing how the\nDiamond first fell into the hands of my uncle Herncastle, when he was\nserving in India fifty years since. This prefatory narrative I have\nalready got by me in the form of an old family paper, which relates the\nnecessary particulars on the authority of an eye-witness. The next thing\nto do is to tell how the Diamond found its way into my aunt's house in\nYorkshire, two years ago, and how it came to be lost in little more than\ntwelve hours afterwards. Nobody knows as much as you do, Betteredge,\nabout what went on in the house at that time. So you must take the pen\nin hand, and start the story.\"\n\nIn those terms I was informed of what my personal concern was with the\nmatter of the Diamond. If you are curious to know what course I took\nunder the circumstances, I beg to inform you that I did what you would\nprobably have done in my place. I modestly declared myself to be quite\nunequal to the task imposed upon me--and I privately felt, all the time,\nthat I was quite clever enough to perform it, if I only gave my own\nabilities a fair chance. Mr. Franklin, I imagine, must have seen my\nprivate sentiments in my face. He declined to believe in my modesty; and\nhe insisted on giving my abilities a fair chance.\n\nTwo hours have passed since Mr. Franklin left me. As soon as his back\nwas turned, I went to my writing desk to start the story. There I have\nsat helpless (in spite of my abilities) ever since; seeing what Robinson\nCrusoe saw, as quoted above--namely, the folly of beginning a work\nbefore we count the cost, and before we judge rightly of our own\nstrength to go through with it. Please to remember, I opened the book\nby accident, at that bit, only the day before I rashly undertook the\nbusiness now in hand; and, allow me to ask--if THAT isn't prophecy, what\nis?\n\nI am not superstitious; I have read a heap of books in my time; I am\na scholar in my own way. Though turned seventy, I possess an active\nmemory, and legs to correspond. You are not to take it, if you please,\nas the saying of an ignorant man, when I express my opinion that such\na book as ROBINSON CRUSOE never was written, and never will be written\nagain. I have tried that book for years--generally in combination with\na pipe of tobacco--and I have found it my friend in need in all the\nnecessities of this mortal life. When my spirits are bad--ROBINSON\nCRUSOE. When I want advice--ROBINSON CRUSOE. In past times when my wife\nplagued me; in present times when I have had a drop too much--ROBINSON\nCRUSOE. I have worn out six stout ROBINSON CRUSOES with hard work in my\nservice. On my lady's last birthday she gave me a seventh. I took a drop\ntoo much on the strength of it; and ROBINSON CRUSOE put me right again.\nPrice four shillings and sixpence, bound in blue, with a picture into\nthe bargain.\n\nStill, this don't look much like starting the story of the Diamond--does\nit? I seem to be wandering off in search of Lord knows what, Lord knows\nwhere. We will take a new sheet of paper, if you please, and begin over\nagain, with my best respects to you.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nI spoke of my lady a line or two back. Now the Diamond could never have\nbeen in our house, where it was lost, if it had not been made a present\nof to my lady's daughter; and my lady's daughter would never have been\nin existence to have the present, if it had not been for my lady who\n(with pain and travail) produced her into the world. Consequently, if we\nbegin with my lady, we are pretty sure of beginning far enough back. And\nthat, let me tell you, when you have got such a job as mine in hand, is\na real comfort at starting.\n\nIf you know anything of the fashionable world, you have heard tell of\nthe three beautiful Miss Herncastles. Miss Adelaide; Miss Caroline;\nand Miss Julia--this last being the youngest and the best of the three\nsisters, in my opinion; and I had opportunities of judging, as you shall\npresently see. I went into the service of the old lord, their father\n(thank God, we have got nothing to do with him, in this business of the\nDiamond; he had the longest tongue and the shortest temper of any man,\nhigh or low, I ever met with)--I say, I went into the service of the old\nlord, as page-boy in waiting on the three honourable young ladies, at\nthe age of fifteen years. There I lived till Miss Julia married the late\nSir John Verinder. An excellent man, who only wanted somebody to manage\nhim; and, between ourselves, he found somebody to do it; and what is\nmore, he throve on it and grew fat on it, and lived happy and died\neasy on it, dating from the day when my lady took him to church to be\nmarried, to the day when she relieved him of his last breath, and closed\nhis eyes for ever.\n\nI have omitted to state that I went with the bride to the bride's\nhusband's house and lands down here. \"Sir John,\" she says, \"I can't\ndo without Gabriel Betteredge.\" \"My lady,\" says Sir John, \"I can't do\nwithout him, either.\" That was his way with her--and that was how I\nwent into his service. It was all one to me where I went, so long as my\nmistress and I were together.\n\nSeeing that my lady took an interest in the out-of-door work, and the\nfarms, and such like, I took an interest in them too--with all the more\nreason that I was a small farmer's seventh son myself. My lady got me\nput under the bailiff, and I did my best, and gave satisfaction, and got\npromotion accordingly. Some years later, on the Monday as it might be,\nmy lady says, \"Sir John, your bailiff is a stupid old man. Pension him\nliberally, and let Gabriel Betteredge have his place.\" On the Tuesday\nas it might be, Sir John says, \"My lady, the bailiff is pensioned\nliberally; and Gabriel Betteredge has got his place.\" You hear more than\nenough of married people living together miserably. Here is an\nexample to the contrary. Let it be a warning to some of you, and an\nencouragement to others. In the meantime, I will go on with my story.\n\nWell, there I was in clover, you will say. Placed in a position of trust\nand honour, with a little cottage of my own to live in, with my rounds\non the estate to occupy me in the morning, and my accounts in the\nafternoon, and my pipe and my ROBINSON CRUSOE in the evening--what more\ncould I possibly want to make me happy? Remember what Adam wanted when\nhe was alone in the Garden of Eden; and if you don't blame it in Adam,\ndon't blame it in me.\n\nThe woman I fixed my eye on, was the woman who kept house for me at my\ncottage. Her name was Selina Goby. I agree with the late William Cobbett\nabout picking a wife. See that she chews her food well and sets her foot\ndown firmly on the ground when she walks, and you're all right. Selina\nGoby was all right in both these respects, which was one reason for\nmarrying her. I had another reason, likewise, entirely of my own\ndiscovering. Selina, being a single woman, made me pay so much a week\nfor her board and services. Selina, being my wife, couldn't charge for\nher board, and would have to give me her services for nothing. That was\nthe point of view I looked at it from. Economy--with a dash of love. I\nput it to my mistress, as in duty bound, just as I had put it to myself.\n\n\"I have been turning Selina Goby over in my mind,\" I said, \"and I think,\nmy lady, it will be cheaper to marry her than to keep her.\"\n\nMy lady burst out laughing, and said she didn't know which to be most\nshocked at--my language or my principles. Some joke tickled her, I\nsuppose, of the sort that you can't take unless you are a person of\nquality. Understanding nothing myself but that I was free to put it next\nto Selina, I went and put it accordingly. And what did Selina say? Lord!\nhow little you must know of women, if you ask that. Of course she said,\nYes.\n\nAs my time drew nearer, and there got to be talk of my having a new coat\nfor the ceremony, my mind began to misgive me. I have compared notes\nwith other men as to what they felt while they were in my interesting\nsituation; and they have all acknowledged that, about a week before it\nhappened, they privately wished themselves out of it. I went a trifle\nfurther than that myself; I actually rose up, as it were, and tried to\nget out of it. Not for nothing! I was too just a man to expect she would\nlet me off for nothing. Compensation to the woman when the man gets\nout of it, is one of the laws of England. In obedience to the laws,\nand after turning it over carefully in my mind, I offered Selina Goby a\nfeather-bed and fifty shillings to be off the bargain. You will hardly\nbelieve it, but it is nevertheless true--she was fool enough to refuse.\n\nAfter that it was all over with me, of course. I got the new coat as\ncheap as I could, and I went through all the rest of it as cheap as I\ncould. We were not a happy couple, and not a miserable couple. We were\nsix of one and half-a-dozen of the other. How it was I don't understand,\nbut we always seemed to be getting, with the best of motives, in one\nanother's way. When I wanted to go up-stairs, there was my wife coming\ndown; or when my wife wanted to go down, there was I coming up. That is\nmarried life, according to my experience of it.\n\nAfter five years of misunderstandings on the stairs, it pleased an\nall-wise Providence to relieve us of each other by taking my wife. I\nwas left with my little girl Penelope, and with no other child. Shortly\nafterwards Sir John died, and my lady was left with her little girl,\nMiss Rachel, and no other child. I have written to very poor purpose\nof my lady, if you require to be told that my little Penelope was taken\ncare of, under my good mistress's own eye, and was sent to school and\ntaught, and made a sharp girl, and promoted, when old enough, to be Miss\nRachel's own maid.\n\nAs for me, I went on with my business as bailiff year after year up to\nChristmas 1847, when there came a change in my life. On that day, my\nlady invited herself to a cup of tea alone with me in my cottage. She\nremarked that, reckoning from the year when I started as page-boy in the\ntime of the old lord, I had been more than fifty years in her service,\nand she put into my hands a beautiful waistcoat of wool that she had\nworked herself, to keep me warm in the bitter winter weather.\n\nI received this magnificent present quite at a loss to find words to\nthank my mistress with for the honour she had done me. To my great\nastonishment, it turned out, however, that the waistcoat was not an\nhonour, but a bribe. My lady had discovered that I was getting old\nbefore I had discovered it myself, and she had come to my cottage to\nwheedle me (if I may use such an expression) into giving up my hard\nout-of-door work as bailiff, and taking my ease for the rest of my\ndays as steward in the house. I made as good a fight of it against the\nindignity of taking my ease as I could. But my mistress knew the weak\nside of me; she put it as a favour to herself. The dispute between us\nended, after that, in my wiping my eyes, like an old fool, with my new\nwoollen waistcoat, and saying I would think about it.\n\nThe perturbation in my mind, in regard to thinking about it, being truly\ndreadful after my lady had gone away, I applied the remedy which I have\nnever yet found to fail me in cases of doubt and emergency. I smoked a\npipe and took a turn at ROBINSON CRUSOE. Before I had occupied myself\nwith that extraordinary book five minutes, I came on a comforting bit\n(page one hundred and fifty-eight), as follows: \"To-day we love, what\nto-morrow we hate.\" I saw my way clear directly. To-day I was all for\ncontinuing to be farm-bailiff; to-morrow, on the authority of ROBINSON\nCRUSOE, I should be all the other way. Take myself to-morrow while in\nto-morrow's humour, and the thing was done. My mind being relieved\nin this manner, I went to sleep that night in the character of Lady\nVerinder's farm bailiff, and I woke up the next morning in the character\nof Lady Verinder's house-steward. All quite comfortable, and all through\nROBINSON CRUSOE!\n\nMy daughter Penelope has just looked over my shoulder to see what I have\ndone so far. She remarks that it is beautifully written, and every word\nof it true. But she points out one objection. She says what I have done\nso far isn't in the least what I was wanted to do. I am asked to tell\nthe story of the Diamond and, instead of that, I have been telling the\nstory of my own self. Curious, and quite beyond me to account for. I\nwonder whether the gentlemen who make a business and a living out of\nwriting books, ever find their own selves getting in the way of their\nsubjects, like me? If they do, I can feel for them. In the meantime,\nhere is another false start, and more waste of good writing-paper.\nWhat's to be done now? Nothing that I know of, except for you to keep\nyour temper, and for me to begin it all over again for the third time.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nThe question of how I am to start the story properly I have tried to\nsettle in two ways. First, by scratching my head, which led to nothing.\nSecond, by consulting my daughter Penelope, which has resulted in an\nentirely new idea.\n\nPenelope's notion is that I should set down what happened, regularly day\nby day, beginning with the day when we got the news that Mr. Franklin\nBlake was expected on a visit to the house. When you come to fix your\nmemory with a date in this way, it is wonderful what your memory will\npick up for you upon that compulsion. The only difficulty is to fetch\nout the dates, in the first place. This Penelope offers to do for me by\nlooking into her own diary, which she was taught to keep when she was\nat school, and which she has gone on keeping ever since. In answer to an\nimprovement on this notion, devised by myself, namely, that she should\ntell the story instead of me, out of her own diary, Penelope observes,\nwith a fierce look and a red face, that her journal is for her own\nprivate eye, and that no living creature shall ever know what is in\nit but herself. When I inquire what this means, Penelope says,\n\"Fiddlesticks!\" I say, Sweethearts.\n\nBeginning, then, on Penelope's plan, I beg to mention that I was\nspecially called one Wednesday morning into my lady's own sitting-room,\nthe date being the twenty-fourth of May, Eighteen hundred and\nforty-eight.\n\n\"Gabriel,\" says my lady, \"here is news that will surprise you. Franklin\nBlake has come back from abroad. He has been staying with his father in\nLondon, and he is coming to us to-morrow to stop till next month, and\nkeep Rachel's birthday.\"\n\nIf I had had a hat in my hand, nothing but respect would have prevented\nme from throwing that hat up to the ceiling. I had not seen Mr. Franklin\nsince he was a boy, living along with us in this house. He was, out of\nall sight (as I remember him), the nicest boy that ever spun a top or\nbroke a window. Miss Rachel, who was present, and to whom I made\nthat remark, observed, in return, that SHE remembered him as the most\natrocious tyrant that ever tortured a doll, and the hardest driver of an\nexhausted little girl in string harness that England could produce. \"I\nburn with indignation, and I ache with fatigue,\" was the way Miss Rachel\nsummed it up, \"when I think of Franklin Blake.\"\n\nHearing what I now tell you, you will naturally ask how it was that Mr.\nFranklin should have passed all the years, from the time when he was\na boy to the time when he was a man, out of his own country. I answer,\nbecause his father had the misfortune to be next heir to a Dukedom, and\nnot to be able to prove it.\n\nIn two words, this was how the thing happened:\n\nMy lady's eldest sister married the celebrated Mr. Blake--equally famous\nfor his great riches, and his great suit at law. How many years he\nwent on worrying the tribunals of his country to turn out the Duke in\npossession, and to put himself in the Duke's place--how many lawyer's\npurses he filled to bursting, and how many otherwise harmless people\nhe set by the ears together disputing whether he was right or wrong--is\nmore by a great deal than I can reckon up. His wife died, and two of his\nthree children died, before the tribunals could make up their minds to\nshow him the door and take no more of his money. When it was all over,\nand the Duke in possession was left in possession, Mr. Blake discovered\nthat the only way of being even with his country for the manner in\nwhich it had treated him, was not to let his country have the honour\nof educating his son. \"How can I trust my native institutions,\" was the\nform in which he put it, \"after the way in which my native institutions\nhave behaved to ME?\" Add to this, that Mr. Blake disliked all boys,\nhis own included, and you will admit that it could only end in one\nway. Master Franklin was taken from us in England, and was sent to\ninstitutions which his father COULD trust, in that superior country,\nGermany; Mr. Blake himself, you will observe, remaining snug in England,\nto improve his fellow-countrymen in the Parliament House, and to publish\na statement on the subject of the Duke in possession, which has remained\nan unfinished statement from that day to this.\n\nThere! thank God, that's told! Neither you nor I need trouble our heads\nany more about Mr. Blake, senior. Leave him to the Dukedom; and let you\nand I stick to the Diamond.\n\nThe Diamond takes us back to Mr. Franklin, who was the innocent means of\nbringing that unlucky jewel into the house.\n\nOur nice boy didn't forget us after he went abroad. He wrote every now\nand then; sometimes to my lady, sometimes to Miss Rachel, and sometimes\nto me. We had had a transaction together, before he left, which\nconsisted in his borrowing of me a ball of string, a four-bladed knife,\nand seven-and-sixpence in money--the colour of which last I have not\nseen, and never expect to see again. His letters to me chiefly related\nto borrowing more. I heard, however, from my lady, how he got on\nabroad, as he grew in years and stature. After he had learnt what the\ninstitutions of Germany could teach him, he gave the French a turn next,\nand the Italians a turn after that. They made him among them a sort of\nuniversal genius, as well as I could understand it. He wrote a\nlittle; he painted a little; he sang and played and composed a\nlittle--borrowing, as I suspect, in all these cases, just as he had\nborrowed from me. His mother's fortune (seven hundred a year) fell to\nhim when he came of age, and ran through him, as it might be through a\nsieve. The more money he had, the more he wanted; there was a hole in\nMr. Franklin's pocket that nothing would sew up. Wherever he went, the\nlively, easy way of him made him welcome. He lived here, there, and\neverywhere; his address (as he used to put it himself) being \"Post\nOffice, Europe--to be left till called for.\" Twice over, he made up his\nmind to come back to England and see us; and twice over (saving your\npresence), some unmentionable woman stood in the way and stopped him.\nHis third attempt succeeded, as you know already from what my lady told\nme. On Thursday the twenty-fifth of May, we were to see for the first\ntime what our nice boy had grown to be as a man. He came of good blood;\nhe had a high courage; and he was five-and-twenty years of age, by our\nreckoning. Now you know as much of Mr. Franklin Blake as I did--before\nMr. Franklin Blake came down to our house.\n\nThe Thursday was as fine a summer's day as ever you saw: and my lady and\nMiss Rachel (not expecting Mr. Franklin till dinner-time) drove out to\nlunch with some friends in the neighbourhood.\n\nWhen they were gone, I went and had a look at the bedroom which had\nbeen got ready for our guest, and saw that all was straight. Then,\nbeing butler in my lady's establishment, as well as steward (at my own\nparticular request, mind, and because it vexed me to see anybody but\nmyself in possession of the key of the late Sir John's cellar)--then,\nI say, I fetched up some of our famous Latour claret, and set it in the\nwarm summer air to take off the chill before dinner. Concluding to set\nmyself in the warm summer air next--seeing that what is good for old\nclaret is equally good for old age--I took up my beehive chair to go out\ninto the back court, when I was stopped by hearing a sound like the soft\nbeating of a drum, on the terrace in front of my lady's residence.\n\nGoing round to the terrace, I found three mahogany-coloured Indians, in\nwhite linen frocks and trousers, looking up at the house.\n\nThe Indians, as I saw on looking closer, had small hand-drums slung in\nfront of them. Behind them stood a little delicate-looking light-haired\nEnglish boy carrying a bag. I judged the fellows to be strolling\nconjurors, and the boy with the bag to be carrying the tools of their\ntrade. One of the three, who spoke English and who exhibited, I must\nown, the most elegant manners, presently informed me that my judgment\nwas right. He requested permission to show his tricks in the presence of\nthe lady of the house.\n\nNow I am not a sour old man. I am generally all for amusement, and the\nlast person in the world to distrust another person because he happens\nto be a few shades darker than myself. But the best of us have our\nweaknesses--and my weakness, when I know a family plate-basket to be\nout on a pantry-table, is to be instantly reminded of that basket by the\nsight of a strolling stranger whose manners are superior to my own. I\naccordingly informed the Indian that the lady of the house was out; and\nI warned him and his party off the premises. He made me a beautiful bow\nin return; and he and his party went off the premises. On my side, I\nreturned to my beehive chair, and set myself down on the sunny side of\nthe court, and fell (if the truth must be owned), not exactly into a\nsleep, but into the next best thing to it.\n\nI was roused up by my daughter Penelope running out at me as if the\nhouse was on fire. What do you think she wanted? She wanted to have the\nthree Indian jugglers instantly taken up; for this reason, namely, that\nthey knew who was coming from London to visit us, and that they meant\nsome mischief to Mr. Franklin Blake.\n\nMr. Franklin's name roused me. I opened my eyes, and made my girl\nexplain herself.\n\nIt appeared that Penelope had just come from our lodge, where she had\nbeen having a gossip with the lodge-keeper's daughter. The two girls\nhad seen the Indians pass out, after I had warned them off, followed by\ntheir little boy. Taking it into their heads that the boy was ill-used\nby the foreigners--for no reason that I could discover, except that\nhe was pretty and delicate-looking--the two girls had stolen along the\ninner side of the hedge between us and the road, and had watched the\nproceedings of the foreigners on the outer side. Those proceedings\nresulted in the performance of the following extraordinary tricks.\n\nThey first looked up the road, and down the road, and made sure that\nthey were alone. Then they all three faced about, and stared hard in\nthe direction of our house. Then they jabbered and disputed in their\nown language, and looked at each other like men in doubt. Then they\nall turned to their little English boy, as if they expected HIM to help\nthem. And then the chief Indian, who spoke English, said to the boy,\n\"Hold out your hand.\"\n\nOn hearing those dreadful words, my daughter Penelope said she didn't\nknow what prevented her heart from flying straight out of her. I thought\nprivately that it might have been her stays. All I said, however,\nwas, \"You make my flesh creep.\" (NOTA BENE: Women like these little\ncompliments.)\n\nWell, when the Indian said, \"Hold out your hand,\" the boy shrunk back,\nand shook his head, and said he didn't like it. The Indian, thereupon,\nasked him (not at all unkindly), whether he would like to be sent back\nto London, and left where they had found him, sleeping in an empty\nbasket in a market--a hungry, ragged, and forsaken little boy. This, it\nseems, ended the difficulty. The little chap unwillingly held out his\nhand. Upon that, the Indian took a bottle from his bosom, and poured out\nof it some black stuff, like ink, into the palm of the boy's hand. The\nIndian--first touching the boy's head, and making signs over it in the\nair--then said, \"Look.\" The boy became quite stiff, and stood like a\nstatue, looking into the ink in the hollow of his hand.\n\n(So far, it seemed to me to be juggling, accompanied by a foolish waste\nof ink. I was beginning to feel sleepy again, when Penelope's next words\nstirred me up.)\n\nThe Indians looked up the road and down the road once more--and then\nthe chief Indian said these words to the boy; \"See the English gentleman\nfrom foreign parts.\"\n\nThe boy said, \"I see him.\"\n\nThe Indian said, \"Is it on the road to this house, and on no other, that\nthe English gentleman will travel to-day?\"\n\nThe boy said, \"It is on the road to this house, and on no other, that\nthe English gentleman will travel to-day.\" The Indian put a second\nquestion--after waiting a little first. He said: \"Has the English\ngentleman got It about him?\"\n\nThe boy answered--also, after waiting a little first--\"Yes.\"\n\nThe Indian put a third and last question: \"Will the English gentleman\ncome here, as he has promised to come, at the close of day?\"\n\nThe boy said, \"I can't tell.\"\n\nThe Indian asked why.\n\nThe boy said, \"I am tired. The mist rises in my head, and puzzles me. I\ncan see no more to-day.\"\n\nWith that the catechism ended. The chief Indian said something in his\nown language to the other two, pointing to the boy, and pointing towards\nthe town, in which (as we afterwards discovered) they were lodged. He\nthen, after making more signs on the boy's head, blew on his forehead,\nand so woke him up with a start. After that, they all went on their way\ntowards the town, and the girls saw them no more.\n\nMost things they say have a moral, if you only look for it. What was the\nmoral of this?\n\nThe moral was, as I thought: First, that the chief juggler had heard Mr.\nFranklin's arrival talked of among the servants out-of-doors, and saw\nhis way to making a little money by it. Second, that he and his men and\nboy (with a view to making the said money) meant to hang about till\nthey saw my lady drive home, and then to come back, and foretell\nMr. Franklin's arrival by magic. Third, that Penelope had heard them\nrehearsing their hocus-pocus, like actors rehearsing a play. Fourth,\nthat I should do well to have an eye, that evening, on the plate-basket.\nFifth, that Penelope would do well to cool down, and leave me, her\nfather, to doze off again in the sun.\n\nThat appeared to me to be the sensible view. If you know anything of\nthe ways of young women, you won't be surprised to hear that Penelope\nwouldn't take it. The moral of the thing was serious, according to my\ndaughter. She particularly reminded me of the Indian's third question,\nHas the English gentleman got It about him? \"Oh, father!\" says Penelope,\nclasping her hands, \"don't joke about this. What does 'It' mean?\"\n\n\"We'll ask Mr. Franklin, my dear,\" I said, \"if you can wait till Mr.\nFranklin comes.\" I winked to show I meant that in joke. Penelope took it\nquite seriously. My girl's earnestness tickled me. \"What on earth should\nMr. Franklin know about it?\" I inquired. \"Ask him,\" says Penelope. \"And\nsee whether HE thinks it a laughing matter, too.\" With that parting\nshot, my daughter left me.\n\nI settled it with myself, when she was gone, that I really would ask Mr.\nFranklin--mainly to set Penelope's mind at rest. What was said between\nus, when I did ask him, later on that same day, you will find set\nout fully in its proper place. But as I don't wish to raise your\nexpectations and then disappoint them, I will take leave to warn you\nhere--before we go any further--that you won't find the ghost of a\njoke in our conversation on the subject of the jugglers. To my great\nsurprise, Mr. Franklin, like Penelope, took the thing seriously. How\nseriously, you will understand, when I tell you that, in his opinion,\n\"It\" meant the Moonstone.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nI am truly sorry to detain you over me and my beehive chair. A sleepy\nold man, in a sunny back yard, is not an interesting object, I am well\naware. But things must be put down in their places, as things actually\nhappened--and you must please to jog on a little while longer with me,\nin expectation of Mr. Franklin Blake's arrival later in the day.\n\nBefore I had time to doze off again, after my daughter Penelope had left\nme, I was disturbed by a rattling of plates and dishes in the servants'\nhall, which meant that dinner was ready. Taking my own meals in my own\nsitting-room, I had nothing to do with the servants' dinner, except to\nwish them a good stomach to it all round, previous to composing myself\nonce more in my chair. I was just stretching my legs, when out\nbounced another woman on me. Not my daughter again; only Nancy, the\nkitchen-maid, this time. I was straight in her way out; and I observed,\nas she asked me to let her by, that she had a sulky face--a thing which,\nas head of the servants, I never allow, on principle, to pass me without\ninquiry.\n\n\"What are you turning your back on your dinner for?\" I asked. \"What's\nwrong now, Nancy?\"\n\nNancy tried to push by, without answering; upon which I rose up, and\ntook her by the ear. She is a nice plump young lass, and it is customary\nwith me to adopt that manner of showing that I personally approve of a\ngirl.\n\n\"What's wrong now?\" I said once more.\n\n\"Rosanna's late again for dinner,\" says Nancy. \"And I'm sent to fetch\nher in. All the hard work falls on my shoulders in this house. Let me\nalone, Mr. Betteredge!\"\n\nThe person here mentioned as Rosanna was our second housemaid. Having a\nkind of pity for our second housemaid (why, you shall presently know),\nand seeing in Nancy's face, that she would fetch her fellow-servant in\nwith more hard words than might be needful under the circumstances, it\nstruck me that I had nothing particular to do, and that I might as well\nfetch Rosanna myself; giving her a hint to be punctual in future, which\nI knew she would take kindly from ME.\n\n\"Where is Rosanna?\" I inquired.\n\n\"At the sands, of course!\" says Nancy, with a toss of her head. \"She had\nanother of her fainting fits this morning, and she asked to go out and\nget a breath of fresh air. I have no patience with her!\"\n\n\"Go back to your dinner, my girl,\" I said. \"I have patience with her,\nand I'll fetch her in.\"\n\nNancy (who has a fine appetite) looked pleased. When she looks pleased,\nshe looks nice. When she looks nice, I chuck her under the chin. It\nisn't immorality--it's only habit.\n\nWell, I took my stick, and set off for the sands.\n\nNo! it won't do to set off yet. I am sorry again to detain you; but you\nreally must hear the story of the sands, and the story of Rosanna--for\nthis reason, that the matter of the Diamond touches them both nearly.\nHow hard I try to get on with my statement without stopping by the way,\nand how badly I succeed! But, there!--Persons and Things do turn up so\nvexatiously in this life, and will in a manner insist on being noticed.\nLet us take it easy, and let us take it short; we shall be in the thick\nof the mystery soon, I promise you!\n\nRosanna (to put the Person before the Thing, which is but common\npoliteness) was the only new servant in our house. About four months\nbefore the time I am writing of, my lady had been in London, and had\ngone over a Reformatory, intended to save forlorn women from drifting\nback into bad ways, after they had got released from prison. The matron,\nseeing my lady took an interest in the place, pointed out a girl to her,\nnamed Rosanna Spearman, and told her a most miserable story, which I\nhaven't the heart to repeat here; for I don't like to be made wretched\nwithout any use, and no more do you. The upshot of it was, that Rosanna\nSpearman had been a thief, and not being of the sort that get up\nCompanies in the City, and rob from thousands, instead of only robbing\nfrom one, the law laid hold of her, and the prison and the reformatory\nfollowed the lead of the law. The matron's opinion of Rosanna was (in\nspite of what she had done) that the girl was one in a thousand, and\nthat she only wanted a chance to prove herself worthy of any Christian\nwoman's interest in her. My lady (being a Christian woman, if ever there\nwas one yet) said to the matron, upon that, \"Rosanna Spearman shall\nhave her chance, in my service.\" In a week afterwards, Rosanna Spearman\nentered this establishment as our second housemaid.\n\nNot a soul was told the girl's story, excepting Miss Rachel and me. My\nlady, doing me the honour to consult me about most things, consulted\nme about Rosanna. Having fallen a good deal latterly into the late Sir\nJohn's way of always agreeing with my lady, I agreed with her heartily\nabout Rosanna Spearman.\n\nA fairer chance no girl could have had than was given to this poor girl\nof ours. None of the servants could cast her past life in her teeth, for\nnone of the servants knew what it had been. She had her wages and her\nprivileges, like the rest of them; and every now and then a friendly\nword from my lady, in private, to encourage her. In return, she showed\nherself, I am bound to say, well worthy of the kind treatment bestowed\nupon her. Though far from strong, and troubled occasionally with those\nfainting-fits already mentioned, she went about her work modestly and\nuncomplainingly, doing it carefully, and doing it well. But, somehow,\nshe failed to make friends among the other women servants, excepting my\ndaughter Penelope, who was always kind to Rosanna, though never intimate\nwith her.\n\nI hardly know what the girl did to offend them. There was certainly no\nbeauty about her to make the others envious; she was the plainest woman\nin the house, with the additional misfortune of having one shoulder\nbigger than the other. What the servants chiefly resented, I think, was\nher silent tongue and her solitary ways. She read or worked in leisure\nhours when the rest gossiped. And when it came to her turn to go out,\nnine times out of ten she quietly put on her bonnet, and had her turn by\nherself. She never quarrelled, she never took offence; she only kept a\ncertain distance, obstinately and civilly, between the rest of them and\nherself. Add to this that, plain as she was, there was just a dash of\nsomething that wasn't like a housemaid, and that WAS like a lady, about\nher. It might have been in her voice, or it might have been in her face.\nAll I can say is, that the other women pounced on it like lightning the\nfirst day she came into the house, and said (which was most unjust) that\nRosanna Spearman gave herself airs.\n\nHaving now told the story of Rosanna, I have only to notice one of the\nmany queer ways of this strange girl to get on next to the story of the\nsands.\n\nOur house is high up on the Yorkshire coast, and close by the sea. We\nhave got beautiful walks all round us, in every direction but one. That\none I acknowledge to be a horrid walk. It leads, for a quarter of\na mile, through a melancholy plantation of firs, and brings you out\nbetween low cliffs on the loneliest and ugliest little bay on all our\ncoast.\n\nThe sand-hills here run down to the sea, and end in two spits of rock\njutting out opposite each other, till you lose sight of them in the\nwater. One is called the North Spit, and one the South. Between the two,\nshifting backwards and forwards at certain seasons of the year, lies the\nmost horrible quicksand on the shores of Yorkshire. At the turn of the\ntide, something goes on in the unknown deeps below, which sets the\nwhole face of the quicksand shivering and trembling in a manner most\nremarkable to see, and which has given to it, among the people in our\nparts, the name of the Shivering Sand. A great bank, half a mile out,\nnigh the mouth of the bay, breaks the force of the main ocean coming\nin from the offing. Winter and summer, when the tide flows over the\nquicksand, the sea seems to leave the waves behind it on the bank,\nand rolls its waters in smoothly with a heave, and covers the sand in\nsilence. A lonesome and a horrid retreat, I can tell you! No boat ever\nventures into this bay. No children from our fishing-village, called\nCobb's Hole, ever come here to play. The very birds of the air, as it\nseems to me, give the Shivering Sand a wide berth. That a young woman,\nwith dozens of nice walks to choose from, and company to go with her, if\nshe only said \"Come!\" should prefer this place, and should sit and work\nor read in it, all alone, when it's her turn out, I grant you, passes\nbelief. It's true, nevertheless, account for it as you may, that this\nwas Rosanna Spearman's favourite walk, except when she went once\nor twice to Cobb's Hole, to see the only friend she had in our\nneighbourhood, of whom more anon. It's also true that I was now setting\nout for this same place, to fetch the girl in to dinner, which brings us\nround happily to our former point, and starts us fair again on our way\nto the sands.\n\nI saw no sign of the girl in the plantation. When I got out, through the\nsand-hills, on to the beach, there she was, in her little straw bonnet,\nand her plain grey cloak that she always wore to hide her deformed\nshoulder as much as might be--there she was, all alone, looking out on\nthe quicksand and the sea.\n\nShe started when I came up with her, and turned her head away from me.\nNot looking me in the face being another of the proceedings, which,\nas head of the servants, I never allow, on principle, to pass without\ninquiry--I turned her round my way, and saw that she was crying. My\nbandanna handkerchief--one of six beauties given to me by my lady--was\nhandy in my pocket. I took it out, and I said to Rosanna, \"Come and sit\ndown, my dear, on the slope of the beach along with me. I'll dry your\neyes for you first, and then I'll make so bold as to ask what you have\nbeen crying about.\"\n\nWhen you come to my age, you will find sitting down on the slope of\na beach a much longer job than you think it now. By the time I\nwas settled, Rosanna had dried her own eyes with a very inferior\nhandkerchief to mine--cheap cambric. She looked very quiet, and very\nwretched; but she sat down by me like a good girl, when I told her. When\nyou want to comfort a woman by the shortest way, take her on your knee.\nI thought of this golden rule. But there! Rosanna wasn't Nancy, and\nthat's the truth of it!\n\n\"Now, tell me, my dear,\" I said, \"what are you crying about?\"\n\n\"About the years that are gone, Mr. Betteredge,\" says Rosanna quietly.\n\"My past life still comes back to me sometimes.\"\n\n\"Come, come, my girl,\" I said, \"your past life is all sponged out. Why\ncan't you forget it?\"\n\nShe took me by one of the lappets of my coat. I am a slovenly old man,\nand a good deal of my meat and drink gets splashed about on my clothes.\nSometimes one of the women, and sometimes another, cleans me of my\ngrease. The day before, Rosanna had taken out a spot for me on the\nlappet of my coat, with a new composition, warranted to remove anything.\nThe grease was gone, but there was a little dull place left on the nap\nof the cloth where the grease had been. The girl pointed to that place,\nand shook her head.\n\n\"The stain is taken off,\" she said. \"But the place shows, Mr.\nBetteredge--the place shows!\"\n\nA remark which takes a man unawares by means of his own coat is not\nan easy remark to answer. Something in the girl herself, too, made me\nparticularly sorry for her just then. She had nice brown eyes, plain as\nshe was in other ways--and she looked at me with a sort of respect for\nmy happy old age and my good character, as things for ever out of her\nown reach, which made my heart heavy for our second housemaid. Not\nfeeling myself able to comfort her, there was only one other thing to\ndo. That thing was--to take her in to dinner.\n\n\"Help me up,\" I said. \"You're late for dinner, Rosanna--and I have come\nto fetch you in.\"\n\n\"You, Mr. Betteredge!\" says she.\n\n\"They told Nancy to fetch you,\" I said. \"But thought you might like your\nscolding better, my dear, if it came from me.\"\n\nInstead of helping me up, the poor thing stole her hand into mine, and\ngave it a little squeeze. She tried hard to keep from crying again,\nand succeeded--for which I respected her. \"You're very kind, Mr.\nBetteredge,\" she said. \"I don't want any dinner to-day--let me bide a\nlittle longer here.\"\n\n\"What makes you like to be here?\" I asked. \"What is it that brings you\neverlastingly to this miserable place?\"\n\n\"Something draws me to it,\" says the girl, making images with her finger\nin the sand. \"I try to keep away from it, and I can't. Sometimes,\"\nsays she in a low voice, as if she was frightened at her own fancy,\n\"sometimes, Mr. Betteredge, I think that my grave is waiting for me\nhere.\"\n\n\"There's roast mutton and suet-pudding waiting for you!\" says I. \"Go in\nto dinner directly. This is what comes, Rosanna, of thinking on an empty\nstomach!\" I spoke severely, being naturally indignant (at my time of\nlife) to hear a young woman of five-and-twenty talking about her latter\nend!\n\nShe didn't seem to hear me: she put her hand on my shoulder, and kept me\nwhere I was, sitting by her side.\n\n\"I think the place has laid a spell on me,\" she said. \"I dream of it\nnight after night; I think of it when I sit stitching at my work. You\nknow I am grateful, Mr. Betteredge--you know I try to deserve your\nkindness, and my lady's confidence in me. But I wonder sometimes whether\nthe life here is too quiet and too good for such a woman as I am, after\nall I have gone through, Mr. Betteredge--after all I have gone through.\nIt's more lonely to me to be among the other servants, knowing I am not\nwhat they are, than it is to be here. My lady doesn't know, the matron\nat the reformatory doesn't know, what a dreadful reproach honest people\nare in themselves to a woman like me. Don't scold me, there's a dear\ngood man. I do my work, don't I? Please not to tell my lady I am\ndiscontented--I am not. My mind's unquiet, sometimes, that's all.\" She\nsnatched her hand off my shoulder, and suddenly pointed down to the\nquicksand. \"Look!\" she said \"Isn't it wonderful? isn't it terrible? I\nhave seen it dozens of times, and it's always as new to me as if I had\nnever seen it before!\"\n\nI looked where she pointed. The tide was on the turn, and the horrid\nsand began to shiver. The broad brown face of it heaved slowly, and then\ndimpled and quivered all over. \"Do you know what it looks like to ME?\"\nsays Rosanna, catching me by the shoulder again. \"It looks as if it had\nhundreds of suffocating people under it--all struggling to get to the\nsurface, and all sinking lower and lower in the dreadful deeps! Throw a\nstone in, Mr. Betteredge! Throw a stone in, and let's see the sand suck\nit down!\"\n\nHere was unwholesome talk! Here was an empty stomach feeding on an\nunquiet mind! My answer--a pretty sharp one, in the poor girl's own\ninterests, I promise you!--was at my tongue's end, when it was snapped\nshort off on a sudden by a voice among the sand-hills shouting for me\nby my name. \"Betteredge!\" cries the voice, \"where are you?\" \"Here!\"\nI shouted out in return, without a notion in my mind of who it was.\nRosanna started to her feet, and stood looking towards the voice. I was\njust thinking of getting on my own legs next, when I was staggered by a\nsudden change in the girl's face.\n\nHer complexion turned of a beautiful red, which I had never seen in it\nbefore; she brightened all over with a kind of speechless and breathless\nsurprise. \"Who is it?\" I asked. Rosanna gave me back my own question.\n\"Oh! who is it?\" she said softly, more to herself than to me. I twisted\nround on the sand and looked behind me. There, coming out on us from\namong the hills, was a bright-eyed young gentleman, dressed in a\nbeautiful fawn-coloured suit, with gloves and hat to match, with a rose\nin his button-hole, and a smile on his face that might have set the\nShivering Sand itself smiling at him in return. Before I could get on my\nlegs, he plumped down on the sand by the side of me, put his arm round\nmy neck, foreign fashion, and gave me a hug that fairly squeezed the\nbreath out of my body. \"Dear old Betteredge!\" says he. \"I owe you\nseven-and-sixpence. Now do you know who I am?\"\n\nLord bless us and save us! Here--four good hours before we expected\nhim--was Mr. Franklin Blake!\n\nBefore I could say a word, I saw Mr. Franklin, a little surprised to all\nappearance, look up from me to Rosanna. Following his lead, I looked at\nthe girl too. She was blushing of a deeper red than ever, seemingly at\nhaving caught Mr. Franklin's eye; and she turned and left us suddenly,\nin a confusion quite unaccountable to my mind, without either making her\ncurtsey to the gentleman or saying a word to me. Very unlike her usual\nself: a civiller and better-behaved servant, in general, you never met\nwith.\n\n\"That's an odd girl,\" says Mr. Franklin. \"I wonder what she sees in me\nto surprise her?\"\n\n\"I suppose, sir,\" I answered, drolling on our young gentleman's\nContinental education, \"it's the varnish from foreign parts.\"\n\nI set down here Mr. Franklin's careless question, and my foolish answer,\nas a consolation and encouragement to all stupid people--it being, as I\nhave remarked, a great satisfaction to our inferior fellow-creatures to\nfind that their betters are, on occasions, no brighter than they are.\nNeither Mr. Franklin, with his wonderful foreign training, nor I, with\nmy age, experience, and natural mother-wit, had the ghost of an idea of\nwhat Rosanna Spearman's unaccountable behaviour really meant. She was\nout of our thoughts, poor soul, before we had seen the last flutter of\nher little grey cloak among the sand-hills. And what of that? you will\nask, naturally enough. Read on, good friend, as patiently as you can,\nand perhaps you will be as sorry for Rosanna Spearman as I was, when I\nfound out the truth.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nThe first thing I did, after we were left together alone, was to make a\nthird attempt to get up from my seat on the sand. Mr. Franklin stopped\nme.\n\n\"There is one advantage about this horrid place,\" he said; \"we have got\nit all to ourselves. Stay where you are, Betteredge; I have something to\nsay to you.\"\n\nWhile he was speaking, I was looking at him, and trying to see something\nof the boy I remembered, in the man before me. The man put me out. Look\nas I might, I could see no more of his boy's rosy cheeks than of his\nboy's trim little jacket. His complexion had got pale: his face, at the\nlower part was covered, to my great surprise and disappointment, with a\ncurly brown beard and mustachios. He had a lively touch-and-go way with\nhim, very pleasant and engaging, I admit; but nothing to compare with\nhis free-and-easy manners of other times. To make matters worse, he\nhad promised to be tall, and had not kept his promise. He was neat, and\nslim, and well made; but he wasn't by an inch or two up to the middle\nheight. In short, he baffled me altogether. The years that had passed\nhad left nothing of his old self, except the bright, straightforward\nlook in his eyes. There I found our nice boy again, and there I\nconcluded to stop in my investigation.\n\n\"Welcome back to the old place, Mr. Franklin,\" I said. \"All the more\nwelcome, sir, that you have come some hours before we expected you.\"\n\n\"I have a reason for coming before you expected me,\" answered Mr.\nFranklin. \"I suspect, Betteredge, that I have been followed and watched\nin London, for the last three or four days; and I have travelled by\nthe morning instead of the afternoon train, because I wanted to give a\ncertain dark-looking stranger the slip.\"\n\nThose words did more than surprise me. They brought back to my mind, in\na flash, the three jugglers, and Penelope's notion that they meant some\nmischief to Mr. Franklin Blake.\n\n\"Who's watching you, sir,--and why?\" I inquired.\n\n\"Tell me about the three Indians you have had at the house to-day,\"\nsays Mr. Franklin, without noticing my question. \"It's just possible,\nBetteredge, that my stranger and your three jugglers may turn out to be\npieces of the same puzzle.\"\n\n\"How do you come to know about the jugglers, sir?\" I asked, putting one\nquestion on the top of another, which was bad manners, I own. But you\ndon't expect much from poor human nature--so don't expect much from me.\n\n\"I saw Penelope at the house,\" says Mr. Franklin; \"and Penelope told me.\nYour daughter promised to be a pretty girl, Betteredge, and she has kept\nher promise. Penelope has got a small ear and a small foot. Did the late\nMrs. Betteredge possess those inestimable advantages?\"\n\n\"The late Mrs. Betteredge possessed a good many defects, sir,\" says I.\n\"One of them (if you will pardon my mentioning it) was never keeping to\nthe matter in hand. She was more like a fly than a woman: she couldn't\nsettle on anything.\"\n\n\"She would just have suited me,\" says Mr. Franklin. \"I never settle\non anything either. Betteredge, your edge is better than ever. Your\ndaughter said as much, when I asked for particulars about the jugglers.\n'Father will tell you, sir. He's a wonderful man for his age; and he\nexpresses himself beautifully.' Penelope's own words--blushing divinely.\nNot even my respect for you prevented me from--never mind; I knew her\nwhen she was a child, and she's none the worse for it. Let's be serious.\nWhat did the jugglers do?\"\n\nI was something dissatisfied with my daughter--not for letting Mr.\nFranklin kiss her; Mr. Franklin was welcome to THAT--but for forcing me\nto tell her foolish story at second hand. However, there was no help for\nit now but to mention the circumstances. Mr. Franklin's merriment all\ndied away as I went on. He sat knitting his eyebrows, and twisting his\nbeard. When I had done, he repeated after me two of the questions which\nthe chief juggler had put to the boy--seemingly for the purpose of\nfixing them well in his mind.\n\n\"'Is it on the road to this house, and on no other, that the English\ngentleman will travel to-day?' 'Has the English gentleman got It about\nhim?' I suspect,\" says Mr. Franklin, pulling a little sealed paper\nparcel out of his pocket, \"that 'It' means THIS. And 'this,' Betteredge,\nmeans my uncle Herncastle's famous Diamond.\"\n\n\"Good Lord, sir!\" I broke out, \"how do you come to be in charge of the\nwicked Colonel's Diamond?\"\n\n\"The wicked Colonel's will has left his Diamond as a birthday present\nto my cousin Rachel,\" says Mr. Franklin. \"And my father, as the wicked\nColonel's executor, has given it in charge to me to bring down here.\"\n\nIf the sea, then oozing in smoothly over the Shivering Sand, had been\nchanged into dry land before my own eyes, I doubt if I could have been\nmore surprised than I was when Mr. Franklin spoke those words.\n\n\"The Colonel's Diamond left to Miss Rachel!\" says I. \"And your father,\nsir, the Colonel's executor! Why, I would have laid any bet you like,\nMr. Franklin, that your father wouldn't have touched the Colonel with a\npair of tongs!\"\n\n\"Strong language, Betteredge! What was there against the Colonel. He\nbelonged to your time, not to mine. Tell me what you know about him, and\nI'll tell you how my father came to be his executor, and more besides.\nI have made some discoveries in London about my uncle Herncastle and his\nDiamond, which have rather an ugly look to my eyes; and I want you to\nconfirm them. You called him the 'wicked Colonel' just now. Search your\nmemory, my old friend, and tell me why.\"\n\nI saw he was in earnest, and I told him.\n\nHere follows the substance of what I said, written out entirely for your\nbenefit. Pay attention to it, or you will be all abroad, when we get\ndeeper into the story. Clear your mind of the children, or the dinner,\nor the new bonnet, or what not. Try if you can't forget politics,\nhorses, prices in the City, and grievances at the club. I hope you won't\ntake this freedom on my part amiss; it's only a way I have of appealing\nto the gentle reader. Lord! haven't I seen you with the greatest authors\nin your hands, and don't I know how ready your attention is to wander\nwhen it's a book that asks for it, instead of a person?\n\nI spoke, a little way back, of my lady's father, the old lord with the\nshort temper and the long tongue. He had five children in all. Two sons\nto begin with; then, after a long time, his wife broke out breeding\nagain, and the three young ladies came briskly one after the other,\nas fast as the nature of things would permit; my mistress, as before\nmentioned, being the youngest and best of the three. Of the two sons,\nthe eldest, Arthur, inherited the title and estates. The second, the\nHonourable John, got a fine fortune left him by a relative, and went\ninto the army.\n\nIt's an ill bird, they say, that fouls its own nest. I look on the noble\nfamily of the Herncastles as being my nest; and I shall take it as a\nfavour if I am not expected to enter into particulars on the subject\nof the Honourable John. He was, I honestly believe, one of the greatest\nblackguards that ever lived. I can hardly say more or less for him than\nthat. He went into the army, beginning in the Guards. He had to leave\nthe Guards before he was two-and-twenty--never mind why. They are very\nstrict in the army, and they were too strict for the Honourable John. He\nwent out to India to see whether they were equally strict there, and to\ntry a little active service. In the matter of bravery (to give him his\ndue), he was a mixture of bull-dog and game-cock, with a dash of the\nsavage. He was at the taking of Seringapatam. Soon afterwards he changed\ninto another regiment, and, in course of time, changed into a third. In\nthe third he got his last step as lieutenant-colonel, and, getting that,\ngot also a sunstroke, and came home to England.\n\nHe came back with a character that closed the doors of all his family\nagainst him, my lady (then just married) taking the lead, and declaring\n(with Sir John's approval, of course) that her brother should never\nenter any house of hers. There was more than one slur on the Colonel\nthat made people shy of him; but the blot of the Diamond is all I need\nmention here.\n\nIt was said he had got possession of his Indian jewel by means which,\nbold as he was, he didn't dare acknowledge. He never attempted to sell\nit--not being in need of money, and not (to give him his due again)\nmaking money an object. He never gave it away; he never even showed it\nto any living soul. Some said he was afraid of its getting him into a\ndifficulty with the military authorities; others (very ignorant indeed\nof the real nature of the man) said he was afraid, if he showed it, of\nits costing him his life.\n\nThere was perhaps a grain of truth mixed up with this last report. It\nwas false to say that he was afraid; but it was a fact that his life\nhad been twice threatened in India; and it was firmly believed that the\nMoonstone was at the bottom of it. When he came back to England, and\nfound himself avoided by everybody, the Moonstone was thought to be at\nthe bottom of it again. The mystery of the Colonel's life got in the\nColonel's way, and outlawed him, as you may say, among his own people.\nThe men wouldn't let him into their clubs; the women--more than\none--whom he wanted to marry, refused him; friends and relations got too\nnear-sighted to see him in the street.\n\nSome men in this mess would have tried to set themselves right with\nthe world. But to give in, even when he was wrong, and had all society\nagainst him, was not the way of the Honourable John. He had kept the\nDiamond, in flat defiance of assassination, in India. He kept the\nDiamond, in flat defiance of public opinion, in England. There you have\nthe portrait of the man before you, as in a picture: a character that\nbraved everything; and a face, handsome as it was, that looked possessed\nby the devil.\n\nWe heard different rumours about him from time to time. Sometimes\nthey said he was given up to smoking opium and collecting old books;\nsometimes he was reported to be trying strange things in chemistry;\nsometimes he was seen carousing and amusing himself among the lowest\npeople in the lowest slums of London. Anyhow, a solitary, vicious,\nunderground life was the life the Colonel led. Once, and once only,\nafter his return to England, I myself saw him, face to face.\n\nAbout two years before the time of which I am now writing, and about\na year and a half before the time of his death, the Colonel came\nunexpectedly to my lady's house in London. It was the night of Miss\nRachel's birthday, the twenty-first of June; and there was a party in\nhonour of it, as usual. I received a message from the footman to say\nthat a gentleman wanted to see me. Going up into the hall, there I found\nthe Colonel, wasted, and worn, and old, and shabby, and as wild and as\nwicked as ever.\n\n\"Go up to my sister,\" says he; \"and say that I have called to wish my\nniece many happy returns of the day.\"\n\nHe had made attempts by letter, more than once already, to be reconciled\nwith my lady, for no other purpose, I am firmly persuaded, than to annoy\nher. But this was the first time he had actually come to the house. I\nhad it on the tip of my tongue to say that my mistress had a party that\nnight. But the devilish look of him daunted me. I went up-stairs with\nhis message, and left him, by his own desire, waiting in the hall. The\nservants stood staring at him, at a distance, as if he was a walking\nengine of destruction, loaded with powder and shot, and likely to go off\namong them at a moment's notice.\n\nMy lady had a dash--no more--of the family temper. \"Tell Colonel\nHerncastle,\" she said, when I gave her her brother's message, \"that Miss\nVerinder is engaged, and that I decline to see him.\" I tried to plead\nfor a civiller answer than that; knowing the Colonel's constitutional\nsuperiority to the restraints which govern gentlemen in general. Quite\nuseless! The family temper flashed out at me directly. \"When I want your\nadvice,\" says my lady, \"you know that I always ask for it. I don't ask\nfor it now.\" I went downstairs with the message, of which I took the\nliberty of presenting a new and amended edition of my own contriving, as\nfollows: \"My lady and Miss Rachel regret that they are engaged, Colonel;\nand beg to be excused having the honour of seeing you.\"\n\nI expected him to break out, even at that polite way of putting it.\nTo my surprise he did nothing of the sort; he alarmed me by taking the\nthing with an unnatural quiet. His eyes, of a glittering bright grey,\njust settled on me for a moment; and he laughed, not out of himself,\nlike other people, but INTO himself, in a soft, chuckling, horridly\nmischievous way. \"Thank you, Betteredge,\" he said. \"I shall remember my\nniece's birthday.\" With that, he turned on his heel, and walked out of\nthe house.\n\nThe next birthday came round, and we heard he was ill in bed. Six months\nafterwards--that is to say, six months before the time I am now writing\nof--there came a letter from a highly respectable clergyman to my lady.\nIt communicated two wonderful things in the way of family news. First,\nthat the Colonel had forgiven his sister on his death-bed. Second, that\nhe had forgiven everybody else, and had made a most edifying end. I have\nmyself (in spite of the bishops and the clergy) an unfeigned respect for\nthe Church; but I am firmly persuaded, at the same time, that the devil\nremained in undisturbed possession of the Honourable John, and that the\nlast abominable act in the life of that abominable man was (saving your\npresence) to take the clergyman in!\n\nThis was the sum-total of what I had to tell Mr. Franklin. I remarked\nthat he listened more and more eagerly the longer I went on. Also, that\nthe story of the Colonel being sent away from his sister's door, on the\noccasion of his niece's birthday, seemed to strike Mr. Franklin like a\nshot that had hit the mark. Though he didn't acknowledge it, I saw that\nI had made him uneasy, plainly enough, in his face.\n\n\"You have said your say, Betteredge,\" he remarked. \"It's my turn now.\nBefore, however, I tell you what discoveries I have made in London, and\nhow I came to be mixed up in this matter of the Diamond, I want to know\none thing. You look, my old friend, as if you didn't quite understand\nthe object to be answered by this consultation of ours. Do your looks\nbelie you?\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" I said. \"My looks, on this occasion at any rate, tell the\ntruth.\"\n\n\"In that case,\" says Mr. Franklin, \"suppose I put you up to my point\nof view, before we go any further. I see three very serious questions\ninvolved in the Colonel's birthday-gift to my cousin Rachel. Follow me\ncarefully, Betteredge; and count me off on your fingers, if it will\nhelp you,\" says Mr. Franklin, with a certain pleasure in showing how\nclear-headed he could be, which reminded me wonderfully of old times\nwhen he was a boy. \"Question the first: Was the Colonel's Diamond the\nobject of a conspiracy in India? Question the second: Has the conspiracy\nfollowed the Colonel's Diamond to England? Question the third: Did the\nColonel know the conspiracy followed the Diamond; and has he purposely\nleft a legacy of trouble and danger to his sister, through the innocent\nmedium of his sister's child? THAT is what I am driving at, Betteredge.\nDon't let me frighten you.\"\n\nIt was all very well to say that, but he HAD frightened me.\n\nIf he was right, here was our quiet English house suddenly invaded by\na devilish Indian Diamond--bringing after it a conspiracy of living\nrogues, set loose on us by the vengeance of a dead man. There was our\nsituation as revealed to me in Mr. Franklin's last words! Who ever heard\nthe like of it--in the nineteenth century, mind; in an age of progress,\nand in a country which rejoices in the blessings of the British\nconstitution? Nobody ever heard the like of it, and, consequently,\nnobody can be expected to believe it. I shall go on with my story,\nhowever, in spite of that.\n\nWhen you get a sudden alarm, of the sort that I had got now, nine times\nout of ten the place you feel it in is your stomach. When you feel it\nin your stomach, your attention wanders, and you begin to fidget. I\nfidgeted silently in my place on the sand. Mr. Franklin noticed me,\ncontending with a perturbed stomach or mind--which you please; they mean\nthe same thing--and, checking himself just as he was starting with his\npart of the story, said to me sharply, \"What do you want?\"\n\nWhat did I want? I didn't tell HIM; but I'll tell YOU, in confidence. I\nwanted a whiff of my pipe, and a turn at ROBINSON CRUSOE.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nKeeping my private sentiments to myself, I respectfully requested Mr.\nFranklin to go on. Mr. Franklin replied, \"Don't fidget, Betteredge,\" and\nwent on.\n\nOur young gentleman's first words informed me that his discoveries,\nconcerning the wicked Colonel and the Diamond, had begun with a visit\nwhich he had paid (before he came to us) to the family lawyer, at\nHampstead. A chance word dropped by Mr. Franklin, when the two were\nalone, one day, after dinner, revealed that he had been charged by his\nfather with a birthday present to be taken to Miss Rachel. One thing\nled to another; and it ended in the lawyer mentioning what the present\nreally was, and how the friendly connexion between the late Colonel\nand Mr. Blake, senior, had taken its rise. The facts here are really so\nextraordinary, that I doubt if I can trust my own language to do justice\nto them. I prefer trying to report Mr. Franklin's discoveries, as nearly\nas may be, in Mr. Franklin's own words.\n\n\"You remember the time, Betteredge,\" he said, \"when my father was trying\nto prove his title to that unlucky Dukedom? Well! that was also the time\nwhen my uncle Herncastle returned from India. My father discovered that\nhis brother-in-law was in possession of certain papers which were likely\nto be of service to him in his lawsuit. He called on the Colonel, on\npretence of welcoming him back to England. The Colonel was not to be\ndeluded in that way. 'You want something,' he said, 'or you would never\nhave compromised your reputation by calling on ME.' My father saw that\nthe one chance for him was to show his hand; he admitted, at once,\nthat he wanted the papers. The Colonel asked for a day to consider his\nanswer. His answer came in the shape of a most extraordinary letter,\nwhich my friend the lawyer showed me. The Colonel began by saying that\nhe wanted something of my father, and that he begged to propose an\nexchange of friendly services between them. The fortune of war (that\nwas the expression he used) had placed him in possession of one of the\nlargest Diamonds in the world; and he had reason to believe that neither\nhe nor his precious jewel was safe in any house, in any quarter of the\nglobe, which they occupied together. Under these alarming circumstances,\nhe had determined to place his Diamond in the keeping of another person.\nThat person was not expected to run any risk. He might deposit the\nprecious stone in any place especially guarded and set apart--like a\nbanker's or jeweller's strong-room--for the safe custody of valuables of\nhigh price. His main personal responsibility in the matter was to be\nof the passive kind. He was to undertake either by himself, or by a\ntrustworthy representative--to receive at a prearranged address, on\ncertain prearranged days in every year, a note from the Colonel, simply\nstating the fact that he was a living man at that date. In the event\nof the date passing over without the note being received, the Colonel's\nsilence might be taken as a sure token of the Colonel's death by murder.\nIn that case, and in no other, certain sealed instructions relating to\nthe disposal of the Diamond, and deposited with it, were to be opened,\nand followed implicitly. If my father chose to accept this strange\ncharge, the Colonel's papers were at his disposal in return. That was\nthe letter.\"\n\n\"What did your father do, sir?\" I asked.\n\n\"Do?\" says Mr. Franklin. \"I'll tell you what he did. He brought the\ninvaluable faculty, called common sense, to bear on the Colonel's\nletter. The whole thing, he declared, was simply absurd. Somewhere in\nhis Indian wanderings, the Colonel had picked up with some wretched\ncrystal which he took for a diamond. As for the danger of his being\nmurdered, and the precautions devised to preserve his life and his piece\nof crystal, this was the nineteenth century, and any man in his senses\nhad only to apply to the police. The Colonel had been a notorious\nopium-eater for years past; and, if the only way of getting at the\nvaluable papers he possessed was by accepting a matter of opium as\na matter of fact, my father was quite willing to take the ridiculous\nresponsibility imposed on him--all the more readily that it involved no\ntrouble to himself. The Diamond and the sealed instructions went into\nhis banker's strong-room, and the Colonel's letters, periodically\nreporting him a living man, were received and opened by our family\nlawyer, Mr. Bruff, as my father's representative. No sensible person,\nin a similar position, could have viewed the matter in any other way.\nNothing in this world, Betteredge, is probable unless it appeals to our\nown trumpery experience; and we only believe in a romance when we see it\nin a newspaper.\"\n\nIt was plain to me from this, that Mr. Franklin thought his father's\nnotion about the Colonel hasty and wrong.\n\n\"What is your own private opinion about the matter, sir?\" I asked.\n\n\"Let's finish the story of the Colonel first,\" says Mr. Franklin. \"There\nis a curious want of system, Betteredge, in the English mind; and your\nquestion, my old friend, is an instance of it. When we are not occupied\nin making machinery, we are (mentally speaking) the most slovenly people\nin the universe.\"\n\n\"So much,\" I thought to myself, \"for a foreign education! He has learned\nthat way of girding at us in France, I suppose.\"\n\nMr. Franklin took up the lost thread, and went on.\n\n\"My father,\" he said, \"got the papers he wanted, and never saw his\nbrother-in-law again from that time. Year after year, on the prearranged\ndays, the prearranged letter came from the Colonel, and was opened by\nMr. Bruff. I have seen the letters, in a heap, all of them written in\nthe same brief, business-like form of words: 'Sir,--This is to certify\nthat I am still a living man. Let the Diamond be. John Herncastle.' That\nwas all he ever wrote, and that came regularly to the day; until some\nsix or eight months since, when the form of the letter varied for the\nfirst time. It ran now: 'Sir,--They tell me I am dying. Come to me, and\nhelp me to make my will.' Mr. Bruff went, and found him, in the little\nsuburban villa, surrounded by its own grounds, in which he had lived\nalone, ever since he had left India. He had dogs, cats, and birds to\nkeep him company; but no human being near him, except the person who\ncame daily to do the house-work, and the doctor at the bedside. The will\nwas a very simple matter. The Colonel had dissipated the greater part of\nhis fortune in his chemical investigations. His will began and ended in\nthree clauses, which he dictated from his bed, in perfect possession\nof his faculties. The first clause provided for the safe keeping\nand support of his animals. The second founded a professorship of\nexperimental chemistry at a northern university. The third bequeathed\nthe Moonstone as a birthday present to his niece, on condition that\nmy father would act as executor. My father at first refused to act. On\nsecond thoughts, however, he gave way, partly because he was assured\nthat the executorship would involve him in no trouble; partly because\nMr. Bruff suggested, in Rachel's interest, that the Diamond might be\nworth something, after all.\"\n\n\"Did the Colonel give any reason, sir,\" I inquired, \"why he left the\nDiamond to Miss Rachel?\"\n\n\"He not only gave the reason--he had the reason written in his\nwill,\" said Mr. Franklin. \"I have got an extract, which you shall see\npresently. Don't be slovenly-minded, Betteredge! One thing at a time.\nYou have heard about the Colonel's Will; now you must hear what happened\nafter the Colonel's death. It was formally necessary to have the Diamond\nvalued, before the Will could be proved. All the jewellers consulted,\nat once confirmed the Colonel's assertion that he possessed one of the\nlargest diamonds in the world. The question of accurately valuing it\npresented some serious difficulties. Its size made it a phenomenon in\nthe diamond market; its colour placed it in a category by itself; and,\nto add to these elements of uncertainty, there was a defect, in the\nshape of a flaw, in the very heart of the stone. Even with this last\nserious draw-back, however, the lowest of the various estimates given\nwas twenty thousand pounds. Conceive my father's astonishment! He had\nbeen within a hair's-breadth of refusing to act as executor, and of\nallowing this magnificent jewel to be lost to the family. The interest\nhe took in the matter now, induced him to open the sealed instructions\nwhich had been deposited with the Diamond. Mr. Bruff showed this\ndocument to me, with the other papers; and it suggests (to my mind)\na clue to the nature of the conspiracy which threatened the Colonel's\nlife.\"\n\n\"Then you do believe, sir,\" I said, \"that there was a conspiracy?\"\n\n\"Not possessing my father's excellent common sense,\" answered Mr.\nFranklin, \"I believe the Colonel's life was threatened, exactly as the\nColonel said. The sealed instructions, as I think, explain how it was\nthat he died, after all, quietly in his bed. In the event of his death\nby violence (that is to say, in the absence of the regular letter from\nhim at the appointed date), my father was then directed to send the\nMoonstone secretly to Amsterdam. It was to be deposited in that city\nwith a famous diamond-cutter, and it was to be cut up into from four to\nsix separate stones. The stones were then to be sold for what they\nwould fetch, and the proceeds were to be applied to the founding of that\nprofessorship of experimental chemistry, which the Colonel has since\nendowed by his Will. Now, Betteredge, exert those sharp wits of yours,\nand observe the conclusion to which the Colonel's instructions point!\"\n\nI instantly exerted my wits. They were of the slovenly English sort; and\nthey consequently muddled it all, until Mr. Franklin took them in hand,\nand pointed out what they ought to see.\n\n\"Remark,\" says Mr. Franklin, \"that the integrity of the Diamond, as a\nwhole stone, is here artfully made dependent on the preservation from\nviolence of the Colonel's life. He is not satisfied with saying to the\nenemies he dreads, 'Kill me--and you will be no nearer to the Diamond\nthan you are now; it is where you can't get at it--in the guarded\nstrong-room of a bank.' He says instead, 'Kill me--and the Diamond will\nbe the Diamond no longer; its identity will be destroyed.' What does\nthat mean?\"\n\nHere I had (as I thought) a flash of the wonderful foreign brightness.\n\n\"I know,\" I said. \"It means lowering the value of the stone, and\ncheating the rogues in that way!\"\n\n\"Nothing of the sort,\" says Mr. Franklin. \"I have inquired about that.\nThe flawed Diamond, cut up, would actually fetch more than the Diamond\nas it now is; for this plain reason--that from four to six perfect\nbrilliants might be cut from it, which would be, collectively, worth\nmore money than the large--but imperfect single stone. If robbery for\nthe purpose of gain was at the bottom of the conspiracy, the Colonel's\ninstructions absolutely made the Diamond better worth stealing. More\nmoney could have been got for it, and the disposal of it in the diamond\nmarket would have been infinitely easier, if it had passed through the\nhands of the workmen of Amsterdam.\"\n\n\"Lord bless us, sir!\" I burst out. \"What was the plot, then?\"\n\n\"A plot organised among the Indians who originally owned the jewel,\"\nsays Mr. Franklin--\"a plot with some old Hindoo superstition at the\nbottom of it. That is my opinion, confirmed by a family paper which I\nhave about me at this moment.\"\n\nI saw, now, why the appearance of the three Indian jugglers at our house\nhad presented itself to Mr. Franklin in the light of a circumstance\nworth noting.\n\n\"I don't want to force my opinion on you,\" Mr. Franklin went on. \"The\nidea of certain chosen servants of an old Hindoo superstition devoting\nthemselves, through all difficulties and dangers, to watching the\nopportunity of recovering their sacred gem, appears to me to be\nperfectly consistent with everything that we know of the patience of\nOriental races, and the influence of Oriental religions. But then I am\nan imaginative man; and the butcher, the baker, and the tax-gatherer,\nare not the only credible realities in existence to my mind. Let the\nguess I have made at the truth in this matter go for what it is worth,\nand let us get on to the only practical question that concerns us. Does\nthe conspiracy against the Moonstone survive the Colonel's death? And\ndid the Colonel know it, when he left the birthday gift to his niece?\"\n\nI began to see my lady and Miss Rachel at the end of it all, now. Not a\nword he said escaped me.\n\n\"I was not very willing, when I discovered the story of the Moonstone,\"\nsaid Mr. Franklin, \"to be the means of bringing it here. But Mr. Bruff\nreminded me that somebody must put my cousin's legacy into my cousin's\nhands--and that I might as well do it as anybody else. After taking the\nDiamond out of the bank, I fancied I was followed in the streets by a\nshabby, dark-complexioned man. I went to my father's house to pick up\nmy luggage, and found a letter there, which unexpectedly detained me in\nLondon. I went back to the bank with the Diamond, and thought I saw\nthe shabby man again. Taking the Diamond once more out of the bank\nthis morning, I saw the man for the third time, gave him the slip, and\nstarted (before he recovered the trace of me) by the morning instead\nof the afternoon train. Here I am, with the Diamond safe and sound--and\nwhat is the first news that meets me? I find that three strolling\nIndians have been at the house, and that my arrival from London, and\nsomething which I am expected to have about me, are two special objects\nof investigation to them when they believe themselves to be alone. I\ndon't waste time and words on their pouring the ink into the boy's hand,\nand telling him to look in it for a man at a distance, and for something\nin that man's pocket. The thing (which I have often seen done in the\nEast) is 'hocus-pocus' in my opinion, as it is in yours. The present\nquestion for us to decide is, whether I am wrongly attaching a meaning\nto a mere accident? or whether we really have evidence of the Indians\nbeing on the track of the Moonstone, the moment it is removed from the\nsafe keeping of the bank?\"\n\nNeither he nor I seemed to fancy dealing with this part of the inquiry.\nWe looked at each other, and then we looked at the tide, oozing in\nsmoothly, higher and higher, over the Shivering Sand.\n\n\"What are you thinking of?\" says Mr. Franklin, suddenly.\n\n\"I was thinking, sir,\" I answered, \"that I should like to shy the\nDiamond into the quicksand, and settle the question in THAT way.\"\n\n\"If you have got the value of the stone in your pocket,\" answered Mr.\nFranklin, \"say so, Betteredge, and in it goes!\"\n\nIt's curious to note, when your mind's anxious, how very far in the way\nof relief a very small joke will go. We found a fund of merriment,\nat the time, in the notion of making away with Miss Rachel's\nlawful property, and getting Mr. Blake, as executor, into dreadful\ntrouble--though where the merriment was, I am quite at a loss to\ndiscover now.\n\nMr. Franklin was the first to bring the talk back to the talk's proper\npurpose. He took an envelope out of his pocket, opened it, and handed to\nme the paper inside.\n\n\"Betteredge,\" he said, \"we must face the question of the Colonel's\nmotive in leaving this legacy to his niece, for my aunt's sake. Bear\nin mind how Lady Verinder treated her brother from the time when he\nreturned to England, to the time when he told you he should remember his\nniece's birthday. And read that.\"\n\nHe gave me the extract from the Colonel's Will. I have got it by me\nwhile I write these words; and I copy it, as follows, for your benefit:\n\n\"Thirdly, and lastly, I give and bequeath to my niece, Rachel Verinder,\ndaughter and only child of my sister, Julia Verinder, widow--if her\nmother, the said Julia Verinder, shall be living on the said Rachel\nVerinder's next Birthday after my death--the yellow Diamond belonging to\nme, and known in the East by the name of The Moonstone: subject to this\ncondition, that her mother, the said Julia Verinder, shall be living at\nthe time. And I hereby desire my executor to give my Diamond, either by\nhis own hands or by the hands of some trustworthy representative whom he\nshall appoint, into the personal possession of my said niece Rachel, on\nher next birthday after my death, and in the presence, if possible, of\nmy sister, the said Julia Verinder. And I desire that my said sister may\nbe informed, by means of a true copy of this, the third and last clause\nof my Will, that I give the Diamond to her daughter Rachel, in token of\nmy free forgiveness of the injury which her conduct towards me has been\nthe means of inflicting on my reputation in my lifetime; and especially\nin proof that I pardon, as becomes a dying man, the insult offered to me\nas an officer and a gentleman, when her servant, by her orders, closed\nthe door of her house against me, on the occasion of her daughter's\nbirthday.\"\n\nMore words followed these, providing if my lady was dead, or if Miss\nRachel was dead, at the time of the testator's decease, for the Diamond\nbeing sent to Holland, in accordance with the sealed instructions\noriginally deposited with it. The proceeds of the sale were, in\nthat case, to be added to the money already left by the Will for the\nprofessorship of chemistry at the university in the north.\n\nI handed the paper back to Mr. Franklin, sorely troubled what to say to\nhim. Up to that moment, my own opinion had been (as you know) that the\nColonel had died as wickedly as he had lived. I don't say the copy\nfrom his Will actually converted me from that opinion: I only say it\nstaggered me.\n\n\"Well,\" says Mr. Franklin, \"now you have read the Colonel's own\nstatement, what do you say? In bringing the Moonstone to my aunt's\nhouse, am I serving his vengeance blindfold, or am I vindicating him in\nthe character of a penitent and Christian man?\"\n\n\"It seems hard to say, sir,\" I answered, \"that he died with a horrid\nrevenge in his heart, and a horrid lie on his lips. God alone knows the\ntruth. Don't ask me.\"\n\nMr. Franklin sat twisting and turning the extract from the Will in\nhis fingers, as if he expected to squeeze the truth out of it in that\nmanner. He altered quite remarkably, at the same time. From being brisk\nand bright, he now became, most unaccountably, a slow, solemn, and\npondering young man.\n\n\"This question has two sides,\" he said. \"An Objective side, and a\nSubjective side. Which are we to take?\"\n\nHe had had a German education as well as a French. One of the two had\nbeen in undisturbed possession of him (as I supposed) up to this time.\nAnd now (as well as I could make out) the other was taking its place. It\nis one of my rules in life, never to notice what I don't understand. I\nsteered a middle course between the Objective side and the Subjective\nside. In plain English I stared hard, and said nothing.\n\n\"Let's extract the inner meaning of this,\" says Mr. Franklin. \"Why\ndid my uncle leave the Diamond to Rachel? Why didn't he leave it to my\naunt?\"\n\n\"That's not beyond guessing, sir, at any rate,\" I said. \"Colonel\nHerncastle knew my lady well enough to know that she would have refused\nto accept any legacy that came to her from HIM.\"\n\n\"How did he know that Rachel might not refuse to accept it, too?\"\n\n\"Is there any young lady in existence, sir, who could resist the\ntemptation of accepting such a birthday present as The Moonstone?\"\n\n\"That's the Subjective view,\" says Mr. Franklin. \"It does you great\ncredit, Betteredge, to be able to take the Subjective view. But there's\nanother mystery about the Colonel's legacy which is not accounted for\nyet. How are we to explain his only giving Rachel her birthday present\nconditionally on her mother being alive?\"\n\n\"I don't want to slander a dead man, sir,\" I answered. \"But if he HAS\npurposely left a legacy of trouble and danger to his sister, by the\nmeans of her child, it must be a legacy made conditional on his sister's\nbeing alive to feel the vexation of it.\"\n\n\"Oh! That's your interpretation of his motive, is it? The Subjective\ninterpretation again! Have you ever been in Germany, Betteredge?\"\n\n\"No, sir. What's your interpretation, if you please?\"\n\n\"I can see,\" says Mr. Franklin, \"that the Colonel's object may, quite\npossibly, have been--not to benefit his niece, whom he had never even\nseen--but to prove to his sister that he had died forgiving her, and to\nprove it very prettily by means of a present made to her child. There is\na totally different explanation from yours, Betteredge, taking its\nrise in a Subjective-Objective point of view. From all I can see, one\ninterpretation is just as likely to be right as the other.\"\n\nHaving brought matters to this pleasant and comforting issue, Mr.\nFranklin appeared to think that he had completed all that was required\nof him. He laid down flat on his back on the sand, and asked what was to\nbe done next.\n\nHe had been so clever, and clear-headed (before he began to talk the\nforeign gibberish), and had so completely taken the lead in the business\nup to the present time, that I was quite unprepared for such a sudden\nchange as he now exhibited in this helpless leaning upon me. It was not\ntill later that I learned--by assistance of Miss Rachel, who was\nthe first to make the discovery--that these puzzling shifts and\ntransformations in Mr. Franklin were due to the effect on him of his\nforeign training. At the age when we are all of us most apt to take\nour colouring, in the form of a reflection from the colouring of other\npeople, he had been sent abroad, and had been passed on from one nation\nto another, before there was time for any one colouring more than\nanother to settle itself on him firmly. As a consequence of this, he\nhad come back with so many different sides to his character, all more or\nless jarring with each other, that he seemed to pass his life in a state\nof perpetual contradiction with himself. He could be a busy man, and\na lazy man; cloudy in the head, and clear in the head; a model of\ndetermination, and a spectacle of helplessness, all together. He had\nhis French side, and his German side, and his Italian side--the original\nEnglish foundation showing through, every now and then, as much as\nto say, \"Here I am, sorely transmogrified, as you see, but there's\nsomething of me left at the bottom of him still.\" Miss Rachel used to\nremark that the Italian side of him was uppermost, on those occasions\nwhen he unexpectedly gave in, and asked you in his nice sweet-tempered\nway to take his own responsibilities on your shoulders. You will do him\nno injustice, I think, if you conclude that the Italian side of him was\nuppermost now.\n\n\"Isn't it your business, sir,\" I asked, \"to know what to do next? Surely\nit can't be mine?\"\n\nMr. Franklin didn't appear to see the force of my question--not being in\na position, at the time, to see anything but the sky over his head.\n\n\"I don't want to alarm my aunt without reason,\" he said. \"And I don't\nwant to leave her without what may be a needful warning. If you were in\nmy place, Betteredge, tell me, in one word, what would you do?\"\n\nIn one word, I told him: \"Wait.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" says Mr. Franklin. \"How long?\"\n\nI proceeded to explain myself.\n\n\"As I understand it, sir,\" I said, \"somebody is bound to put this plaguy\nDiamond into Miss Rachel's hands on her birthday--and you may as well\ndo it as another. Very good. This is the twenty-fifth of May, and the\nbirthday is on the twenty-first of June. We have got close on four weeks\nbefore us. Let's wait and see what happens in that time; and let's warn\nmy lady, or not, as the circumstances direct us.\"\n\n\"Perfect, Betteredge, as far as it goes!\" says Mr. Franklin. \"But\nbetween this and the birthday, what's to be done with the Diamond?\"\n\n\"What your father did with it, to be sure, sir!\" I answered. \"Your\nfather put it in the safe keeping of a bank in London. You put in the\nsafe keeping of the bank at Frizinghall.\" (Frizinghall was our nearest\ntown, and the Bank of England wasn't safer than the bank there.) \"If\nI were you, sir,\" I added, \"I would ride straight away with it to\nFrizinghall before the ladies come back.\"\n\nThe prospect of doing something--and, what is more, of doing that\nsomething on a horse--brought Mr. Franklin up like lightning from the\nflat of his back. He sprang to his feet, and pulled me up, without\nceremony, on to mine. \"Betteredge, you are worth your weight in\ngold,\" he said. \"Come along, and saddle the best horse in the stables\ndirectly.\"\n\nHere (God bless it!) was the original English foundation of him showing\nthrough all the foreign varnish at last! Here was the Master Franklin\nI remembered, coming out again in the good old way at the prospect of a\nride, and reminding me of the good old times! Saddle a horse for him?\nI would have saddled a dozen horses, if he could only have ridden them\nall!\n\nWe went back to the house in a hurry; we had the fleetest horse in the\nstables saddled in a hurry; and Mr. Franklin rattled off in a hurry, to\nlodge the cursed Diamond once more in the strong-room of a bank. When\nI heard the last of his horse's hoofs on the drive, and when I turned\nabout in the yard and found I was alone again, I felt half inclined to\nask myself if I hadn't woke up from a dream.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nWhile I was in this bewildered frame of mind, sorely needing a little\nquiet time by myself to put me right again, my daughter Penelope got in\nmy way (just as her late mother used to get in my way on the stairs),\nand instantly summoned me to tell her all that had passed at the\nconference between Mr. Franklin and me. Under present circumstances,\nthe one thing to be done was to clap the extinguisher upon Penelope's\ncuriosity on the spot. I accordingly replied that Mr. Franklin and I had\nboth talked of foreign politics, till we could talk no longer, and had\nthen mutually fallen asleep in the heat of the sun. Try that sort of\nanswer when your wife or your daughter next worries you with an awkward\nquestion at an awkward time, and depend on the natural sweetness of\nwomen for kissing and making it up again at the next opportunity.\n\nThe afternoon wore on, and my lady and Miss Rachel came back.\n\nNeedless to say how astonished they were, when they heard that Mr.\nFranklin Blake had arrived, and had gone off again on horseback.\nNeedless also to say, that THEY asked awkward questions directly, and\nthat the \"foreign politics\" and the \"falling asleep in the sun\" wouldn't\nserve a second time over with THEM. Being at the end of my invention, I\nsaid Mr. Franklin's arrival by the early train was entirely attributable\nto one of Mr. Franklin's freaks. Being asked, upon that, whether his\ngalloping off again on horseback was another of Mr. Franklin's freaks,\nI said, \"Yes, it was;\" and slipped out of it--I think very cleverly--in\nthat way.\n\nHaving got over my difficulties with the ladies, I found more\ndifficulties waiting for me when I went back to my own room. In came\nPenelope--with the natural sweetness of women--to kiss and make it\nup again; and--with the natural curiosity of women--to ask another\nquestion. This time she only wanted me to tell her what was the matter\nwith our second housemaid, Rosanna Spearman.\n\nAfter leaving Mr. Franklin and me at the Shivering Sand, Rosanna, it\nappeared, had returned to the house in a very unaccountable state of\nmind. She had turned (if Penelope was to be believed) all the colours of\nthe rainbow. She had been merry without reason, and sad without reason.\nIn one breath she asked hundreds of questions about Mr. Franklin Blake,\nand in another breath she had been angry with Penelope for presuming to\nsuppose that a strange gentleman could possess any interest for her. She\nhad been surprised, smiling, and scribbling Mr. Franklin's name inside\nher workbox. She had been surprised again, crying and looking at her\ndeformed shoulder in the glass. Had she and Mr. Franklin known anything\nof each other before to-day? Quite impossible! Had they heard anything\nof each other? Impossible again! I could speak to Mr. Franklin's\nastonishment as genuine, when he saw how the girl stared at him.\nPenelope could speak to the girl's inquisitiveness as genuine, when she\nasked questions about Mr. Franklin. The conference between us, conducted\nin this way, was tiresome enough, until my daughter suddenly ended it\nby bursting out with what I thought the most monstrous supposition I had\never heard in my life.\n\n\"Father!\" says Penelope, quite seriously, \"there's only one explanation\nof it. Rosanna has fallen in love with Mr. Franklin Blake at first\nsight!\"\n\nYou have heard of beautiful young ladies falling in love at first\nsight, and have thought it natural enough. But a housemaid out of a\nreformatory, with a plain face and a deformed shoulder, falling in love,\nat first sight, with a gentleman who comes on a visit to her mistress's\nhouse, match me that, in the way of an absurdity, out of any story-book\nin Christendom, if you can! I laughed till the tears rolled down my\ncheeks. Penelope resented my merriment, in rather a strange way. \"I\nnever knew you cruel before, father,\" she said, very gently, and went\nout.\n\nMy girl's words fell upon me like a splash of cold water. I was savage\nwith myself, for feeling uneasy in myself the moment she had spoken\nthem--but so it was. We will change the subject, if you please. I am\nsorry I drifted into writing about it; and not without reason, as you\nwill see when we have gone on together a little longer.\n\nThe evening came, and the dressing-bell for dinner rang, before Mr.\nFranklin returned from Frizinghall. I took his hot water up to his\nroom myself, expecting to hear, after this extraordinary delay, that\nsomething had happened. To my great disappointment (and no doubt to\nyours also), nothing had happened. He had not met with the Indians,\neither going or returning. He had deposited the Moonstone in the\nbank--describing it merely as a valuable of great price--and he had got\nthe receipt for it safe in his pocket. I went down-stairs, feeling\nthat this was rather a flat ending, after all our excitement about the\nDiamond earlier in the day.\n\nHow the meeting between Mr. Franklin and his aunt and cousin went off,\nis more than I can tell you.\n\nI would have given something to have waited at table that day. But, in\nmy position in the household, waiting at dinner (except on high\nfamily festivals) was letting down my dignity in the eyes of the other\nservants--a thing which my lady considered me quite prone enough to do\nalready, without seeking occasions for it. The news brought to me from\nthe upper regions, that evening, came from Penelope and the footman.\nPenelope mentioned that she had never known Miss Rachel so particular\nabout the dressing of her hair, and had never seen her look so bright\nand pretty as she did when she went down to meet Mr. Franklin in the\ndrawing-room. The footman's report was, that the preservation of a\nrespectful composure in the presence of his betters, and the waiting\non Mr. Franklin Blake at dinner, were two of the hardest things to\nreconcile with each other that had ever tried his training in service.\nLater in the evening, we heard them singing and playing duets, Mr.\nFranklin piping high, Miss Rachel piping higher, and my lady, on the\npiano, following them as it were over hedge and ditch, and seeing them\nsafe through it in a manner most wonderful and pleasant to hear through\nthe open windows, on the terrace at night. Later still, I went to Mr.\nFranklin in the smoking-room, with the soda-water and brandy, and found\nthat Miss Rachel had put the Diamond clean out of his head. \"She's the\nmost charming girl I have seen since I came back to England!\" was all I\ncould extract from him, when I endeavoured to lead the conversation to\nmore serious things.\n\nTowards midnight, I went round the house to lock up, accompanied by my\nsecond in command (Samuel, the footman), as usual. When all the doors\nwere made fast, except the side door that opened on the terrace, I sent\nSamuel to bed, and stepped out for a breath of fresh air before I too\nwent to bed in my turn.\n\nThe night was still and close, and the moon was at the full in the\nheavens. It was so silent out of doors, that I heard from time to time,\nvery faint and low, the fall of the sea, as the ground-swell heaved\nit in on the sand-bank near the mouth of our little bay. As the house\nstood, the terrace side was the dark side; but the broad moonlight\nshowed fair on the gravel walk that ran along the next side to the\nterrace. Looking this way, after looking up at the sky, I saw the shadow\nof a person in the moonlight thrown forward from behind the corner of\nthe house.\n\nBeing old and sly, I forbore to call out; but being also, unfortunately,\nold and heavy, my feet betrayed me on the gravel. Before I could steal\nsuddenly round the corner, as I had proposed, I heard lighter feet\nthan mine--and more than one pair of them as I thought--retreating in\na hurry. By the time I had got to the corner, the trespassers, whoever\nthey were, had run into the shrubbery at the off side of the walk, and\nwere hidden from sight among the thick trees and bushes in that part of\nthe grounds. From the shrubbery, they could easily make their way, over\nour fence into the road. If I had been forty years younger, I might have\nhad a chance of catching them before they got clear of our premises.\nAs it was, I went back to set a-going a younger pair of legs than mine.\nWithout disturbing anybody, Samuel and I got a couple of guns, and went\nall round the house and through the shrubbery. Having made sure that\nno persons were lurking about anywhere in our grounds, we turned back.\nPassing over the walk where I had seen the shadow, I now noticed, for\nthe first time, a little bright object, lying on the clean gravel, under\nthe light of the moon. Picking the object up, I discovered it was a\nsmall bottle, containing a thick sweet-smelling liquor, as black as ink.\n\nI said nothing to Samuel. But, remembering what Penelope had told me\nabout the jugglers, and the pouring of the little pool of ink into the\npalm of the boy's hand, I instantly suspected that I had disturbed the\nthree Indians, lurking about the house, and bent, in their heathenish\nway, on discovering the whereabouts of the Diamond that night.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\nHere, for one moment, I find it necessary to call a halt.\n\nOn summoning up my own recollections--and on getting Penelope to help\nme, by consulting her journal--I find that we may pass pretty rapidly\nover the interval between Mr. Franklin Blake's arrival and Miss Rachel's\nbirthday. For the greater part of that time the days passed, and brought\nnothing with them worth recording. With your good leave, then, and\nwith Penelope's help, I shall notice certain dates only in this place;\nreserving to myself to tell the story day by day, once more, as soon as\nwe get to the time when the business of the Moonstone became the chief\nbusiness of everybody in our house.\n\nThis said, we may now go on again--beginning, of course, with the bottle\nof sweet-smelling ink which I found on the gravel walk at night.\n\nOn the next morning (the morning of the twenty-sixth) I showed Mr.\nFranklin this article of jugglery, and told him what I have already told\nyou. His opinion was, not only that the Indians had been lurking about\nafter the Diamond, but also that they were actually foolish enough to\nbelieve in their own magic--meaning thereby the making of signs on a\nboy's head, and the pouring of ink into a boy's hand, and then expecting\nhim to see persons and things beyond the reach of human vision. In our\ncountry, as well as in the East, Mr. Franklin informed me, there are\npeople who practise this curious hocus-pocus (without the ink, however);\nand who call it by a French name, signifying something like brightness\nof sight. \"Depend upon it,\" says Mr. Franklin, \"the Indians took it for\ngranted that we should keep the Diamond here; and they brought their\nclairvoyant boy to show them the way to it, if they succeeded in getting\ninto the house last night.\"\n\n\"Do you think they'll try again, sir?\" I asked.\n\n\"It depends,\" says Mr. Franklin, \"on what the boy can really do. If he\ncan see the Diamond through the iron safe of the bank at Frizinghall, we\nshall be troubled with no more visits from the Indians for the present.\nIf he can't, we shall have another chance of catching them in the\nshrubbery, before many more nights are over our heads.\"\n\nI waited pretty confidently for that latter chance; but, strange to\nrelate, it never came.\n\nWhether the jugglers heard, in the town, of Mr. Franklin having been\nseen at the bank, and drew their conclusions accordingly; or whether the\nboy really did see the Diamond where the Diamond was now lodged (which\nI, for one, flatly disbelieve); or whether, after all, it was a mere\neffect of chance, this at any rate is the plain truth--not the ghost\nof an Indian came near the house again, through the weeks that passed\nbefore Miss Rachel's birthday. The jugglers remained in and about the\ntown plying their trade; and Mr. Franklin and I remained waiting to see\nwhat might happen, and resolute not to put the rogues on their guard\nby showing our suspicions of them too soon. With this report of the\nproceedings on either side, ends all that I have to say about the\nIndians for the present.\n\nOn the twenty-ninth of the month, Miss Rachel and Mr. Franklin hit on\na new method of working their way together through the time which might\notherwise have hung heavy on their hands. There are reasons for taking\nparticular notice here of the occupation that amused them. You will find\nit has a bearing on something that is still to come.\n\nGentlefolks in general have a very awkward rock ahead in life--the\nrock ahead of their own idleness. Their lives being, for the most part,\npassed in looking about them for something to do, it is curious to\nsee--especially when their tastes are of what is called the intellectual\nsort--how often they drift blindfold into some nasty pursuit. Nine\ntimes out of ten they take to torturing something, or to spoiling\nsomething--and they firmly believe they are improving their minds, when\nthe plain truth is, they are only making a mess in the house. I have\nseen them (ladies, I am sorry to say, as well as gentlemen) go out,\nday after day, for example, with empty pill-boxes, and catch newts, and\nbeetles, and spiders, and frogs, and come home and stick pins through\nthe miserable wretches, or cut them up, without a pang of remorse, into\nlittle pieces. You see my young master, or my young mistress, poring\nover one of their spiders' insides with a magnifying-glass; or you meet\none of their frogs walking downstairs without his head--and when you\nwonder what this cruel nastiness means, you are told that it means\na taste in my young master or my young mistress for natural history.\nSometimes, again, you see them occupied for hours together in spoiling\na pretty flower with pointed instruments, out of a stupid curiosity\nto know what the flower is made of. Is its colour any prettier, or its\nscent any sweeter, when you DO know? But there! the poor souls must get\nthrough the time, you see--they must get through the time. You dabbled\nin nasty mud, and made pies, when you were a child; and you dabble in\nnasty science, and dissect spiders, and spoil flowers, when you grow up.\nIn the one case and in the other, the secret of it is, that you have got\nnothing to think of in your poor empty head, and nothing to do with your\npoor idle hands. And so it ends in your spoiling canvas with paints, and\nmaking a smell in the house; or in keeping tadpoles in a glass box full\nof dirty water, and turning everybody's stomach in the house; or in\nchipping off bits of stone here, there, and everywhere, and dropping\ngrit into all the victuals in the house; or in staining your fingers\nin the pursuit of photography, and doing justice without mercy on\neverybody's face in the house. It often falls heavy enough, no doubt, on\npeople who are really obliged to get their living, to be forced to work\nfor the clothes that cover them, the roof that shelters them, and the\nfood that keeps them going. But compare the hardest day's work you\never did with the idleness that splits flowers and pokes its way into\nspiders' stomachs, and thank your stars that your head has got something\nit MUST think of, and your hands something that they MUST do.\n\nAs for Mr. Franklin and Miss Rachel, they tortured nothing, I am glad\nto say. They simply confined themselves to making a mess; and all they\nspoilt, to do them justice, was the panelling of a door.\n\nMr. Franklin's universal genius, dabbling in everything, dabbled in what\nhe called \"decorative painting.\" He had invented, he informed us, a new\nmixture to moisten paint with, which he described as a \"vehicle.\"\nWhat it was made of, I don't know. What it did, I can tell you in two\nwords--it stank. Miss Rachel being wild to try her hand at the new\nprocess, Mr. Franklin sent to London for the materials; mixed them up,\nwith accompaniment of a smell which made the very dogs sneeze when they\ncame into the room; put an apron and a bib over Miss Rachel's gown, and\nset her to work decorating her own little sitting-room--called, for want\nof English to name it in, her \"boudoir.\" They began with the inside\nof the door. Mr. Franklin scraped off all the nice varnish with\npumice-stone, and made what he described as a surface to work on. Miss\nRachel then covered the surface, under his directions and with his help,\nwith patterns and devices--griffins, birds, flowers, cupids, and such\nlike--copied from designs made by a famous Italian painter, whose name\nescapes me: the one, I mean, who stocked the world with Virgin Maries,\nand had a sweetheart at the baker's. Viewed as work, this decoration\nwas slow to do, and dirty to deal with. But our young lady and gentleman\nnever seemed to tire of it. When they were not riding, or seeing\ncompany, or taking their meals, or piping their songs, there they were\nwith their heads together, as busy as bees, spoiling the door. Who was\nthe poet who said that Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to\ndo? If he had occupied my place in the family, and had seen Miss Rachel\nwith her brush, and Mr. Franklin with his vehicle, he could have written\nnothing truer of either of them than that.\n\nThe next date worthy of notice is Sunday the fourth of June.\n\nOn that evening we, in the servants' hall, debated a domestic question\nfor the first time, which, like the decoration of the door, has its\nbearing on something that is still to come.\n\nSeeing the pleasure which Mr. Franklin and Miss Rachel took in each\nother's society, and noting what a pretty match they were in all\npersonal respects, we naturally speculated on the chance of their\nputting their heads together with other objects in view besides the\nornamenting of a door. Some of us said there would be a wedding in the\nhouse before the summer was over. Others (led by me) admitted it was\nlikely enough Miss Rachel might be married; but we doubted (for reasons\nwhich will presently appear) whether her bridegroom would be Mr.\nFranklin Blake.\n\nThat Mr. Franklin was in love, on his side, nobody who saw and heard him\ncould doubt. The difficulty was to fathom Miss Rachel. Let me do myself\nthe honour of making you acquainted with her; after which, I will leave\nyou to fathom for yourself--if you can.\n\nMy young lady's eighteenth birthday was the birthday now coming, on\nthe twenty-first of June. If you happen to like dark women (who, I am\ninformed, have gone out of fashion latterly in the gay world), and if\nyou have no particular prejudice in favour of size, I answer for Miss\nRachel as one of the prettiest girls your eyes ever looked on. She was\nsmall and slim, but all in fine proportion from top to toe. To see her\nsit down, to see her get up, and specially to see her walk, was enough\nto satisfy any man in his senses that the graces of her figure (if you\nwill pardon me the expression) were in her flesh and not in her clothes.\nHer hair was the blackest I ever saw. Her eyes matched her hair. Her\nnose was not quite large enough, I admit. Her mouth and chin were (to\nquote Mr. Franklin) morsels for the gods; and her complexion (on the\nsame undeniable authority) was as warm as the sun itself, with this\ngreat advantage over the sun, that it was always in nice order to look\nat. Add to the foregoing that she carried her head as upright as a dart,\nin a dashing, spirited, thoroughbred way--that she had a clear voice,\nwith a ring of the right metal in it, and a smile that began very\nprettily in her eyes before it got to her lips--and there behold the\nportrait of her, to the best of my painting, as large as life!\n\nAnd what about her disposition next? Had this charming creature no\nfaults? She had just as many faults as you have, ma'am--neither more nor\nless.\n\nTo put it seriously, my dear pretty Miss Rachel, possessing a host\nof graces and attractions, had one defect, which strict impartiality\ncompels me to acknowledge. She was unlike most other girls of her age,\nin this--that she had ideas of her own, and was stiff-necked enough to\nset the fashions themselves at defiance, if the fashions didn't suit her\nviews. In trifles, this independence of hers was all well enough; but\nin matters of importance, it carried her (as my lady thought, and as I\nthought) too far. She judged for herself, as few women of twice her age\njudge in general; never asked your advice; never told you beforehand\nwhat she was going to do; never came with secrets and confidences to\nanybody, from her mother downwards. In little things and great, with\npeople she loved, and people she hated (and she did both with equal\nheartiness), Miss Rachel always went on a way of her own, sufficient for\nherself in the joys and sorrows of her life. Over and over again I have\nheard my lady say, \"Rachel's best friend and Rachel's worst enemy are,\none and the other--Rachel herself.\"\n\nAdd one thing more to this, and I have done.\n\nWith all her secrecy, and self-will, there was not so much as the shadow\nof anything false in her. I never remember her breaking her word; I\nnever remember her saying No, and meaning Yes. I can call to mind, in\nher childhood, more than one occasion when the good little soul took\nthe blame, and suffered the punishment, for some fault committed by a\nplayfellow whom she loved. Nobody ever knew her to confess to it, when\nthe thing was found out, and she was charged with it afterwards. But\nnobody ever knew her to lie about it, either. She looked you straight\nin the face, and shook her little saucy head, and said plainly, \"I won't\ntell you!\" Punished again for this, she would own to being sorry for\nsaying \"won't;\" but, bread and water notwithstanding, she never told\nyou. Self-willed--devilish self-willed sometimes--I grant; but the\nfinest creature, nevertheless, that ever walked the ways of this lower\nworld. Perhaps you think you see a certain contradiction here? In\nthat case, a word in your ear. Study your wife closely, for the next\nfour-and-twenty hours. If your good lady doesn't exhibit something in\nthe shape of a contradiction in that time, Heaven help you!--you have\nmarried a monster.\n\nI have now brought you acquainted with Miss Rachel, which you will\nfind puts us face to face, next, with the question of that young lady's\nmatrimonial views.\n\nOn June the twelfth, an invitation from my mistress was sent to a\ngentleman in London, to come and help to keep Miss Rachel's birthday.\nThis was the fortunate individual on whom I believed her heart to be\nprivately set! Like Mr. Franklin, he was a cousin of hers. His name was\nMr. Godfrey Ablewhite.\n\nMy lady's second sister (don't be alarmed; we are not going very deep\ninto family matters this time)--my lady's second sister, I say, had a\ndisappointment in love; and taking a husband afterwards, on the neck or\nnothing principle, made what they call a misalliance. There was terrible\nwork in the family when the Honourable Caroline insisted on marrying\nplain Mr. Ablewhite, the banker at Frizinghall. He was very rich and\nvery respectable, and he begot a prodigious large family--all in his\nfavour, so far. But he had presumed to raise himself from a low station\nin the world--and that was against him. However, Time and the progress\nof modern enlightenment put things right; and the misalliance passed\nmuster very well. We are all getting liberal now; and (provided you can\nscratch me, if I scratch you) what do I care, in or out of Parliament,\nwhether you are a Dustman or a Duke? That's the modern way of looking\nat it--and I keep up with the modern way. The Ablewhites lived in a fine\nhouse and grounds, a little out of Frizinghall. Very worthy people, and\ngreatly respected in the neighbourhood. We shall not be much troubled\nwith them in these pages--excepting Mr. Godfrey, who was Mr. Ablewhite's\nsecond son, and who must take his proper place here, if you please, for\nMiss Rachel's sake.\n\nWith all his brightness and cleverness and general good qualities, Mr.\nFranklin's chance of topping Mr. Godfrey in our young lady's estimation\nwas, in my opinion, a very poor chance indeed.\n\nIn the first place, Mr. Godfrey was, in point of size, the finest man by\nfar of the two. He stood over six feet high; he had a beautiful red and\nwhite colour; a smooth round face, shaved as bare as your hand; and a\nhead of lovely long flaxen hair, falling negligently over the poll of\nhis neck. But why do I try to give you this personal description of\nhim? If you ever subscribed to a Ladies' Charity in London, you know Mr.\nGodfrey Ablewhite as well as I do. He was a barrister by profession;\na ladies' man by temperament; and a good Samaritan by choice. Female\nbenevolence and female destitution could do nothing without him.\nMaternal societies for confining poor women; Magdalen societies for\nrescuing poor women; strong-minded societies for putting poor women into\npoor men's places, and leaving the men to shift for themselves;--he was\nvice-president, manager, referee to them all. Wherever there was a table\nwith a committee of ladies sitting round it in council there was Mr.\nGodfrey at the bottom of the board, keeping the temper of the committee,\nand leading the dear creatures along the thorny ways of business, hat in\nhand. I do suppose this was the most accomplished philanthropist (on\na small independence) that England ever produced. As a speaker at\ncharitable meetings the like of him for drawing your tears and your\nmoney was not easy to find. He was quite a public character. The last\ntime I was in London, my mistress gave me two treats. She sent me to the\ntheatre to see a dancing woman who was all the rage; and she sent me to\nExeter Hall to hear Mr. Godfrey. The lady did it, with a band of music.\nThe gentleman did it, with a handkerchief and a glass of water. Crowds\nat the performance with the legs. Ditto at the performance with the\ntongue. And with all this, the sweetest tempered person (I allude to Mr.\nGodfrey)--the simplest and pleasantest and easiest to please--you ever\nmet with. He loved everybody. And everybody loved HIM. What chance\nhad Mr. Franklin--what chance had anybody of average reputation and\ncapacities--against such a man as this?\n\nOn the fourteenth, came Mr. Godfrey's answer.\n\nHe accepted my mistress's invitation, from the Wednesday of the birthday\nto the evening of Friday--when his duties to the Ladies' Charities would\noblige him to return to town. He also enclosed a copy of verses on\nwhat he elegantly called his cousin's \"natal day.\" Miss Rachel, I was\ninformed, joined Mr. Franklin in making fun of the verses at dinner;\nand Penelope, who was all on Mr. Franklin's side, asked me, in great\ntriumph, what I thought of that. \"Miss Rachel has led you off on a false\nscent, my dear,\" I replied; \"but MY nose is not so easily mystified.\nWait till Mr. Ablewhite's verses are followed by Mr. Ablewhite himself.\"\n\nMy daughter replied, that Mr. Franklin might strike in, and try his\nluck, before the verses were followed by the poet. In favour of this\nview, I must acknowledge that Mr. Franklin left no chance untried of\nwinning Miss Rachel's good graces.\n\nThough one of the most inveterate smokers I ever met with, he gave up\nhis cigar, because she said, one day, she hated the stale smell of it\nin his clothes. He slept so badly, after this effort of self-denial, for\nwant of the composing effect of the tobacco to which he was used, and\ncame down morning after morning looking so haggard and worn, that Miss\nRachel herself begged him to take to his cigars again. No! he would take\nto nothing again that could cause her a moment's annoyance; he would\nfight it out resolutely, and get back his sleep, sooner or later, by\nmain force of patience in waiting for it. Such devotion as this, you may\nsay (as some of them said downstairs), could never fail of producing\nthe right effect on Miss Rachel--backed up, too, as it was, by the\ndecorating work every day on the door. All very well--but she had a\nphotograph of Mr. Godfrey in her bed-room; represented speaking at a\npublic meeting, with all his hair blown out by the breath of his own\neloquence, and his eyes, most lovely, charming the money out of your\npockets. What do you say to that? Every morning--as Penelope herself\nowned to me--there was the man whom the women couldn't do without,\nlooking on, in effigy, while Miss Rachel was having her hair combed. He\nwould be looking on, in reality, before long--that was my opinion of it.\n\nJune the sixteenth brought an event which made Mr. Franklin's chance\nlook, to my mind, a worse chance than ever.\n\nA strange gentleman, speaking English with a foreign accent, came that\nmorning to the house, and asked to see Mr. Franklin Blake on business.\nThe business could not possibly have been connected with the Diamond,\nfor these two reasons--first, that Mr. Franklin told me nothing about\nit; secondly, that he communicated it (when the gentleman had gone, as I\nsuppose) to my lady. She probably hinted something about it next to her\ndaughter. At any rate, Miss Rachel was reported to have said some severe\nthings to Mr. Franklin, at the piano that evening, about the people he\nhad lived among, and the principles he had adopted in foreign parts. The\nnext day, for the first time, nothing was done towards the decoration\nof the door. I suspect some imprudence of Mr. Franklin's on the\nContinent--with a woman or a debt at the bottom of it--had followed\nhim to England. But that is all guesswork. In this case, not only Mr.\nFranklin, but my lady too, for a wonder, left me in the dark.\n\nOn the seventeenth, to all appearance, the cloud passed away again. They\nreturned to their decorating work on the door, and seemed to be as good\nfriends as ever. If Penelope was to be believed, Mr. Franklin had seized\nthe opportunity of the reconciliation to make an offer to Miss Rachel,\nand had neither been accepted nor refused. My girl was sure (from signs\nand tokens which I need not trouble you with) that her young mistress\nhad fought Mr. Franklin off by declining to believe that he was in\nearnest, and had then secretly regretted treating him in that way\nafterwards. Though Penelope was admitted to more familiarity with her\nyoung mistress than maids generally are--for the two had been almost\nbrought up together as children--still I knew Miss Rachel's reserved\ncharacter too well to believe that she would show her mind to anybody in\nthis way. What my daughter told me, on the present occasion, was, as I\nsuspected, more what she wished than what she really knew.\n\nOn the nineteenth another event happened. We had the doctor in the house\nprofessionally. He was summoned to prescribe for a person whom I have\nhad occasion to present to you in these pages--our second housemaid,\nRosanna Spearman.\n\nThis poor girl--who had puzzled me, as you know already, at the\nShivering Sand--puzzled me more than once again, in the interval time of\nwhich I am now writing. Penelope's notion that her fellow-servant was in\nlove with Mr. Franklin (which my daughter, by my orders, kept strictly\nsecret) seemed to be just as absurd as ever. But I must own that what\nI myself saw, and what my daughter saw also, of our second housemaid's\nconduct, began to look mysterious, to say the least of it.\n\nFor example, the girl constantly put herself in Mr. Franklin's way--very\nslyly and quietly, but she did it. He took about as much notice of her\nas he took of the cat; it never seemed to occur to him to waste a look\non Rosanna's plain face. The poor thing's appetite, never much, fell\naway dreadfully; and her eyes in the morning showed plain signs of\nwaking and crying at night. One day Penelope made an awkward discovery,\nwhich we hushed up on the spot. She caught Rosanna at Mr. Franklin's\ndressing-table, secretly removing a rose which Miss Rachel had given him\nto wear in his button-hole, and putting another rose like it, of her own\npicking, in its place. She was, after that, once or twice impudent\nto me, when I gave her a well-meant general hint to be careful in her\nconduct; and, worse still, she was not over-respectful now, on the few\noccasions when Miss Rachel accidentally spoke to her.\n\nMy lady noticed the change, and asked me what I thought about it. I\ntried to screen the girl by answering that I thought she was out of\nhealth; and it ended in the doctor being sent for, as already mentioned,\non the nineteenth. He said it was her nerves, and doubted if she was fit\nfor service. My lady offered to remove her for change of air to one of\nour farms, inland. She begged and prayed, with the tears in her eyes, to\nbe let to stop; and, in an evil hour, I advised my lady to try her for\na little longer. As the event proved, and as you will soon see, this\nwas the worst advice I could have given. If I could only have looked a\nlittle way into the future, I would have taken Rosanna Spearman out of\nthe house, then and there, with my own hand.\n\nOn the twentieth, there came a note from Mr. Godfrey. He had arranged to\nstop at Frizinghall that night, having occasion to consult his father\non business. On the afternoon of the next day, he and his two eldest\nsisters would ride over to us on horseback, in good time before dinner.\nAn elegant little casket in China accompanied the note, presented to\nMiss Rachel, with her cousin's love and best wishes. Mr. Franklin had\nonly given her a plain locket not worth half the money. My daughter\nPenelope, nevertheless--such is the obstinacy of women--still backed him\nto win.\n\nThanks be to Heaven, we have arrived at the eve of the birthday at last!\nYou will own, I think, that I have got you over the ground this time,\nwithout much loitering by the way. Cheer up! I'll ease you with another\nnew chapter here--and, what is more, that chapter shall take you\nstraight into the thick of the story.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n\nJune twenty-first, the day of the birthday, was cloudy and unsettled at\nsunrise, but towards noon it cleared up bravely.\n\nWe, in the servants' hall, began this happy anniversary, as usual, by\noffering our little presents to Miss Rachel, with the regular speech\ndelivered annually by me as the chief. I follow the plan adopted by the\nQueen in opening Parliament--namely, the plan of saying much the same\nthing regularly every year. Before it is delivered, my speech (like the\nQueen's) is looked for as eagerly as if nothing of the kind had ever\nbeen heard before. When it is delivered, and turns out not to be the\nnovelty anticipated, though they grumble a little, they look forward\nhopefully to something newer next year. An easy people to govern, in the\nParliament and in the Kitchen--that's the moral of it. After breakfast,\nMr. Franklin and I had a private conference on the subject of the\nMoonstone--the time having now come for removing it from the bank at\nFrizinghall, and placing it in Miss Rachel's own hands.\n\nWhether he had been trying to make love to his cousin again, and had got\na rebuff--or whether his broken rest, night after night, was aggravating\nthe queer contradictions and uncertainties in his character--I don't\nknow. But certain it is, that Mr. Franklin failed to show himself at his\nbest on the morning of the birthday. He was in twenty different minds\nabout the Diamond in as many minutes. For my part, I stuck fast by\nthe plain facts as we knew them. Nothing had happened to justify us in\nalarming my lady on the subject of the jewel; and nothing could alter\nthe legal obligation that now lay on Mr. Franklin to put it in his\ncousin's possession. That was my view of the matter; and, twist and turn\nit as he might, he was forced in the end to make it his view too. We\narranged that he was to ride over, after lunch, to Frizinghall, and\nbring the Diamond back, with Mr. Godfrey and the two young ladies, in\nall probability, to keep him company on the way home again.\n\nThis settled, our young gentleman went back to Miss Rachel.\n\nThey consumed the whole morning, and part of the afternoon, in the\neverlasting business of decorating the door, Penelope standing by to mix\nthe colours, as directed; and my lady, as luncheon time drew near, going\nin and out of the room, with her handkerchief to her nose (for they used\na deal of Mr. Franklin's vehicle that day), and trying vainly to get the\ntwo artists away from their work. It was three o'clock before they\ntook off their aprons, and released Penelope (much the worse for the\nvehicle), and cleaned themselves of their mess. But they had done what\nthey wanted--they had finished the door on the birthday, and proud\nenough they were of it. The griffins, cupids, and so on, were, I must\nown, most beautiful to behold; though so many in number, so entangled in\nflowers and devices, and so topsy-turvy in their actions and attitudes,\nthat you felt them unpleasantly in your head for hours after you had\ndone with the pleasure of looking at them. If I add that Penelope ended\nher part of the morning's work by being sick in the back-kitchen, it\nis in no unfriendly spirit towards the vehicle. No! no! It left\noff stinking when it dried; and if Art requires these sort of\nsacrifices--though the girl is my own daughter--I say, let Art have\nthem!\n\nMr. Franklin snatched a morsel from the luncheon-table, and rode off\nto Frizinghall--to escort his cousins, as he told my lady. To fetch the\nMoonstone, as was privately known to himself and to me.\n\nThis being one of the high festivals on which I took my place at the\nside-board, in command of the attendance at table, I had plenty to\noccupy my mind while Mr. Franklin was away. Having seen to the wine,\nand reviewed my men and women who were to wait at dinner, I retired to\ncollect myself before the company came. A whiff of--you know what, and\na turn at a certain book which I have had occasion to mention in these\npages, composed me, body and mind. I was aroused from what I am inclined\nto think must have been, not a nap, but a reverie, by the clatter of\nhorses' hoofs outside; and, going to the door, received a cavalcade\ncomprising Mr. Franklin and his three cousins, escorted by one of old\nMr. Ablewhite's grooms.\n\nMr. Godfrey struck me, strangely enough, as being like Mr. Franklin in\nthis respect--that he did not seem to be in his customary spirits. He\nkindly shook hands with me as usual, and was most politely glad to see\nhis old friend Betteredge wearing so well. But there was a sort of cloud\nover him, which I couldn't at all account for; and when I asked how he\nhad found his father in health, he answered rather shortly, \"Much\nas usual.\" However, the two Miss Ablewhites were cheerful enough for\ntwenty, which more than restored the balance. They were nearly as big\nas their brother; spanking, yellow-haired, rosy lasses, overflowing with\nsuper-abundant flesh and blood; bursting from head to foot with health\nand spirits. The legs of the poor horses trembled with carrying them;\nand when they jumped from their saddles (without waiting to be\nhelped), I declare they bounced on the ground as if they were made of\nindia-rubber. Everything the Miss Ablewhites said began with a large O;\neverything they did was done with a bang; and they giggled and\nscreamed, in season and out of season, on the smallest provocation.\nBouncers--that's what I call them.\n\nUnder cover of the noise made by the young ladies, I had an opportunity\nof saying a private word to Mr. Franklin in the hall.\n\n\"Have you got the Diamond safe, sir?\"\n\nHe nodded, and tapped the breast-pocket of his coat.\n\n\"Have you seen anything of the Indians?\"\n\n\"Not a glimpse.\" With that answer, he asked for my lady, and, hearing\nshe was in the small drawing-room, went there straight. The bell rang,\nbefore he had been a minute in the room, and Penelope was sent to tell\nMiss Rachel that Mr. Franklin Blake wanted to speak to her.\n\nCrossing the hall, about half an hour afterwards, I was brought to a\nsudden standstill by an outbreak of screams from the small drawing-room.\nI can't say I was at all alarmed; for I recognised in the screams\nthe favourite large O of the Miss Ablewhites. However, I went in (on\npretence of asking for instructions about the dinner) to discover\nwhether anything serious had really happened.\n\nThere stood Miss Rachel at the table, like a person fascinated, with\nthe Colonel's unlucky Diamond in her hand. There, on either side of\nher, knelt the two Bouncers, devouring the jewel with their eyes, and\nscreaming with ecstasy every time it flashed on them in a new light.\nThere, at the opposite side of the table, stood Mr. Godfrey, clapping\nhis hands like a large child, and singing out softly, \"Exquisite!\nexquisite!\" There sat Mr. Franklin in a chair by the book-case, tugging\nat his beard, and looking anxiously towards the window. And there, at\nthe window, stood the object he was contemplating--my lady, having the\nextract from the Colonel's Will in her hand, and keeping her back turned\non the whole of the company.\n\nShe faced me, when I asked for my instructions; and I saw the family\nfrown gathering over her eyes, and the family temper twitching at the\ncorners of her mouth.\n\n\"Come to my room in half an hour,\" she answered. \"I shall have something\nto say to you then.\"\n\nWith those words she went out. It was plain enough that she was posed\nby the same difficulty which had posed Mr. Franklin and me in our\nconference at the Shivering Sand. Was the legacy of the Moonstone a\nproof that she had treated her brother with cruel injustice? or was it\na proof that he was worse than the worst she had ever thought of him?\nSerious questions those for my lady to determine, while her daughter,\ninnocent of all knowledge of the Colonel's character, stood there with\nthe Colonel's birthday gift in her hand.\n\nBefore I could leave the room in my turn, Miss Rachel, always\nconsiderate to the old servant who had been in the house when she was\nborn, stopped me. \"Look, Gabriel!\" she said, and flashed the jewel\nbefore my eyes in a ray of sunlight that poured through the window.\n\nLord bless us! it WAS a Diamond! As large, or nearly, as a plover's egg!\nThe light that streamed from it was like the light of the harvest moon.\nWhen you looked down into the stone, you looked into a yellow deep\nthat drew your eyes into it so that they saw nothing else. It seemed\nunfathomable; this jewel, that you could hold between your finger and\nthumb, seemed unfathomable as the heavens themselves. We set it in the\nsun, and then shut the light out of the room, and it shone awfully out\nof the depths of its own brightness, with a moony gleam, in the dark. No\nwonder Miss Rachel was fascinated: no wonder her cousins screamed. The\nDiamond laid such a hold on ME that I burst out with as large an \"O\" as\nthe Bouncers themselves. The only one of us who kept his senses was Mr.\nGodfrey. He put an arm round each of his sister's waists, and, looking\ncompassionately backwards and forwards between the Diamond and me, said,\n\"Carbon Betteredge! mere carbon, my good friend, after all!\"\n\nHis object, I suppose, was to instruct me. All he did, however, was to\nremind me of the dinner. I hobbled off to my army of waiters downstairs.\nAs I went out, Mr. Godfrey said, \"Dear old Betteredge, I have the truest\nregard for him!\" He was embracing his sisters, and ogling Miss Rachel,\nwhile he honoured me with that testimony of affection. Something like\na stock of love to draw on THERE! Mr. Franklin was a perfect savage by\ncomparison with him.\n\nAt the end of half an hour, I presented myself, as directed, in my\nlady's room.\n\nWhat passed between my mistress and me, on this occasion, was, in the\nmain, a repetition of what had passed between Mr. Franklin and me at the\nShivering Sand--with this difference, that I took care to keep my own\ncounsel about the jugglers, seeing that nothing had happened to justify\nme in alarming my lady on this head. When I received my dismissal, I\ncould see that she took the blackest view possible of the Colonel's\nmotives, and that she was bent on getting the Moonstone out of her\ndaughter's possession at the first opportunity.\n\nOn my way back to my own part of the house, I was encountered by Mr.\nFranklin. He wanted to know if I had seen anything of his cousin Rachel.\nI had seen nothing of her. Could I tell him where his cousin Godfrey\nwas? I didn't know; but I began to suspect that cousin Godfrey might\nnot be far away from cousin Rachel. Mr. Franklin's suspicions apparently\ntook the same turn. He tugged hard at his beard, and went and shut\nhimself up in the library with a bang of the door that had a world of\nmeaning in it.\n\nI was interrupted no more in the business of preparing for the birthday\ndinner till it was time for me to smarten myself up for receiving the\ncompany. Just as I had got my white waistcoat on, Penelope presented\nherself at my toilet, on pretence of brushing what little hair I have\ngot left, and improving the tie of my white cravat. My girl was in high\nspirits, and I saw she had something to say to me. She gave me a kiss\non the top of my bald head, and whispered, \"News for you, father! Miss\nRachel has refused him.\"\n\n\"Who's 'HIM'?\" I asked.\n\n\"The ladies' committee-man, father,\" says Penelope. \"A nasty sly fellow!\nI hate him for trying to supplant Mr. Franklin!\"\n\nIf I had had breath enough, I should certainly have protested against\nthis indecent way of speaking of an eminent philanthropic character.\nBut my daughter happened to be improving the tie of my cravat at that\nmoment, and the whole strength of her feelings found its way into her\nfingers. I never was more nearly strangled in my life.\n\n\"I saw him take her away alone into the rose-garden,\" says Penelope.\n\"And I waited behind the holly to see how they came back. They had gone\nout arm-in-arm, both laughing. They came back, walking separate, as\ngrave as grave could be, and looking straight away from each other in a\nmanner which there was no mistaking. I never was more delighted, father,\nin my life! There's one woman in the world who can resist Mr. Godfrey\nAblewhite, at any rate; and, if I was a lady, I should be another!\"\n\nHere I should have protested again. But my daughter had got the\nhair-brush by this time, and the whole strength of her feelings\nhad passed into THAT. If you are bald, you will understand how she\nsacrificed me. If you are not, skip this bit, and thank God you have got\nsomething in the way of a defence between your hair-brush and your head.\n\n\"Just on the other side of the holly,\" Penelope went on, \"Mr. Godfrey\ncame to a standstill. 'You prefer,' says he, 'that I should stop here as\nif nothing had happened?' Miss Rachel turned on him like lightning. 'You\nhave accepted my mother's invitation,' she said; 'and you are here to\nmeet her guests. Unless you wish to make a scandal in the house, you\nwill remain, of course!' She went on a few steps, and then seemed to\nrelent a little. 'Let us forget what has passed, Godfrey,' she said,\n'and let us remain cousins still.' She gave him her hand. He kissed it,\nwhich I should have considered taking a liberty, and then she left him.\nHe waited a little by himself, with his head down, and his heel grinding\na hole slowly in the gravel walk; you never saw a man look more put out\nin your life. 'Awkward!' he said between his teeth, when he looked up,\nand went on to the house--'very awkward!' If that was his opinion of\nhimself, he was quite right. Awkward enough, I'm sure. And the end of it\nis, father, what I told you all along,\" cries Penelope, finishing me off\nwith a last scarification, the hottest of all. \"Mr. Franklin's the man!\"\n\nI got possession of the hair-brush, and opened my lips to administer the\nreproof which, you will own, my daughter's language and conduct richly\ndeserved.\n\nBefore I could say a word, the crash of carriage-wheels outside struck\nin, and stopped me. The first of the dinner-company had come. Penelope\ninstantly ran off. I put on my coat, and looked in the glass. My head\nwas as red as a lobster; but, in other respects, I was as nicely dressed\nfor the ceremonies of the evening as a man need be. I got into the hall\njust in time to announce the two first of the guests. You needn't feel\nparticularly interested about them. Only the philanthropist's father and\nmother--Mr. and Mrs. Ablewhite.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\n\nOne on the top of the other the rest of the company followed the\nAblewhites, till we had the whole tale of them complete. Including the\nfamily, they were twenty-four in all. It was a noble sight to see, when\nthey were settled in their places round the dinner-table, and the Rector\nof Frizinghall (with beautiful elocution) rose and said grace.\n\nThere is no need to worry you with a list of the guests. You will meet\nnone of them a second time--in my part of the story, at any rate--with\nthe exception of two.\n\nThose two sat on either side of Miss Rachel, who, as queen of the day,\nwas naturally the great attraction of the party. On this occasion she\nwas more particularly the centre-point towards which everybody's\neyes were directed; for (to my lady's secret annoyance) she wore her\nwonderful birthday present, which eclipsed all the rest--the Moonstone.\nIt was without any setting when it had been placed in her hands; but\nthat universal genius, Mr. Franklin, had contrived, with the help of his\nneat fingers and a little bit of silver wire, to fix it as a brooch in\nthe bosom of her white dress. Everybody wondered at the prodigious size\nand beauty of the Diamond, as a matter of course. But the only two of\nthe company who said anything out of the common way about it were those\ntwo guests I have mentioned, who sat by Miss Rachel on her right hand\nand her left.\n\nThe guest on her left was Mr. Candy, our doctor at Frizinghall.\n\nThis was a pleasant, companionable little man, with the drawback,\nhowever, I must own, of being too fond, in season and out of season, of\nhis joke, and of his plunging in rather a headlong manner into talk\nwith strangers, without waiting to feel his way first. In society he was\nconstantly making mistakes, and setting people unintentionally by\nthe ears together. In his medical practice he was a more prudent man;\npicking up his discretion (as his enemies said) by a kind of instinct,\nand proving to be generally right where more carefully conducted doctors\nturned out to be wrong.\n\nWhat HE said about the Diamond to Miss Rachel was said, as usual, by way\nof a mystification or joke. He gravely entreated her (in the interests\nof science) to let him take it home and burn it. \"We will first heat it,\nMiss Rachel,\" says the doctor, \"to such and such a degree; then we\nwill expose it to a current of air; and, little by little--puff!--we\nevaporate the Diamond, and spare you a world of anxiety about the safe\nkeeping of a valuable precious stone!\" My lady, listening with rather a\ncareworn expression on her face, seemed to wish that the doctor had been\nin earnest, and that he could have found Miss Rachel zealous enough in\nthe cause of science to sacrifice her birthday gift.\n\nThe other guest, who sat on my young lady's right hand, was an eminent\npublic character--being no other than the celebrated Indian traveller,\nMr. Murthwaite, who, at risk of his life, had penetrated in disguise\nwhere no European had ever set foot before.\n\nThis was a long, lean, wiry, brown, silent man. He had a weary look, and\na very steady, attentive eye. It was rumoured that he was tired of the\nhumdrum life among the people in our parts, and longing to go back and\nwander off on the tramp again in the wild places of the East. Except\nwhat he said to Miss Rachel about her jewel, I doubt if he spoke six\nwords or drank so much as a single glass of wine, all through the\ndinner. The Moonstone was the only object that interested him in the\nsmallest degree. The fame of it seemed to have reached him, in some\nof those perilous Indian places where his wanderings had lain. After\nlooking at it silently for so long a time that Miss Rachel began to get\nconfused, he said to her in his cool immovable way, \"If you ever go to\nIndia, Miss Verinder, don't take your uncle's birthday gift with you. A\nHindoo diamond is sometimes part of a Hindoo religion. I know a certain\ncity, and a certain temple in that city, where, dressed as you are now,\nyour life would not be worth five minutes' purchase.\" Miss Rachel, safe\nin England, was quite delighted to hear of her danger in India. The\nBouncers were more delighted still; they dropped their knives and forks\nwith a crash, and burst out together vehemently, \"O! how interesting!\"\nMy lady fidgeted in her chair, and changed the subject.\n\nAs the dinner got on, I became aware, little by little, that this\nfestival was not prospering as other like festivals had prospered before\nit.\n\nLooking back at the birthday now, by the light of what happened\nafterwards, I am half inclined to think that the cursed Diamond must\nhave cast a blight on the whole company. I plied them well with wine;\nand being a privileged character, followed the unpopular dishes round\nthe table, and whispered to the company confidentially, \"Please to\nchange your mind and try it; for I know it will do you good.\" Nine\ntimes out of ten they changed their minds--out of regard for their old\noriginal Betteredge, they were pleased to say--but all to no purpose.\nThere were gaps of silence in the talk, as the dinner got on, that made\nme feel personally uncomfortable. When they did use their tongues again,\nthey used them innocently, in the most unfortunate manner and to the\nworst possible purpose. Mr. Candy, the doctor, for instance, said more\nunlucky things than I ever knew him to say before. Take one sample of\nthe way in which he went on, and you will understand what I had to put\nup with at the sideboard, officiating as I was in the character of a man\nwho had the prosperity of the festival at heart.\n\nOne of our ladies present at dinner was worthy Mrs. Threadgall, widow\nof the late Professor of that name. Talking of her deceased husband\nperpetually, this good lady never mentioned to strangers that he WAS\ndeceased. She thought, I suppose, that every able-bodied adult in\nEngland ought to know as much as that. In one of the gaps of silence,\nsomebody mentioned the dry and rather nasty subject of human anatomy;\nwhereupon good Mrs. Threadgall straightway brought in her late husband\nas usual, without mentioning that he was dead. Anatomy she described as\nthe Professor's favourite recreation in his leisure hours. As ill-luck\nwould have it, Mr. Candy, sitting opposite (who knew nothing of the\ndeceased gentleman), heard her. Being the most polite of men, he seized\nthe opportunity of assisting the Professor's anatomical amusements on\nthe spot.\n\n\"They have got some remarkably fine skeletons lately at the College of\nSurgeons,\" says Mr. Candy, across the table, in a loud cheerful voice.\n\"I strongly recommend the Professor, ma'am, when he next has an hour to\nspare, to pay them a visit.\"\n\nYou might have heard a pin fall. The company (out of respect to the\nProfessor's memory) all sat speechless. I was behind Mrs. Threadgall at\nthe time, plying her confidentially with a glass of hock. She dropped\nher head, and said in a very low voice, \"My beloved husband is no more.\"\n\nUnluckily Mr. Candy, hearing nothing, and miles away from suspecting the\ntruth, went on across the table louder and politer than ever.\n\n\n\"The Professor may not be aware,\" says he, \"that the card of a member of\nthe College will admit him, on any day but Sunday, between the hours of\nten and four.\"\n\nMrs. Threadgall dropped her head right into her tucker, and, in a lower\nvoice still, repeated the solemn words, \"My beloved husband is no more.\"\n\nI winked hard at Mr. Candy across the table. Miss Rachel touched his\narm. My lady looked unutterable things at him. Quite useless! On he\nwent, with a cordiality that there was no stopping anyhow. \"I shall be\ndelighted,\" says he, \"to send the Professor my card, if you will oblige\nme by mentioning his present address.\"\n\n\"His present address, sir, is THE GRAVE,\" says Mrs. Threadgall, suddenly\nlosing her temper, and speaking with an emphasis and fury that made the\nglasses ring again. \"The Professor has been dead these ten years.\"\n\n\"Oh, good heavens!\" says Mr. Candy. Excepting the Bouncers, who burst\nout laughing, such a blank now fell on the company, that they might all\nhave been going the way of the Professor, and hailing as he did from the\ndirection of the grave.\n\nSo much for Mr. Candy. The rest of them were nearly as provoking in\ntheir different ways as the doctor himself. When they ought to have\nspoken, they didn't speak; or when they did speak they were perpetually\nat cross purposes. Mr. Godfrey, though so eloquent in public, declined\nto exert himself in private. Whether he was sulky, or whether he was\nbashful, after his discomfiture in the rose-garden, I can't say. He kept\nall his talk for the private ear of the lady (a member of our\nfamily) who sat next to him. She was one of his committee-women--a\nspiritually-minded person, with a fine show of collar-bone and a pretty\ntaste in champagne; liked it dry, you understand, and plenty of it.\nBeing close behind these two at the sideboard, I can testify, from what\nI heard pass between them, that the company lost a good deal of very\nimproving conversation, which I caught up while drawing the corks, and\ncarving the mutton, and so forth. What they said about their Charities I\ndidn't hear. When I had time to listen to them, they had got a long way\nbeyond their women to be confined, and their women to be rescued, and\nwere disputing on serious subjects. Religion (I understand Mr. Godfrey\nto say, between the corks and the carving) meant love. And love meant\nreligion. And earth was heaven a little the worse for wear. And\nheaven was earth, done up again to look like new. Earth had some very\nobjectionable people in it; but, to make amends for that, all the\nwomen in heaven would be members of a prodigious committee that never\nquarrelled, with all the men in attendance on them as ministering\nangels. Beautiful! beautiful! But why the mischief did Mr. Godfrey keep\nit all to his lady and himself?\n\nMr. Franklin again--surely, you will say, Mr. Franklin stirred the\ncompany up into making a pleasant evening of it?\n\nNothing of the sort! He had quite recovered himself, and he was in\nwonderful force and spirits, Penelope having informed him, I suspect, of\nMr. Godfrey's reception in the rose-garden. But, talk as he might,\nnine times out of ten he pitched on the wrong subject, or he addressed\nhimself to the wrong person; the end of it being that he offended some,\nand puzzled all of them. That foreign training of his--those French and\nGerman and Italian sides of him, to which I have already alluded--came\nout, at my lady's hospitable board, in a most bewildering manner.\n\nWhat do you think, for instance, of his discussing the lengths to which\na married woman might let her admiration go for a man who was not her\nhusband, and putting it in his clear-headed witty French way to the\nmaiden aunt of the Vicar of Frizinghall? What do you think, when he\nshifted to the German side, of his telling the lord of the manor,\nwhile that great authority on cattle was quoting his experience in the\nbreeding of bulls, that experience, properly understood counted for\nnothing, and that the proper way to breed bulls was to look deep into\nyour own mind, evolve out of it the idea of a perfect bull, and produce\nhim? What do you say, when our county member, growing hot, at cheese\nand salad time, about the spread of democracy in England, burst out as\nfollows: \"If we once lose our ancient safeguards, Mr. Blake, I beg\nto ask you, what have we got left?\"--what do you say to Mr. Franklin\nanswering, from the Italian point of view: \"We have got three things\nleft, sir--Love, Music, and Salad\"? He not only terrified the company\nwith such outbreaks as these, but, when the English side of him turned\nup in due course, he lost his foreign smoothness; and, getting on\nthe subject of the medical profession, said such downright things in\nridicule of doctors, that he actually put good-humoured little Mr. Candy\nin a rage.\n\nThe dispute between them began in Mr. Franklin being led--I forget\nhow--to acknowledge that he had latterly slept very badly at night. Mr.\nCandy thereupon told him that his nerves were all out of order and that\nhe ought to go through a course of medicine immediately. Mr. Franklin\nreplied that a course of medicine, and a course of groping in the dark,\nmeant, in his estimation, one and the same thing. Mr. Candy, hitting\nback smartly, said that Mr Franklin himself was, constitutionally\nspeaking, groping in the dark after sleep, and that nothing but medicine\ncould help him to find it. Mr. Franklin, keeping the ball up on his\nside, said he had often heard of the blind leading the blind, and now,\nfor the first time, he knew what it meant. In this way, they kept it\ngoing briskly, cut and thrust, till they both of them got hot--Mr.\nCandy, in particular, so completely losing his self-control, in defence\nof his profession, that my lady was obliged to interfere, and forbid\nthe dispute to go on. This necessary act of authority put the last\nextinguisher on the spirits of the company. The talk spurted up again\nhere and there, for a minute or two at a time; but there was a miserable\nlack of life and sparkle in it. The Devil (or the Diamond) possessed\nthat dinner-party; and it was a relief to everybody when my mistress\nrose, and gave the ladies the signal to leave the gentlemen over their\nwine.\n\nI had just ranged the decanters in a row before old Mr. Ablewhite (who\nrepresented the master of the house), when there came a sound from the\nterrace which, startled me out of my company manners on the instant.\nMr. Franklin and I looked at each other; it was the sound of the Indian\ndrum. As I live by bread, here were the jugglers returning to us with\nthe return of the Moonstone to the house!\n\nAs they rounded the corner of the terrace, and came in sight, I hobbled\nout to warn them off. But, as ill-luck would have it, the two Bouncers\nwere beforehand with me. They whizzed out on to the terrace like a\ncouple of skyrockets, wild to see the Indians exhibit their tricks. The\nother ladies followed; the gentlemen came out on their side. Before you\ncould say, \"Lord bless us!\" the rogues were making their salaams; and\nthe Bouncers were kissing the pretty little boy.\n\nMr. Franklin got on one side of Miss Rachel, and I put myself behind\nher. If our suspicions were right, there she stood, innocent of all\nknowledge of the truth, showing the Indians the Diamond in the bosom of\nher dress!\n\nI can't tell you what tricks they performed, or how they did it. What\nwith the vexation about the dinner, and what with the provocation of the\nrogues coming back just in the nick of time to see the jewel with their\nown eyes, I own I lost my head. The first thing that I remember noticing\nwas the sudden appearance on the scene of the Indian traveller, Mr.\nMurthwaite. Skirting the half-circle in which the gentlefolks stood or\nsat, he came quietly behind the jugglers and spoke to them on a sudden\nin the language of their own country.\n\nIf he had pricked them with a bayonet, I doubt if the Indians could have\nstarted and turned on him with a more tigerish quickness than they did,\non hearing the first words that passed his lips. The next moment they\nwere bowing and salaaming to him in their most polite and snaky way.\nAfter a few words in the unknown tongue had passed on either side, Mr.\nMurthwaite withdrew as quietly as he had approached. The chief Indian,\nwho acted as interpreter, thereupon wheeled about again towards the\ngentlefolks. I noticed that the fellow's coffee-coloured face had turned\ngrey since Mr. Murthwaite had spoken to him. He bowed to my lady, and\ninformed her that the exhibition was over. The Bouncers, indescribably\ndisappointed, burst out with a loud \"O!\" directed against Mr. Murthwaite\nfor stopping the performance. The chief Indian laid his hand humbly\non his breast, and said a second time that the juggling was over.\nThe little boy went round with the hat. The ladies withdrew to the\ndrawing-room; and the gentlemen (excepting Mr. Franklin and Mr.\nMurthwaite) returned to their wine. I and the footman followed the\nIndians, and saw them safe off the premises.\n\nGoing back by way of the shrubbery, I smelt tobacco, and found Mr.\nFranklin and Mr. Murthwaite (the latter smoking a cheroot) walking\nslowly up and down among the trees. Mr. Franklin beckoned to me to join\nthem.\n\n\"This,\" says Mr. Franklin, presenting me to the great traveller, \"is\nGabriel Betteredge, the old servant and friend of our family of whom I\nspoke to you just now. Tell him, if you please, what you have just told\nme.\"\n\nMr. Murthwaite took his cheroot out of his mouth, and leaned, in his\nweary way, against the trunk of a tree.\n\n\"Mr. Betteredge,\" he began, \"those three Indians are no more jugglers\nthan you and I are.\"\n\nHere was a new surprise! I naturally asked the traveller if he had ever\nmet with the Indians before.\n\n\"Never,\" says Mr. Murthwaite; \"but I know what Indian juggling really\nis. All you have seen to-night is a very bad and clumsy imitation of\nit. Unless, after long experience, I am utterly mistaken, those men are\nhigh-caste Brahmins. I charged them with being disguised, and you saw\nhow it told on them, clever as the Hindoo people are in concealing their\nfeelings. There is a mystery about their conduct that I can't explain.\nThey have doubly sacrificed their caste--first, in crossing the sea;\nsecondly, in disguising themselves as jugglers. In the land they live in\nthat is a tremendous sacrifice to make. There must be some very serious\nmotive at the bottom of it, and some justification of no ordinary kind\nto plead for them, in recovery of their caste, when they return to their\nown country.\"\n\nI was struck dumb. Mr. Murthwaite went on with his cheroot. Mr.\nFranklin, after what looked to me like a little private veering about\nbetween the different sides of his character, broke the silence as\nfollows:\n\n\"I feel some hesitation, Mr. Murthwaite, in troubling you with family\nmatters, in which you can have no interest and which I am not very\nwilling to speak of out of our own circle. But, after what you have\nsaid, I feel bound, in the interests of Lady Verinder and her daughter,\nto tell you something which may possibly put the clue into your hands.\nI speak to you in confidence; you will oblige me, I am sure, by not\nforgetting that?\"\n\nWith this preface, he told the Indian traveller all that he had told\nme at the Shivering Sand. Even the immovable Mr. Murthwaite was so\ninterested in what he heard, that he let his cheroot go out.\n\n\"Now,\" says Mr. Franklin, when he had done, \"what does your experience\nsay?\"\n\n\"My experience,\" answered the traveller, \"says that you have had more\nnarrow escapes of your life, Mr. Franklin Blake, than I have had of\nmine; and that is saying a great deal.\"\n\nIt was Mr. Franklin's turn to be astonished now.\n\n\"Is it really as serious as that?\" he asked.\n\n\"In my opinion it is,\" answered Mr. Murthwaite. \"I can't doubt, after\nwhat you have told me, that the restoration of the Moonstone to\nits place on the forehead of the Indian idol, is the motive and the\njustification of that sacrifice of caste which I alluded to just now.\nThose men will wait their opportunity with the patience of cats, and\nwill use it with the ferocity of tigers. How you have escaped them I\ncan't imagine,\" says the eminent traveller, lighting his cheroot again,\nand staring hard at Mr. Franklin. \"You have been carrying the Diamond\nbackwards and forwards, here and in London, and you are still a living\nman! Let us try and account for it. It was daylight, both times, I\nsuppose, when you took the jewel out of the bank in London?\"\n\n\"Broad daylight,\" says Mr. Franklin.\n\n\"And plenty of people in the streets?\"\n\n\"Plenty.\"\n\n\"You settled, of course, to arrive at Lady Verinder's house at a certain\ntime? It's a lonely country between this and the station. Did you keep\nyour appointment?\"\n\n\"No. I arrived four hours earlier than my appointment.\"\n\n\"I beg to congratulate you on that proceeding! When did you take the\nDiamond to the bank at the town here?\"\n\n\"I took it an hour after I had brought it to this house--and three hours\nbefore anybody was prepared for seeing me in these parts.\"\n\n\"I beg to congratulate you again! Did you bring it back here alone?\"\n\n\"No. I happened to ride back with my cousins and the groom.\"\n\n\"I beg to congratulate you for the third time! If you ever feel inclined\nto travel beyond the civilised limits, Mr. Blake, let me know, and I\nwill go with you. You are a lucky man.\"\n\nHere I struck in. This sort of thing didn't at all square with my\nEnglish ideas.\n\n\"You don't really mean to say, sir,\" I asked, \"that they would have\ntaken Mr. Franklin's life, to get their Diamond, if he had given them\nthe chance?\"\n\n\"Do you smoke, Mr. Betteredge?\" says the traveller.\n\n\"Yes, sir.\n\n\"Do you care much for the ashes left in your pipe when you empty it?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"In the country those men came from, they care just as much about\nkilling a man, as you care about emptying the ashes out of your pipe.\nIf a thousand lives stood between them and the getting back of their\nDiamond--and if they thought they could destroy those lives without\ndiscovery--they would take them all. The sacrifice of caste is a serious\nthing in India, if you like. The sacrifice of life is nothing at all.\"\n\nI expressed my opinion upon this, that they were a set of murdering\nthieves. Mr. Murthwaite expressed HIS opinion that they were a wonderful\npeople. Mr. Franklin, expressing no opinion at all, brought us back to\nthe matter in hand.\n\n\"They have seen the Moonstone on Miss Verinder's dress,\" he said. \"What\nis to be done?\"\n\n\"What your uncle threatened to do,\" answered Mr. Murthwaite. \"Colonel\nHerncastle understood the people he had to deal with. Send the Diamond\nto-morrow (under guard of more than one man) to be cut up at Amsterdam.\nMake half a dozen diamonds of it, instead of one. There is an end of\nits sacred identity as The Moonstone--and there is an end of the\nconspiracy.\"\n\nMr. Franklin turned to me.\n\n\"There is no help for it,\" he said. \"We must speak to Lady Verinder\nto-morrow.\"\n\n\"What about to-night, sir?\" I asked. \"Suppose the Indians come back?\"\n\nMr. Murthwaite answered me before Mr. Franklin could speak.\n\n\"The Indians won't risk coming back to-night,\" he said. \"The direct way\nis hardly ever the way they take to anything--let alone a matter like\nthis, in which the slightest mistake might be fatal to their reaching\ntheir end.\"\n\n\"But suppose the rogues are bolder than you think, sir?\" I persisted.\n\n\"In that case,\" says Mr. Murthwaite, \"let the dogs loose. Have you got\nany big dogs in the yard?\"\n\n\"Two, sir. A mastiff and a bloodhound.\"\n\n\"They will do. In the present emergency, Mr. Betteredge, the mastiff and\nthe bloodhound have one great merit--they are not likely to be troubled\nwith your scruples about the sanctity of human life.\"\n\nThe strumming of the piano reached us from the drawing-room, as he fired\nthat shot at me. He threw away his cheroot, and took Mr. Franklin's arm,\nto go back to the ladies. I noticed that the sky was clouding over\nfast, as I followed them to the house. Mr. Murthwaite noticed it too. He\nlooked round at me, in his dry, droning way, and said:\n\n\"The Indians will want their umbrellas, Mr. Betteredge, to-night!\"\n\nIt was all very well for HIM to joke. But I was not an eminent\ntraveller--and my way in this world had not led me into playing\nducks and drakes with my own life, among thieves and murderers in the\noutlandish places of the earth. I went into my own little room, and sat\ndown in my chair in a perspiration, and wondered helplessly what was to\nbe done next. In this anxious frame of mind, other men might have ended\nby working themselves up into a fever; I ended in a different way. I lit\nmy pipe, and took a turn at ROBINSON CRUSOE.\n\nBefore I had been at it five minutes, I came to this amazing bit--page\none hundred and sixty-one--as follows:\n\n\"Fear of Danger is ten thousand times more terrifying than Danger\nitself, when apparent to the Eyes; and we find the Burthen of Anxiety\ngreater, by much, than the Evil which we are anxious about.\"\n\nThe man who doesn't believe in ROBINSON CRUSOE, after THAT, is a man\nwith a screw loose in his understanding, or a man lost in the mist of\nhis own self-conceit! Argument is thrown away upon him; and pity is\nbetter reserved for some person with a livelier faith.\n\nI was far on with my second pipe, and still lost in admiration of that\nwonderful book, when Penelope (who had been handing round the tea) came\nin with her report from the drawing-room. She had left the Bouncers\nsinging a duet--words beginning with a large \"O,\" and music to\ncorrespond. She had observed that my lady made mistakes in her game\nof whist for the first time in our experience of her. She had seen\nthe great traveller asleep in a corner. She had overheard Mr. Franklin\nsharpening his wits on Mr. Godfrey, at the expense of Ladies' Charities\nin general; and she had noticed that Mr. Godfrey hit him back again\nrather more smartly than became a gentleman of his benevolent character.\nShe had detected Miss Rachel, apparently engaged in appeasing Mrs.\nThreadgall by showing her some photographs, and really occupied in\nstealing looks at Mr. Franklin, which no intelligent lady's maid could\nmisinterpret for a single instant. Finally, she had missed Mr. Candy,\nthe doctor, who had mysteriously disappeared from the drawing-room, and\nhad then mysteriously returned, and entered into conversation with\nMr. Godfrey. Upon the whole, things were prospering better than the\nexperience of the dinner gave us any right to expect. If we could\nonly hold on for another hour, old Father Time would bring up their\ncarriages, and relieve us of them altogether.\n\nEverything wears off in this world; and even the comforting effect of\nROBINSON CRUSOE wore off, after Penelope left me. I got fidgety again,\nand resolved on making a survey of the grounds before the rain came.\nInstead of taking the footman, whose nose was human, and therefore\nuseless in any emergency, I took the bloodhound with me. HIS nose for a\nstranger was to be depended on. We went all round the premises, and out\ninto the road--and returned as wise as we went, having discovered no\nsuch thing as a lurking human creature anywhere.\n\nThe arrival of the carriages was the signal for the arrival of the rain.\nIt poured as if it meant to pour all night. With the exception of the\ndoctor, whose gig was waiting for him, the rest of the company went home\nsnugly, under cover, in close carriages. I told Mr. Candy that I was\nafraid he would get wet through. He told me, in return, that he wondered\nI had arrived at my time of life, without knowing that a doctor's skin\nwas waterproof. So he drove away in the rain, laughing over his own\nlittle joke; and so we got rid of our dinner company.\n\nThe next thing to tell is the story of the night.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n\nWhen the last of the guests had driven away, I went back into the inner\nhall and found Samuel at the side-table, presiding over the brandy\nand soda-water. My lady and Miss Rachel came out of the drawing-room,\nfollowed by the two gentlemen. Mr. Godfrey had some brandy and\nsoda-water, Mr. Franklin took nothing. He sat down, looking dead tired;\nthe talking on this birthday occasion had, I suppose, been too much for\nhim.\n\nMy lady, turning round to wish them good-night, looked hard at the\nwicked Colonel's legacy shining in her daughter's dress.\n\n\"Rachel,\" she asked, \"where are you going to put your Diamond to-night?\"\n\nMiss Rachel was in high good spirits, just in that humour for talking\nnonsense, and perversely persisting in it as if it was sense, which you\nmay sometimes have observed in young girls, when they are highly wrought\nup, at the end of an exciting day. First, she declared she didn't know\nwhere to put the Diamond. Then she said, \"on her dressing-table, of\ncourse, along with her other things.\" Then she remembered that the\nDiamond might take to shining of itself, with its awful moony light\nin the dark--and that would terrify her in the dead of night. Then she\nbethought herself of an Indian cabinet which stood in her sitting-room;\nand instantly made up her mind to put the Indian diamond in the Indian\ncabinet, for the purpose of permitting two beautiful native productions\nto admire each other. Having let her little flow of nonsense run on as\nfar as that point, her mother interposed and stopped her.\n\n\"My dear! your Indian cabinet has no lock to it,\" says my lady.\n\n\"Good Heavens, mamma!\" cried Miss Rachel, \"is this an hotel? Are there\nthieves in the house?\"\n\nWithout taking notice of this fantastic way of talking, my lady wished\nthe gentlemen good-night. She next turned to Miss Rachel, and kissed\nher. \"Why not let ME keep the Diamond for you to-night?\" she asked.\n\nMiss Rachel received that proposal as she might, ten years since, have\nreceived a proposal to part her from a new doll. My lady saw there was\nno reasoning with her that night. \"Come into my room, Rachel, the first\nthing to-morrow morning,\" she said. \"I shall have something to say\nto you.\" With those last words she left us slowly; thinking her own\nthoughts, and, to all appearance, not best pleased with the way by which\nthey were leading her.\n\nMiss Rachel was the next to say good-night. She shook hands first with\nMr. Godfrey, who was standing at the other end of the hall, looking at\na picture. Then she turned back to Mr. Franklin, still sitting weary and\nsilent in a corner.\n\nWhat words passed between them I can't say. But standing near the old\noak frame which holds our large looking-glass, I saw her reflected in\nit, slyly slipping the locket which Mr. Franklin had given to her, out\nof the bosom of her dress, and showing it to him for a moment, with\na smile which certainly meant something out of the common, before she\ntripped off to bed. This incident staggered me a little in the reliance\nI had previously felt on my own judgment. I began to think that Penelope\nmight be right about the state of her young lady's affections, after\nall.\n\nAs soon as Miss Rachel left him eyes to see with, Mr. Franklin noticed\nme. His variable humour, shifting about everything, had shifted about\nthe Indians already.\n\n\"Betteredge,\" he said, \"I'm half inclined to think I took Mr. Murthwaite\ntoo seriously, when we had that talk in the shrubbery. I wonder whether\nhe has been trying any of his traveller's tales on us? Do you really\nmean to let the dogs loose?\"\n\n\"I'll relieve them of their collars, sir,\" I answered, \"and leave them\nfree to take a turn in the night, if they smell a reason for it.\"\n\n\"All right,\" says Mr. Franklin. \"We'll see what is to be done to-morrow.\nI am not at all disposed to alarm my aunt, Betteredge, without a very\npressing reason for it. Good-night.\"\n\nHe looked so worn and pale as he nodded to me, and took his candle to\ngo up-stairs, that I ventured to advise his having a drop of\nbrandy-and-water, by way of night-cap. Mr. Godfrey, walking towards us\nfrom the other end of the hall, backed me. He pressed Mr. Franklin, in\nthe friendliest manner, to take something, before he went to bed.\n\nI only note these trifling circumstances, because, after all I had seen\nand heard, that day, it pleased me to observe that our two gentlemen\nwere on just as good terms as ever. Their warfare of words (heard by\nPenelope in the drawing-room), and their rivalry for the best place\nin Miss Rachel's good graces, seemed to have set no serious difference\nbetween them. But there! they were both good-tempered, and both men of\nthe world. And there is certainly this merit in people of station, that\nthey are not nearly so quarrelsome among each other as people of no\nstation at all.\n\nMr. Franklin declined the brandy-and-water, and went up-stairs with\nMr. Godfrey, their rooms being next door to each other. On the landing,\nhowever, either his cousin persuaded him, or he veered about and changed\nhis mind as usual. \"Perhaps I may want it in the night,\" he called down\nto me. \"Send up some brandy-and-water into my room.\"\n\nI sent up Samuel with the brandy-and-water; and then went out\nand unbuckled the dogs' collars. They both lost their heads with\nastonishment on being set loose at that time of night, and jumped upon\nme like a couple of puppies! However, the rain soon cooled them down\nagain: they lapped a drop of water each, and crept back into their\nkennels. As I went into the house I noticed signs in the sky which\nbetokened a break in the weather for the better. For the present, it\nstill poured heavily, and the ground was in a perfect sop.\n\nSamuel and I went all over the house, and shut up as usual. I examined\neverything myself, and trusted nothing to my deputy on this occasion.\nAll was safe and fast when I rested my old bones in bed, between\nmidnight and one in the morning.\n\nThe worries of the day had been a little too much for me, I suppose.\nAt any rate, I had a touch of Mr. Franklin's malady that night. It was\nsunrise before I fell off at last into a sleep. All the time I lay awake\nthe house was as quiet as the grave. Not a sound stirred but the splash\nof the rain, and the sighing of the wind among the trees as a breeze\nsprang up with the morning.\n\nAbout half-past seven I woke, and opened my window on a fine sunshiny\nday. The clock had struck eight, and I was just going out to chain up\nthe dogs again, when I heard a sudden whisking of petticoats on the\nstairs behind me.\n\nI turned about, and there was Penelope flying down after me like mad.\n\"Father!\" she screamed, \"come up-stairs, for God's sake! THE DIAMOND IS\nGONE!\"\n\n\"Are you out of your mind?\" I asked her.\n\n\"Gone!\" says Penelope. \"Gone, nobody knows how! Come up and see.\"\n\nShe dragged me after her into our young lady's sitting-room, which\nopened into her bedroom. There, on the threshold of her bedroom door,\nstood Miss Rachel, almost as white in the face as the white dressing-gown\nthat clothed her. There also stood the two doors of the Indian cabinet,\nwide open. One, of the drawers inside was pulled out as far as it would\ngo.\n\n\"Look!\" says Penelope. \"I myself saw Miss Rachel put the Diamond into\nthat drawer last night.\" I went to the cabinet. The drawer was empty.\n\n\"Is this true, miss?\" I asked.\n\nWith a look that was not like herself, with a voice that was not like\nher own, Miss Rachel answered as my daughter had answered: \"The Diamond\nis gone!\" Having said those words, she withdrew into her bedroom, and\nshut and locked the door.\n\nBefore we knew which way to turn next, my lady came in, hearing my voice\nin her daughter's sitting-room, and wondering what had happened. The news\nof the loss of the Diamond seemed to petrify her. She went straight to\nMiss Rachel's bedroom, and insisted on being admitted. Miss Rachel let\nher in.\n\nThe alarm, running through the house like fire, caught the two gentlemen\nnext.\n\nMr. Godfrey was the first to come out of his room. All he did when\nhe heard what had happened was to hold up his hands in a state of\nbewilderment, which didn't say much for his natural strength of mind.\nMr. Franklin, whose clear head I had confidently counted on to advise\nus, seemed to be as helpless as his cousin when he heard the news in\nhis turn. For a wonder, he had had a good night's rest at last; and\nthe unaccustomed luxury of sleep had, as he said himself, apparently\nstupefied him. However, when he had swallowed his cup of coffee--which\nhe always took, on the foreign plan, some hours before he ate any\nbreakfast--his brains brightened; the clear-headed side of him turned\nup, and he took the matter in hand, resolutely and cleverly, much as\nfollows:\n\nHe first sent for the servants, and told them to leave all the lower\ndoors and windows (with the exception of the front door, which I had\nopened) exactly as they had been left when we locked up over night. He\nnext proposed to his cousin and to me to make quite sure, before we\ntook any further steps, that the Diamond had not accidentally dropped\nsomewhere out of sight--say at the back of the cabinet, or down behind\nthe table on which the cabinet stood. Having searched in both places,\nand found nothing--having also questioned Penelope, and discovered\nfrom her no more than the little she had already told me--Mr. Franklin\nsuggested next extending our inquiries to Miss Rachel, and sent Penelope\nto knock at her bed-room door.\n\nMy lady answered the knock, and closed the door behind her. The moment\nafter we heard it locked inside by Miss Rachel. My mistress came out\namong us, looking sorely puzzled and distressed. \"The loss of the\nDiamond seems to have quite overwhelmed Rachel,\" she said, in reply to\nMr. Franklin. \"She shrinks, in the strangest manner, from speaking\nof it, even to ME. It is impossible you can see her for the present.\"\nHaving added to our perplexities by this account of Miss Rachel, my\nlady, after a little effort, recovered her usual composure, and acted\nwith her usual decision.\n\n\"I suppose there is no help for it?\" she said, quietly. \"I suppose I\nhave no alternative but to send for the police?\"\n\n\"And the first thing for the police to do,\" added Mr. Franklin, catching\nher up, \"is to lay hands on the Indian jugglers who performed here last\nnight.\"\n\nMy lady and Mr. Godfrey (not knowing what Mr. Franklin and I knew) both\nstarted, and both looked surprised.\n\n\"I can't stop to explain myself now,\" Mr. Franklin went on. \"I can only\ntell you that the Indians have certainly stolen the Diamond. Give me\na letter of introduction,\" says he, addressing my lady, \"to one of the\nmagistrates at Frizinghall--merely telling him that I represent your\ninterests and wishes, and let me ride off with it instantly. Our chance\nof catching the thieves may depend on our not wasting one unnecessary\nminute.\" (Nota bene: Whether it was the French side or the English, the\nright side of Mr. Franklin seemed to be uppermost now. The only question\nwas, How long would it last?)\n\nHe put pen, ink, and paper before his aunt, who (as it appeared to me)\nwrote the letter he wanted a little unwillingly. If it had been possible\nto overlook such an event as the loss of a jewel worth twenty thousand\npounds, I believe--with my lady's opinion of her late brother, and her\ndistrust of his birthday-gift--it would have been privately a relief to\nher to let the thieves get off with the Moonstone scot free.\n\nI went out with Mr. Franklin to the stables, and took the opportunity of\nasking him how the Indians (whom I suspected, of course, as shrewdly as\nhe did) could possibly have got into the house.\n\n\"One of them might have slipped into the hall, in the confusion, when\nthe dinner company were going away,\" says Mr. Franklin. \"The fellow may\nhave been under the sofa while my aunt and Rachel were talking about\nwhere the Diamond was to be put for the night. He would only have to\nwait till the house was quiet, and there it would be in the cabinet, to\nbe had for the taking.\" With those words, he called to the groom to open\nthe gate, and galloped off.\n\nThis seemed certainly to be the only rational explanation. But how had\nthe thief contrived to make his escape from the house? I had found the\nfront door locked and bolted, as I had left it at night, when I went\nto open it, after getting up. As for the other doors and windows, there\nthey were still, all safe and fast, to speak for themselves. The dogs,\ntoo? Suppose the thief had got away by dropping from one of the upper\nwindows, how had he escaped the dogs? Had he come provided for them with\ndrugged meat? As the doubt crossed my mind, the dogs themselves came\ngalloping at me round a corner, rolling each other over on the wet\ngrass, in such lively health and spirits that it was with no small\ndifficulty I brought them to reason, and chained them up again. The\nmore I turned it over in my mind, the less satisfactory Mr. Franklin's\nexplanation appeared to be.\n\nWe had our breakfasts--whatever happens in a house, robbery or murder,\nit doesn't matter, you must have your breakfast. When we had done, my\nlady sent for me; and I found myself compelled to tell her all that I\nhad hitherto concealed, relating to the Indians and their plot. Being a\nwoman of a high courage, she soon got over the first startling effect\nof what I had to communicate. Her mind seemed to be far more perturbed\nabout her daughter than about the heathen rogues and their conspiracy.\n\"You know how odd Rachel is, and how differently she behaves sometimes\nfrom other girls,\" my lady said to me. \"But I have never, in all my\nexperience, seen her so strange and so reserved as she is now. The\nloss of her jewel seems almost to have turned her brain. Who would have\nthought that horrible Diamond could have laid such a hold on her in so\nshort a time?\"\n\nIt was certainly strange. Taking toys and trinkets in general, Miss\nRachel was nothing like so mad after them as most young girls. Yet there\nshe was, still locked up inconsolably in her bedroom. It is but fair to\nadd that she was not the only one of us in the house who was thrown out\nof the regular groove. Mr. Godfrey, for instance--though professionally\na sort of consoler-general--seemed to be at a loss where to look for his\nown resources. Having no company to amuse him, and getting no chance\nof trying what his experience of women in distress could do towards\ncomforting Miss Rachel, he wandered hither and thither about the house\nand gardens in an aimless uneasy way. He was in two different minds\nabout what it became him to do, after the misfortune that had happened\nto us. Ought he to relieve the family, in their present situation, of\nthe responsibility of him as a guest, or ought he to stay on the\nchance that even his humble services might be of some use? He decided\nultimately that the last course was perhaps the most customary and\nconsiderate course to take, in such a very peculiar case of family\ndistress as this was. Circumstances try the metal a man is really made\nof. Mr. Godfrey, tried by circumstances, showed himself of weaker\nmetal than I had thought him to be. As for the women-servants excepting\nRosanna Spearman, who kept by herself--they took to whispering together\nin corners, and staring at nothing suspiciously, as is the manner\nof that weaker half of the human family, when anything extraordinary\nhappens in a house. I myself acknowledge to have been fidgety and\nill-tempered. The cursed Moonstone had turned us all upside down.\n\nA little before eleven Mr. Franklin came back. The resolute side of him\nhad, to all appearance, given way, in the interval since his departure,\nunder the stress that had been laid on it. He had left us at a gallop;\nhe came back to us at a walk. When he went away, he was made of iron.\nWhen he returned, he was stuffed with cotton, as limp as limp could be.\n\n\"Well,\" says my lady, \"are the police coming?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" says Mr. Franklin; \"they said they would follow me in a fly.\nSuperintendent Seegrave, of your local police force, and two of his men.\nA mere form! The case is hopeless.\"\n\n\"What! have the Indians escaped, sir?\" I asked.\n\n\"The poor ill-used Indians have been most unjustly put in prison,\" says\nMr. Franklin. \"They are as innocent as the babe unborn. My idea that\none of them was hidden in the house has ended, like all the rest of my\nideas, in smoke. It's been proved,\" says Mr. Franklin, dwelling with\ngreat relish on his own incapacity, \"to be simply impossible.\"\n\nAfter astonishing us by announcing this totally new turn in the matter\nof the Moonstone, our young gentleman, at his aunt's request, took a\nseat, and explained himself.\n\nIt appeared that the resolute side of him had held out as far as\nFrizinghall. He had put the whole case plainly before the magistrate,\nand the magistrate had at once sent for the police. The first inquiries\ninstituted about the Indians showed that they had not so much as\nattempted to leave the town. Further questions addressed to the police,\nproved that all three had been seen returning to Frizinghall with their\nboy, on the previous night between ten and eleven--which (regard being\nhad to hours and distances) also proved that they had walked straight\nback after performing on our terrace. Later still, at midnight, the\npolice, having occasion to search the common lodging-house where they\nlived, had seen them all three again, and their little boy with them,\nas usual. Soon after midnight I myself had safely shut up the house.\nPlainer evidence than this, in favour of the Indians, there could not\nwell be. The magistrate said there was not even a case of suspicion\nagainst them so far. But, as it was just possible, when the police came\nto investigate the matter, that discoveries affecting the jugglers might\nbe made, he would contrive, by committing them as rogues and vagabonds,\nto keep them at our disposal, under lock and key, for a week. They had\nignorantly done something (I forget what) in the town, which barely\nbrought them within the operation of the law. Every human institution\n(justice included) will stretch a little, if you only pull it the right\nway. The worthy magistrate was an old friend of my lady's, and the\nIndians were \"committed\" for a week, as soon as the court opened that\nmorning.\n\nSuch was Mr. Franklin's narrative of events at Frizinghall. The Indian\nclue to the mystery of the lost jewel was now, to all appearance, a clue\nthat had broken in our hands. If the jugglers were innocent, who, in the\nname of wonder, had taken the Moonstone out of Miss Rachel's drawer?\n\nTen minutes later, to our infinite relief; Superintendent Seegrave\narrived at the house. He reported passing Mr. Franklin on the terrace,\nsitting in the sun (I suppose with the Italian side of him uppermost),\nand warning the police, as they went by, that the investigation was\nhopeless, before the investigation had begun.\n\nFor a family in our situation, the Superintendent of the Frizinghall\npolice was the most comforting officer you could wish to see. Mr.\nSeegrave was tall and portly, and military in his manners. He had a\nfine commanding voice, and a mighty resolute eye, and a grand frock-coat\nwhich buttoned beautifully up to his leather stock. \"I'm the man you\nwant!\" was written all over his face; and he ordered his two inferior\npolice men about with a severity which convinced us all that there was\nno trifling with HIM.\n\nHe began by going round the premises, outside and in; the result of that\ninvestigation proving to him that no thieves had broken in upon us from\noutside, and that the robbery, consequently, must have been committed by\nsome person in the house. I leave you to imagine the state the servants\nwere in when this official announcement first reached their ears. The\nSuperintendent decided to begin by examining the boudoir, and, that\ndone, to examine the servants next. At the same time, he posted one\nof his men on the staircase which led to the servants' bedrooms, with\ninstructions to let nobody in the house pass him, till further orders.\n\nAt this latter proceeding, the weaker half of the human family went\ndistracted on the spot. They bounced out of their corners, whisked\nup-stairs in a body to Miss Rachel's room (Rosanna Spearman being\ncarried away among them this time), burst in on Superintendent Seegrave,\nand, all looking equally guilty, summoned him to say which of them he\nsuspected, at once.\n\nMr. Superintendent proved equal to the occasion; he looked at them with\nhis resolute eye, and he cowed them with his military voice.\n\n\"Now, then, you women, go down-stairs again, every one of you; I won't\nhave you here. Look!\" says Mr. Superintendent, suddenly pointing to a\nlittle smear of the decorative painting on Miss Rachel's door, at the\nouter edge, just under the lock. \"Look what mischief the petticoats of\nsome of you have done already. Clear out! clear out!\" Rosanna Spearman,\nwho was nearest to him, and nearest to the little smear on the door,\nset the example of obedience, and slipped off instantly to her work. The\nrest followed her out. The Superintendent finished his examination of\nthe room, and, making nothing of it, asked me who had first discovered\nthe robbery. My daughter had first discovered it. My daughter was sent\nfor.\n\nMr. Superintendent proved to be a little too sharp with Penelope at\nstarting. \"Now, young woman, attend to me, and mind you speak the\ntruth.\" Penelope fired up instantly. \"I've never been taught to tell\nlies Mr. Policeman!--and if father can stand there and hear me accused\nof falsehood and thieving, and my own bed-room shut against me, and my\ncharacter taken away, which is all a poor girl has left, he's not the\ngood father I take him for!\" A timely word from me put Justice and\nPenelope on a pleasanter footing together. The questions and answers\nwent swimmingly, and ended in nothing worth mentioning. My daughter had\nseen Miss Rachel put the Diamond in the drawer of the cabinet the last\nthing at night. She had gone in with Miss Rachel's cup of tea at eight\nthe next morning, and had found the drawer open and empty. Upon that,\nshe had alarmed the house--and there was an end of Penelope's evidence.\n\nMr. Superintendent next asked to see Miss Rachel herself. Penelope\nmentioned his request through the door. The answer reached us by the\nsame road: \"I have nothing to tell the policeman--I can't see anybody.\"\nOur experienced officer looked equally surprised and offended when he\nheard that reply. I told him my young lady was ill, and begged him to\nwait a little and see her later. We thereupon went downstairs again, and\nwere met by Mr. Godfrey and Mr. Franklin crossing the hall.\n\nThe two gentlemen, being inmates of the house, were summoned to say if\nthey could throw any light on the matter. Neither of them knew anything\nabout it. Had they heard any suspicious noises during the previous\nnight? They had heard nothing but the pattering of the rain. Had I,\nlying awake longer than either of them, heard nothing either? Nothing!\nReleased from examination, Mr. Franklin, still sticking to the helpless\nview of our difficulty, whispered to me: \"That man will be of no earthly\nuse to us. Superintendent Seegrave is an ass.\" Released in his turn, Mr.\nGodfrey whispered to me--\"Evidently a most competent person. Betteredge,\nI have the greatest faith in him!\" Many men, many opinions, as one of\nthe ancients said, before my time.\n\nMr. Superintendent's next proceeding took him back to the \"boudoir\"\nagain, with my daughter and me at his heels. His object was to discover\nwhether any of the furniture had been moved, during the night, out of\nits customary place--his previous investigation in the room having,\napparently, not gone quite far enough to satisfy his mind on this point.\n\nWhile we were still poking about among the chairs and tables, the door\nof the bed-room was suddenly opened. After having denied herself to\neverybody, Miss Rachel, to our astonishment, walked into the midst of\nus of her own accord. She took up her garden hat from a chair, and then\nwent straight to Penelope with this question:--\n\n\"Mr. Franklin Blake sent you with a message to me this morning?\"\n\n\"Yes, miss.\"\n\n\"He wished to speak to me, didn't he?\"\n\n\"Yes, miss.\"\n\n\"Where is he now?\"\n\nHearing voices on the terrace below, I looked out of window, and saw the\ntwo gentlemen walking up and down together. Answering for my daughter, I\nsaid, \"Mr. Franklin is on the terrace, miss.\"\n\nWithout another word, without heeding Mr. Superintendent, who tried\nto speak to her, pale as death, and wrapped up strangely in her own\nthoughts, she left the room, and went down to her cousins on the\nterrace.\n\nIt showed a want of due respect, it showed a breach of good manners, on\nmy part, but, for the life of me, I couldn't help looking out of window\nwhen Miss Rachel met the gentlemen outside. She went up to Mr. Franklin\nwithout appearing to notice Mr. Godfrey, who thereupon drew back and\nleft them by themselves. What she said to Mr. Franklin appeared to be\nspoken vehemently. It lasted but for a short time, and, judging by what\nI saw of his face from the window, seemed to astonish him beyond all\npower of expression. While they were still together, my lady appeared\non the terrace. Miss Rachel saw her--said a few last words to Mr.\nFranklin--and suddenly went back into the house again, before her mother\ncame up with her. My lady surprised herself, and noticing Mr. Franklin's\nsurprise, spoke to him. Mr. Godfrey joined them, and spoke also. Mr.\nFranklin walked away a little between the two, telling them what had\nhappened I suppose, for they both stopped short, after taking a few\nsteps, like persons struck with amazement. I had just seen as much\nas this, when the door of the sitting-room was opened violently. Miss\nRachel walked swiftly through to her bed-room, wild and angry, with\nfierce eyes and flaming cheeks. Mr. Superintendent once more attempted\nto question her. She turned round on him at her bed-room door. \"I have\nnot sent for you!\" she cried out vehemently. \"I don't want you. My\nDiamond is lost. Neither you nor anybody else will ever find it!\" With\nthose words she went in, and locked the door in our faces. Penelope,\nstanding nearest to it, heard her burst out crying the moment she was\nalone again.\n\nIn a rage, one moment; in tears, the next! What did it mean?\n\nI told the Superintendent it meant that Miss Rachel's temper was upset\nby the loss of her jewel. Being anxious for the honour of the family,\nit distressed me to see my young lady forget herself--even with a\npolice-officer--and I made the best excuse I could, accordingly. In\nmy own private mind I was more puzzled by Miss Rachel's extraordinary\nlanguage and conduct than words can tell. Taking what she had said at\nher bed-room door as a guide to guess by, I could only conclude that\nshe was mortally offended by our sending for the police, and that\nMr. Franklin's astonishment on the terrace was caused by her having\nexpressed herself to him (as the person chiefly instrumental in fetching\nthe police) to that effect. If this guess was right, why--having lost\nher Diamond--should she object to the presence in the house of the very\npeople whose business it was to recover it for her? And how, in Heaven's\nname, could SHE know that the Moonstone would never be found again?\n\nAs things stood, at present, no answer to those questions was to be\nhoped for from anybody in the house. Mr. Franklin appeared to think it\na point of honour to forbear repeating to a servant--even to so old a\nservant as I was--what Miss Rachel had said to him on the terrace. Mr.\nGodfrey, who, as a gentleman and a relative, had been probably admitted\ninto Mr. Franklin's confidence, respected that confidence as he was\nbound to do. My lady, who was also in the secret no doubt, and who alone\nhad access to Miss Rachel, owned openly that she could make nothing\nof her. \"You madden me when you talk of the Diamond!\" All her mother's\ninfluence failed to extract from her a word more than that.\n\nHere we were, then, at a dead-lock about Miss Rachel--and at a dead-lock\nabout the Moonstone. In the first case, my lady was powerless to help\nus. In the second (as you shall presently judge), Mr. Seegrave was fast\napproaching the condition of a superintendent at his wits' end.\n\nHaving ferreted about all over the \"boudoir,\" without making any\ndiscoveries among the furniture, our experienced officer applied to me\nto know, whether the servants in general were or were not acquainted\nwith the place in which the Diamond had been put for the night.\n\n\"I knew where it was put, sir,\" I said, \"to begin with. Samuel, the\nfootman, knew also--for he was present in the hall, when they were\ntalking about where the Diamond was to be kept that night. My daughter\nknew, as she has already told you. She or Samuel may have mentioned the\nthing to the other servants--or the other servants may have heard the\ntalk for themselves, through the side-door of the hall, which might have\nbeen open to the back staircase. For all I can tell, everybody in the\nhouse may have known where the jewel was, last night.\"\n\nMy answer presenting rather a wide field for Mr. Superintendent's\nsuspicions to range over, he tried to narrow it by asking about the\nservants' characters next.\n\nI thought directly of Rosanna Spearman. But it was neither my place nor\nmy wish to direct suspicion against a poor girl, whose honesty had\nbeen above all doubt as long as I had known her. The matron at the\nReformatory had reported her to my lady as a sincerely penitent and\nthoroughly trustworthy girl. It was the Superintendent's business to\ndiscover reason for suspecting her first--and then, and not till then,\nit would be my duty to tell him how she came into my lady's service.\n\"All our people have excellent characters,\" I said. \"And all have\ndeserved the trust their mistress has placed in them.\" After that, there\nwas but one thing left for Mr. Seegrave to do--namely, to set to work,\nand tackle the servants' characters himself.\n\nOne after another, they were examined. One after another, they proved to\nhave nothing to say--and said it (so far as the women were concerned) at\ngreat length, and with a very angry sense of the embargo laid on their\nbed-rooms. The rest of them being sent back to their places downstairs,\nPenelope was then summoned, and examined separately a second time.\n\nMy daughter's little outbreak of temper in the \"boudoir,\" and her\nreadiness to think herself suspected, appeared to have produced an\nunfavourable impression on Superintendent Seegrave. It seemed also to\ndwell a little on his mind, that she had been the last person who saw\nthe Diamond at night. When the second questioning was over, my girl\ncame back to me in a frenzy. There was no doubt of it any longer--the\npolice-officer had almost as good as told her she was the thief! I could\nscarcely believe him (taking Mr. Franklin's view) to be quite such an\nass as that. But, though he said nothing, the eye with which he looked\nat my daughter was not a very pleasant eye to see. I laughed it off\nwith poor Penelope, as something too ridiculous to be treated\nseriously--which it certainly was. Secretly, I am afraid I was foolish\nenough to be angry too. It was a little trying--it was, indeed. My\ngirl sat down in a corner, with her apron over her head, quite\nbroken-hearted. Foolish of her, you will say. She might have waited\ntill he openly accused her. Well, being a man of just an equal temper,\nI admit that. Still Mr. Superintendent might have remembered--never mind\nwhat he might have remembered. The devil take him!\n\nThe next and last step in the investigation brought matters, as they\nsay, to a crisis. The officer had an interview (at which I was present)\nwith my lady. After informing her that the Diamond must have been taken\nby somebody in the house, he requested permission for himself and\nhis men to search the servants' rooms and boxes on the spot. My good\nmistress, like the generous high-bred woman she was, refused to let us\nbe treated like thieves. \"I will never consent to make such a return\nas that,\" she said, \"for all I owe to the faithful servants who are\nemployed in my house.\"\n\nMr. Superintendent made his bow, with a look in my direction, which said\nplainly, \"Why employ me, if you are to tie my hands in this way?\" As\nhead of the servants, I felt directly that we were bound, in justice to\nall parties, not to profit by our mistress's generosity. \"We gratefully\nthank your ladyship,\" I said; \"but we ask your permission to do what is\nright in this matter by giving up our keys. When Gabriel Betteredge sets\nthe example,\" says I, stopping Superintendent Seegrave at the door, \"the\nrest of the servants will follow, I promise you. There are my keys, to\nbegin with!\" My lady took me by the hand, and thanked me with the tears\nin her eyes. Lord! what would I not have given, at that moment, for the\nprivilege of knocking Superintendent Seegrave down!\n\nAs I had promised for them, the other servants followed my lead, sorely\nagainst the grain, of course, but all taking the view that I took. The\nwomen were a sight to see, while the police-officers were rummaging\namong their things. The cook looked as if she could grill Mr.\nSuperintendent alive on a furnace, and the other women looked as if they\ncould eat him when he was done.\n\nThe search over, and no Diamond or sign of a Diamond being found, of\ncourse, anywhere, Superintendent Seegrave retired to my little room to\nconsider with himself what he was to do next. He and his men had now\nbeen hours in the house, and had not advanced us one inch towards a\ndiscovery of how the Moonstone had been taken, or of whom we were to\nsuspect as the thief.\n\nWhile the police-officer was still pondering in solitude, I was sent for\nto see Mr. Franklin in the library. To my unutterable astonishment, just\nas my hand was on the door, it was suddenly opened from the inside, and\nout walked Rosanna Spearman!\n\nAfter the library had been swept and cleaned in the morning, neither\nfirst nor second housemaid had any business in that room at any later\nperiod of the day. I stopped Rosanna Spearman, and charged her with a\nbreach of domestic discipline on the spot.\n\n\"What might you want in the library at this time of day?\" I inquired.\n\n\"Mr. Franklin Blake dropped one of his rings up-stairs,\" says Rosanna;\n\"and I have been into the library to give it to him.\" The girl's face\nwas all in a flush as she made me that answer; and she walked away with\na toss of her head and a look of self-importance which I was quite at\na loss to account for. The proceedings in the house had doubtless upset\nall the women-servants more or less; but none of them had gone clean out\nof their natural characters, as Rosanna, to all appearance, had now gone\nout of hers.\n\nI found Mr. Franklin writing at the library-table. He asked for a\nconveyance to the railway station the moment I entered the room. The\nfirst sound of his voice informed me that we now had the resolute side\nof him uppermost once more. The man made of cotton had disappeared; and\nthe man made of iron sat before me again.\n\n\"Going to London, sir?\" I asked.\n\n\"Going to telegraph to London,\" says Mr. Franklin. \"I have convinced my\naunt that we must have a cleverer head than Superintendent Seegrave's\nto help us; and I have got her permission to despatch a telegram to my\nfather. He knows the Chief Commissioner of Police, and the Commissioner\ncan lay his hand on the right man to solve the mystery of the Diamond.\nTalking of mysteries, by-the-bye,\" says Mr. Franklin, dropping his\nvoice, \"I have another word to say to you before you go to the stables.\nDon't breathe a word of it to anybody as yet; but either Rosanna\nSpearman's head is not quite right, or I am afraid she knows more about\nthe Moonstone than she ought to know.\"\n\nI can hardly tell whether I was more startled or distressed at hearing\nhim say that. If I had been younger, I might have confessed as much to\nMr. Franklin. But when you are old, you acquire one excellent habit. In\ncases where you don't see your way clearly, you hold your tongue.\n\n\"She came in here with a ring I dropped in my bed-room,\" Mr. Franklin\nwent on. \"When I had thanked her, of course I expected her to go.\nInstead of that, she stood opposite to me at the table, looking at me in\nthe oddest manner--half frightened, and half familiar--I couldn't make\nit out. 'This is a strange thing about the Diamond, sir,' she said, in a\ncuriously sudden, headlong way. I said, 'Yes, it was,' and wondered what\nwas coming next. Upon my honour, Betteredge, I think she must be wrong\nin the head! She said, 'They will never find the Diamond, sir, will\nthey? No! nor the person who took it--I'll answer for that.' She\nactually nodded and smiled at me! Before I could ask her what she meant,\nwe heard your step outside. I suppose she was afraid of your catching\nher here. At any rate, she changed colour, and left the room. What on\nearth does it mean?\"\n\nI could not bring myself to tell him the girl's story, even then. It\nwould have been almost as good as telling him that she was the thief.\nBesides, even if I had made a clean breast of it, and even supposing\nshe was the thief, the reason why she should let out her secret to Mr.\nFranklin, of all the people in the world, would have been still as far\nto seek as ever.\n\n\"I can't bear the idea of getting the poor girl into a scrape, merely\nbecause she has a flighty way with her, and talks very strangely,\" Mr.\nFranklin went on. \"And yet if she had said to the Superintendent what\nshe said to me, fool as he is, I'm afraid----\" He stopped there, and\nleft the rest unspoken.\n\n\"The best way, sir,\" I said, \"will be for me to say two words privately\nto my mistress about it at the first opportunity. My lady has a very\nfriendly interest in Rosanna; and the girl may only have been forward\nand foolish, after all. When there's a mess of any kind in a house, sir,\nthe women-servants like to look at the gloomy side--it gives the poor\nwretches a kind of importance in their own eyes. If there's anybody\nill, trust the women for prophesying that the person will die. If it's\na jewel lost, trust them for prophesying that it will never be found\nagain.\"\n\nThis view (which I am bound to say, I thought a probable view myself,\non reflection) seemed to relieve Mr. Franklin mightily: he folded up his\ntelegram, and dismissed the subject. On my way to the stables, to order\nthe pony-chaise, I looked in at the servants' hall, where they were at\ndinner. Rosanna Spearman was not among them. On inquiry, I found that\nshe had been suddenly taken ill, and had gone up-stairs to her own room\nto lie down.\n\n\"Curious! She looked well enough when I saw her last,\" I remarked.\n\nPenelope followed me out. \"Don't talk in that way before the rest of\nthem, father,\" she said. \"You only make them harder on Rosanna than\never. The poor thing is breaking her heart about Mr. Franklin Blake.\"\n\nHere was another view of the girl's conduct. If it was possible for\nPenelope to be right, the explanation of Rosanna's strange language and\nbehaviour might have been all in this--that she didn't care what she\nsaid, so long as she could surprise Mr. Franklin into speaking to her.\nGranting that to be the right reading of the riddle, it accounted,\nperhaps, for her flighty, self-conceited manner when she passed me in\nthe hall. Though he had only said three words, still she had carried her\npoint, and Mr. Franklin had spoken to her.\n\nI saw the pony harnessed myself. In the infernal network of mysteries\nand uncertainties that now surrounded us, I declare it was a relief to\nobserve how well the buckles and straps understood each other! When you\nhad seen the pony backed into the shafts of the chaise, you had seen\nsomething there was no doubt about. And that, let me tell you, was\nbecoming a treat of the rarest kind in our household.\n\nGoing round with the chaise to the front door, I found not only Mr.\nFranklin, but Mr. Godfrey and Superintendent Seegrave also waiting for\nme on the steps.\n\nMr. Superintendent's reflections (after failing to find the Diamond in\nthe servants' rooms or boxes) had led him, it appeared, to an entirely\nnew conclusion. Still sticking to his first text, namely, that somebody\nin the house had stolen the jewel, our experienced officer was now of the\nopinion that the thief (he was wise enough not to name poor Penelope,\nwhatever he might privately think of her!) had been acting in concert\nwith the Indians; and he accordingly proposed shifting his inquiries to\nthe jugglers in the prison at Frizinghall. Hearing of this new move, Mr.\nFranklin had volunteered to take the Superintendent back to the town,\nfrom which he could telegraph to London as easily as from our station.\nMr. Godfrey, still devoutly believing in Mr. Seegrave, and greatly\ninterested in witnessing the examination of the Indians, had begged\nleave to accompany the officer to Frizinghall. One of the two inferior\npolicemen was to be left at the house, in case anything happened. The\nother was to go back with the Superintendent to the town. So the four\nplaces in the pony-chaise were just filled.\n\nBefore he took the reins to drive off, Mr. Franklin walked me away a few\nsteps out of hearing of the others.\n\n\"I will wait to telegraph to London,\" he said, \"till I see what comes\nof our examination of the Indians. My own conviction is, that this\nmuddle-headed local police-officer is as much in the dark as ever, and\nis simply trying to gain time. The idea of any of the servants being in\nleague with the Indians is a preposterous absurdity, in my opinion. Keep\nabout the house, Betteredge, till I come back, and try what you can make\nof Rosanna Spearman. I don't ask you to do anything degrading to your\nown self-respect, or anything cruel towards the girl. I only ask you\nto exercise your observation more carefully than usual. We will make\nas light of it as we can before my aunt--but this is a more important\nmatter than you may suppose.\"\n\n\"It is a matter of twenty thousand pounds, sir,\" I said, thinking of the\nvalue of the Diamond.\n\n\"It's a matter of quieting Rachel's mind,\" answered Mr. Franklin\ngravely. \"I am very uneasy about her.\"\n\nHe left me suddenly; as if he desired to cut short any further talk\nbetween us. I thought I understood why. Further talk might have let me\ninto the secret of what Miss Rachel had said to him on the terrace.\n\nSo they drove away to Frizinghall. I was ready enough, in the girl's own\ninterest, to have a little talk with Rosanna in private. But the needful\nopportunity failed to present itself. She only came downstairs again\nat tea-time. When she did appear, she was flighty and excited, had what\nthey call an hysterical attack, took a dose of sal-volatile by my lady's\norder, and was sent back to her bed.\n\nThe day wore on to its end drearily and miserably enough, I can tell\nyou. Miss Rachel still kept her room, declaring that she was too ill to\ncome down to dinner that day. My lady was in such low spirits about\nher daughter, that I could not bring myself to make her additionally\nanxious, by reporting what Rosanna Spearman had said to Mr. Franklin.\nPenelope persisted in believing that she was to be forthwith tried,\nsentenced, and transported for theft. The other women took to their\nBibles and hymn-books, and looked as sour as verjuice over their\nreading--a result, which I have observed, in my sphere of life, to\nfollow generally on the performance of acts of piety at unaccustomed\nperiods of the day. As for me, I hadn't even heart enough to open my\nROBINSON CRUSOE. I went out into the yard, and, being hard up for a\nlittle cheerful society, set my chair by the kennels, and talked to the\ndogs.\n\nHalf an hour before dinner-time, the two gentlemen came back from\nFrizinghall, having arranged with Superintendent Seegrave that he was to\nreturn to us the next day. They had called on Mr. Murthwaite, the Indian\ntraveller, at his present residence, near the town. At Mr. Franklin's\nrequest, he had kindly given them the benefit of his knowledge of the\nlanguage, in dealing with those two, out of the three Indians, who knew\nnothing of English. The examination, conducted carefully, and at\ngreat length, had ended in nothing; not the shadow of a reason being\ndiscovered for suspecting the jugglers of having tampered with any of\nour servants. On reaching that conclusion, Mr. Franklin had sent his\ntelegraphic message to London, and there the matter now rested till\nto-morrow came.\n\nSo much for the history of the day that followed the birthday. Not\na glimmer of light had broken in on us, so far. A day or two after,\nhowever, the darkness lifted a little. How, and with what result, you\nshall presently see.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\n\nThe Thursday night passed, and nothing happened. With the Friday morning\ncame two pieces of news.\n\nItem the first: the baker's man declared he had met Rosanna Spearman,\non the previous afternoon, with a thick veil on, walking towards\nFrizinghall by the foot-path way over the moor. It seemed strange that\nanybody should be mistaken about Rosanna, whose shoulder marked her out\npretty plainly, poor thing--but mistaken the man must have been; for\nRosanna, as you know, had been all the Thursday afternoon ill up-stairs\nin her room.\n\nItem the second came through the postman. Worthy Mr. Candy had said one\nmore of his many unlucky things, when he drove off in the rain on the\nbirthday night, and told me that a doctor's skin was waterproof. In\nspite of his skin, the wet had got through him. He had caught a chill\nthat night, and was now down with a fever. The last accounts, brought\nby the postman, represented him to be light-headed--talking nonsense\nas glibly, poor man, in his delirium as he often talked it in his\nsober senses. We were all sorry for the little doctor; but Mr. Franklin\nappeared to regret his illness, chiefly on Miss Rachel's account. From\nwhat he said to my lady, while I was in the room at breakfast-time, he\nappeared to think that Miss Rachel--if the suspense about the Moonstone\nwas not soon set at rest--might stand in urgent need of the best medical\nadvice at our disposal.\n\nBreakfast had not been over long, when a telegram from Mr. Blake, the\nelder, arrived, in answer to his son. It informed us that he had laid\nhands (by help of his friend, the Commissioner) on the right man to\nhelp us. The name of him was Sergeant Cuff; and the arrival of him from\nLondon might be expected by the morning train.\n\nAt reading the name of the new police-officer, Mr. Franklin gave a\nstart. It seems that he had heard some curious anecdotes about Sergeant\nCuff, from his father's lawyer, during his stay in London.\n\n\"I begin to hope we are seeing the end of our anxieties already,\" he\nsaid. \"If half the stories I have heard are true, when it comes to\nunravelling a mystery, there isn't the equal in England of Sergeant\nCuff!\"\n\nWe all got excited and impatient as the time drew near for the\nappearance of this renowned and capable character. Superintendent\nSeegrave, returning to us at his appointed time, and hearing that the\nSergeant was expected, instantly shut himself up in a room, with pen,\nink, and paper, to make notes of the Report which would be certainly\nexpected from him. I should have liked to have gone to the station\nmyself, to fetch the Sergeant. But my lady's carriage and horses were\nnot to be thought of, even for the celebrated Cuff; and the pony-chaise\nwas required later for Mr. Godfrey. He deeply regretted being obliged to\nleave his aunt at such an anxious time; and he kindly put off the hour\nof his departure till as late as the last train, for the purpose of\nhearing what the clever London police-officer thought of the case.\nBut on Friday night he must be in town, having a Ladies' Charity, in\ndifficulties, waiting to consult him on Saturday morning.\n\nWhen the time came for the Sergeant's arrival, I went down to the gate\nto look out for him.\n\nA fly from the railway drove up as I reached the lodge; and out got a\ngrizzled, elderly man, so miserably lean that he looked as if he had not\ngot an ounce of flesh on his bones in any part of him. He was dressed\nall in decent black, with a white cravat round his neck. His face was\nas sharp as a hatchet, and the skin of it was as yellow and dry and\nwithered as an autumn leaf. His eyes, of a steely light grey, had a very\ndisconcerting trick, when they encountered your eyes, of looking as if\nthey expected something more from you than you were aware of yourself.\nHis walk was soft; his voice was melancholy; his long lanky fingers were\nhooked like claws. He might have been a parson, or an undertaker--or\nanything else you like, except what he really was. A more complete\nopposite to Superintendent Seegrave than Sergeant Cuff, and a less\ncomforting officer to look at, for a family in distress, I defy you to\ndiscover, search where you may.\n\n\"Is this Lady Verinder's?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"I am Sergeant Cuff.\"\n\n\"This way, sir, if you please.\"\n\nOn our road to the house, I mentioned my name and position in the\nfamily, to satisfy him that he might speak to me about the business\non which my lady was to employ him. Not a word did he say about the\nbusiness, however, for all that. He admired the grounds, and remarked\nthat he felt the sea air very brisk and refreshing. I privately\nwondered, on my side, how the celebrated Cuff had got his reputation.\nWe reached the house, in the temper of two strange dogs, coupled up\ntogether for the first time in their lives by the same chain.\n\nAsking for my lady, and hearing that she was in one of the\nconservatories, we went round to the gardens at the back, and sent a\nservant to seek her. While we were waiting, Sergeant Cuff looked\nthrough the evergreen arch on our left, spied out our rosery, and walked\nstraight in, with the first appearance of anything like interest that he\nhad shown yet. To the gardener's astonishment, and to my disgust,\nthis celebrated policeman proved to be quite a mine of learning on the\ntrumpery subject of rose-gardens.\n\n\"Ah, you've got the right exposure here to the south and sou'-west,\"\nsays the Sergeant, with a wag of his grizzled head, and a streak\nof pleasure in his melancholy voice. \"This is the shape for a\nrosery--nothing like a circle set in a square. Yes, yes; with walks\nbetween all the beds. But they oughtn't to be gravel walks like these.\nGrass, Mr. Gardener--grass walks between your roses; gravel's too hard\nfor them. That's a sweet pretty bed of white roses and blush roses. They\nalways mix well together, don't they? Here's the white musk rose, Mr.\nBetteredge--our old English rose holding up its head along with the best\nand the newest of them. Pretty dear!\" says the Sergeant, fondling\nthe Musk Rose with his lanky fingers, and speaking to it as if he was\nspeaking to a child.\n\nThis was a nice sort of man to recover Miss Rachel's Diamond, and to\nfind out the thief who stole it!\n\n\"You seem to be fond of roses, Sergeant?\" I remarked.\n\n\"I haven't much time to be fond of anything,\" says Sergeant Cuff. \"But\nwhen I _have_ a moment's fondness to bestow, most times, Mr. Betteredge,\nthe roses get it. I began my life among them in my father's nursery\ngarden, and I shall end my life among them, if I can. Yes. One of these\ndays (please God) I shall retire from catching thieves, and try my hand\nat growing roses. There will be grass walks, Mr. Gardener, between my\nbeds,\" says the Sergeant, on whose mind the gravel paths of our rosery\nseemed to dwell unpleasantly.\n\n\"It seems an odd taste, sir,\" I ventured to say, \"for a man in your line\nof life.\"\n\n\"If you will look about you (which most people won't do),\" says Sergeant\nCuff, \"you will see that the nature of a man's tastes is, most times, as\nopposite as possible to the nature of a man's business. Show me any two\nthings more opposite one from the other than a rose and a thief; and\nI'll correct my tastes accordingly--if it isn't too late at my time of\nlife. You find the damask rose a goodish stock for most of the tender\nsorts, don't you, Mr. Gardener? Ah! I thought so. Here's a lady coming.\nIs it Lady Verinder?\"\n\nHe had seen her before either I or the gardener had seen her, though\nwe knew which way to look, and he didn't. I began to think him rather a\nquicker man than he appeared to be at first sight.\n\nThe Sergeant's appearance, or the Sergeant's errand--one or both--seemed\nto cause my lady some little embarrassment. She was, for the first time\nin all my experience of her, at a loss what to say at an interview with\na stranger. Sergeant Cuff put her at her ease directly. He asked if any\nother person had been employed about the robbery before we sent for him;\nand hearing that another person had been called in, and was now in the\nhouse, begged leave to speak to him before anything else was done.\n\nMy lady led the way back. Before he followed her, the Sergeant relieved\nhis mind on the subject of the gravel walks by a parting word to the\ngardener. \"Get her ladyship to try grass,\" he said, with a sour look at\nthe paths. \"No gravel! no gravel!\"\n\nWhy Superintendent Seegrave should have appeared to be several sizes\nsmaller than life, on being presented to Sergeant Cuff, I can't\nundertake to explain. I can only state the fact. They retired together;\nand remained a weary long time shut up from all mortal intrusion. When\nthey came out, Mr. Superintendent was excited, and Mr. Sergeant was\nyawning.\n\n\"The Sergeant wishes to see Miss Verinder's sitting-room,\" says Mr.\nSeegrave, addressing me with great pomp and eagerness. \"The Sergeant may\nhave some questions to ask. Attend the Sergeant, if you please!\"\n\nWhile I was being ordered about in this way, I looked at the great Cuff.\nThe great Cuff, on his side, looked at Superintendent Seegrave in that\nquietly expecting way which I have already noticed. I can't affirm that\nhe was on the watch for his brother officer's speedy appearance in the\ncharacter of an Ass--I can only say that I strongly suspected it.\n\nI led the way up-stairs. The Sergeant went softly all over the Indian\ncabinet and all round the \"boudoir;\" asking questions (occasionally\nonly of Mr. Superintendent, and continually of me), the drift of which I\nbelieve to have been equally unintelligible to both of us. In due time,\nhis course brought him to the door, and put him face to face with the\ndecorative painting that you know of. He laid one lean inquiring finger\non the small smear, just under the lock, which Superintendent Seegrave\nhad already noticed, when he reproved the women-servants for all\ncrowding together into the room.\n\n\"That's a pity,\" says Sergeant Cuff. \"How did it happen?\"\n\nHe put the question to me. I answered that the women-servants had\ncrowded into the room on the previous morning, and that some of their\npetticoats had done the mischief, \"Superintendent Seegrave ordered them\nout, sir,\" I added, \"before they did any more harm.\"\n\n\"Right!\" says Mr. Superintendent in his military way. \"I ordered them\nout. The petticoats did it, Sergeant--the petticoats did it.\"\n\n\"Did you notice which petticoat did it?\" asked Sergeant Cuff, still\naddressing himself, not to his brother-officer, but to me.\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\nHe turned to Superintendent Seegrave upon that, and said, \"You noticed,\nI suppose?\"\n\nMr. Superintendent looked a little taken aback; but he made the best\nof it. \"I can't charge my memory, Sergeant,\" he said, \"a mere trifle--a\nmere trifle.\"\n\nSergeant Cuff looked at Mr. Seegrave, as he had looked at the gravel\nwalks in the rosery, and gave us, in his melancholy way, the first taste\nof his quality which we had had yet.\n\n\"I made a private inquiry last week, Mr. Superintendent,\" he said. \"At\none end of the inquiry there was a murder, and at the other end there\nwas a spot of ink on a table cloth that nobody could account for. In all\nmy experience along the dirtiest ways of this dirty little world, I have\nnever met with such a thing as a trifle yet. Before we go a step further\nin this business we must see the petticoat that made the smear, and we\nmust know for certain when that paint was wet.\"\n\nMr. Superintendent--taking his set-down rather sulkily--asked if he\nshould summon the women. Sergeant Cuff, after considering a minute,\nsighed, and shook his head.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"we'll take the matter of the paint first. It's a\nquestion of Yes or No with the paint--which is short. It's a question of\npetticoats with the women--which is long. What o'clock was it when the\nservants were in this room yesterday morning? Eleven o'clock--eh? Is\nthere anybody in the house who knows whether that paint was wet or dry,\nat eleven yesterday morning?\"\n\n\"Her ladyship's nephew, Mr. Franklin Blake, knows,\" I said.\n\n\"Is the gentleman in the house?\"\n\nMr. Franklin was as close at hand as could be--waiting for his first\nchance of being introduced to the great Cuff. In half a minute he was in\nthe room, and was giving his evidence as follows:\n\n\"That door, Sergeant,\" he said, \"has been painted by Miss Verinder,\nunder my inspection, with my help, and in a vehicle of my own\ncomposition. The vehicle dries whatever colours may be used with it, in\ntwelve hours.\"\n\n\"Do you remember when the smeared bit was done, sir?\" asked the\nSergeant.\n\n\"Perfectly,\" answered Mr. Franklin. \"That was the last morsel of the\ndoor to be finished. We wanted to get it done, on Wednesday last--and I\nmyself completed it by three in the afternoon, or soon after.\"\n\n\"To-day is Friday,\" said Sergeant Cuff, addressing himself to\nSuperintendent Seegrave. \"Let us reckon back, sir. At three on the\nWednesday afternoon, that bit of the painting was completed. The vehicle\ndried it in twelve hours--that is to say, dried it by three o'clock on\nThursday morning. At eleven on Thursday morning you held your inquiry\nhere. Take three from eleven, and eight remains. That paint had\nbeen EIGHT HOURS DRY, Mr. Superintendent, when you supposed that the\nwomen-servants' petticoats smeared it.\"\n\nFirst knock-down blow for Mr. Seegrave! If he had not suspected poor\nPenelope, I should have pitied him.\n\nHaving settled the question of the paint, Sergeant Cuff, from that\nmoment, gave his brother-officer up as a bad job--and addressed himself\nto Mr. Franklin, as the more promising assistant of the two.\n\n\"It's quite on the cards, sir,\" he said, \"that you have put the clue\ninto our hands.\"\n\nAs the words passed his lips, the bedroom door opened, and Miss Rachel\ncame out among us suddenly.\n\nShe addressed herself to the Sergeant, without appearing to notice (or\nto heed) that he was a perfect stranger to her.\n\n\"Did you say,\" she asked, pointing to Mr. Franklin, \"that HE had put the\nclue into your hands?\"\n\n(\"This is Miss Verinder,\" I whispered, behind the Sergeant.)\n\n\"That gentleman, miss,\" says the Sergeant--with his steely-grey eyes\ncarefully studying my young lady's face--\"has possibly put the clue into\nour hands.\"\n\nShe turned for one moment, and tried to look at Mr. Franklin. I say,\ntried, for she suddenly looked away again before their eyes met. There\nseemed to be some strange disturbance in her mind. She coloured up, and\nthen she turned pale again. With the paleness, there came a new look\ninto her face--a look which it startled me to see.\n\n\"Having answered your question, miss,\" says the Sergeant, \"I beg leave\nto make an inquiry in my turn. There is a smear on the painting of your\ndoor, here. Do you happen to know when it was done? or who did it?\"\n\nInstead of making any reply, Miss Rachel went on with her questions, as\nif he had not spoken, or as if she had not heard him.\n\n\"Are you another police-officer?\" she asked.\n\n\"I am Sergeant Cuff, miss, of the Detective Police.\"\n\n\"Do you think a young lady's advice worth having?\"\n\n\"I shall be glad to hear it, miss.\"\n\n\"Do your duty by yourself--and don't allow Mr Franklin Blake to help\nyou!\"\n\nShe said those words so spitefully, so savagely, with such an\nextraordinary outbreak of ill-will towards Mr. Franklin, in her voice\nand in her look, that--though I had known her from a baby, though I\nloved and honoured her next to my lady herself--I was ashamed of Miss\nRachel for the first time in my life.\n\nSergeant Cuff's immovable eyes never stirred from off her face. \"Thank\nyou, miss,\" he said. \"Do you happen to know anything about the smear?\nMight you have done it by accident yourself?\"\n\n\"I know nothing about the smear.\"\n\nWith that answer, she turned away, and shut herself up again in\nher bed-room. This time, I heard her--as Penelope had heard her\nbefore--burst out crying as soon as she was alone again.\n\nI couldn't bring myself to look at the Sergeant--I looked at Mr.\nFranklin, who stood nearest to me. He seemed to be even more sorely\ndistressed at what had passed than I was.\n\n\"I told you I was uneasy about her,\" he said. \"And now you see why.\"\n\n\"Miss Verinder appears to be a little out of temper about the loss of\nher Diamond,\" remarked the Sergeant. \"It's a valuable jewel. Natural\nenough! natural enough!\"\n\nHere was the excuse that I had made for her (when she forgot herself\nbefore Superintendent Seegrave, on the previous day) being made for her\nover again, by a man who couldn't have had MY interest in making it--for\nhe was a perfect stranger! A kind of cold shudder ran through me, which\nI couldn't account for at the time. I know, now, that I must have got\nmy first suspicion, at that moment, of a new light (and horrid light)\nhaving suddenly fallen on the case, in the mind of Sergeant Cuff--purely\nand entirely in consequence of what he had seen in Miss Rachel, and\nheard from Miss Rachel, at that first interview between them.\n\n\"A young lady's tongue is a privileged member, sir,\" says the Sergeant\nto Mr. Franklin. \"Let us forget what has passed, and go straight on with\nthis business. Thanks to you, we know when the paint was dry. The next\nthing to discover is when the paint was last seen without that smear.\nYOU have got a head on your shoulders--and you understand what I mean.\"\n\nMr. Franklin composed himself, and came back with an effort from Miss\nRachel to the matter in hand.\n\n\"I think I do understand,\" he said. \"The more we narrow the question of\ntime, the more we also narrow the field of inquiry.\"\n\n\"That's it, sir,\" said the Sergeant. \"Did you notice your work here, on\nthe Wednesday afternoon, after you had done it?\"\n\nMr. Franklin shook his head, and answered, \"I can't say I did.\"\n\n\"Did you?\" inquired Sergeant Cuff, turning to me.\n\n\"I can't say I did either, sir.\"\n\n\"Who was the last person in the room, the last thing on Wednesday\nnight?\"\n\n\"Miss Rachel, I suppose, sir.\"\n\nMr. Franklin struck in there, \"Or possibly your daughter, Betteredge.\"\nHe turned to Sergeant Cuff, and explained that my daughter was Miss\nVerinder's maid.\n\n\"Mr. Betteredge, ask your daughter to step up. Stop!\" says the Sergeant,\ntaking me away to the window, out of earshot, \"Your Superintendent\nhere,\" he went on, in a whisper, \"has made a pretty full report to me\nof the manner in which he has managed this case. Among other things,\nhe has, by his own confession, set the servants' backs up. It's very\nimportant to smooth them down again. Tell your daughter, and tell the\nrest of them, these two things, with my compliments: First, that I have\nno evidence before me, yet, that the Diamond has been stolen; I only\nknow that the Diamond has been lost. Second, that my business here with\nthe servants is simply to ask them to lay their heads together and help\nme to find it.\"\n\nMy experience of the women-servants, when Superintendent Seegrave laid\nhis embargo on their rooms, came in handy here.\n\n\"May I make so bold, Sergeant, as to tell the women a third thing?\"\nI asked. \"Are they free (with your compliments) to fidget up and\ndownstairs, and whisk in and out of their bed-rooms, if the fit takes\nthem?\"\n\n\"Perfectly free,\" said the Sergeant.\n\n\"THAT will smooth them down, sir,\" I remarked, \"from the cook to the\nscullion.\"\n\n\"Go, and do it at once, Mr. Betteredge.\"\n\nI did it in less than five minutes. There was only one difficulty when I\ncame to the bit about the bed-rooms. It took a pretty stiff exertion\nof my authority, as chief, to prevent the whole of the female household\nfrom following me and Penelope up-stairs, in the character of volunteer\nwitnesses in a burning fever of anxiety to help Sergeant Cuff.\n\nThe Sergeant seemed to approve of Penelope. He became a trifle less\ndreary; and he looked much as he had looked when he noticed the white\nmusk rose in the flower-garden. Here is my daughter's evidence, as drawn\noff from her by the Sergeant. She gave it, I think, very prettily--but,\nthere! she is my child all over: nothing of her mother in her; Lord\nbless you, nothing of her mother in her!\n\nPenelope examined: Took a lively interest in the painting on the door,\nhaving helped to mix the colours. Noticed the bit of work under\nthe lock, because it was the last bit done. Had seen it, some hours\nafterwards, without a smear. Had left it, as late as twelve at night,\nwithout a smear. Had, at that hour, wished her young lady good night in\nthe bedroom; had heard the clock strike in the \"boudoir\"; had her hand\nat the time on the handle of the painted door; knew the paint was wet\n(having helped to mix the colours, as aforesaid); took particular pains\nnot to touch it; could swear that she held up the skirts of her dress,\nand that there was no smear on the paint then; could not swear that her\ndress mightn't have touched it accidentally in going out; remembered the\ndress she had on, because it was new, a present from Miss Rachel; her\nfather remembered, and could speak to it, too; could, and would, and\ndid fetch it; dress recognised by her father as the dress she wore that\nnight; skirts examined, a long job from the size of them; not the ghost\nof a paint-stain discovered anywhere. End of Penelope's evidence--and\nvery pretty and convincing, too. Signed, Gabriel Betteredge.\n\nThe Sergeant's next proceeding was to question me about any large dogs\nin the house who might have got into the room, and done the mischief\nwith a whisk of their tails. Hearing that this was impossible, he next\nsent for a magnifying-glass, and tried how the smear looked, seen that\nway. No skin-mark (as of a human hand) printed off on the paint. All the\nsigns visible--signs which told that the paint had been smeared by some\nloose article of somebody's dress touching it in going by. That somebody\n(putting together Penelope's evidence and Mr. Franklin's evidence) must\nhave been in the room, and done the mischief, between midnight and three\no'clock on the Thursday morning.\n\nHaving brought his investigation to this point, Sergeant Cuff discovered\nthat such a person as Superintendent Seegrave was still left in the\nroom, upon which he summed up the proceedings for his brother-officer's\nbenefit, as follows:\n\n\"This trifle of yours, Mr. Superintendent,\" says the Sergeant, pointing\nto the place on the door, \"has grown a little in importance since you\nnoticed it last. At the present stage of the inquiry there are, as I\ntake it, three discoveries to make, starting from that smear. Find out\n(first) whether there is any article of dress in this house with the\nsmear of the paint on it. Find out (second) who that dress belongs to.\nFind out (third) how the person can account for having been in this\nroom, and smeared the paint, between midnight and three in the morning.\nIf the person can't satisfy you, you haven't far to look for the hand\nthat has got the Diamond. I'll work this by myself, if you please, and\ndetain you no longer-from your regular business in the town. You have\ngot one of your men here, I see. Leave him here at my disposal, in case\nI want him--and allow me to wish you good morning.\"\n\nSuperintendent Seegrave's respect for the Sergeant was great; but his\nrespect for himself was greater still. Hit hard by the celebrated Cuff,\nhe hit back smartly, to the best of his ability, on leaving the room.\n\n\"I have abstained from expressing any opinion, so far,\" says Mr.\nSuperintendent, with his military voice still in good working order. \"I\nhave now only one remark to offer on leaving this case in your hands.\nThere IS such a thing, Sergeant, as making a mountain out of a molehill.\nGood morning.\"\n\n\"There is also such a thing as making nothing out of a molehill, in\nconsequence of your head being too high to see it.\" Having returned\nhis brother-officer's compliments in those terms, Sergeant Cuff wheeled\nabout, and walked away to the window by himself.\n\nMr. Franklin and I waited to see what was coming next. The Sergeant\nstood at the window with his hands in his pockets, looking out, and\nwhistling the tune of \"The Last Rose of Summer\" softly to himself. Later\nin the proceedings, I discovered that he only forgot his manners so far\nas to whistle, when his mind was hard at work, seeing its way inch\nby inch to its own private ends, on which occasions \"The Last Rose of\nSummer\" evidently helped and encouraged him. I suppose it fitted in\nsomehow with his character. It reminded him, you see, of his favourite\nroses, and, as HE whistled it, it was the most melancholy tune going.\n\nTurning from the window, after a minute or two, the Sergeant walked into\nthe middle of the room, and stopped there, deep in thought, with his\neyes on Miss Rachel's bed-room door. After a little he roused himself,\nnodded his head, as much as to say, \"That will do,\" and, addressing me,\nasked for ten minutes' conversation with my mistress, at her ladyship's\nearliest convenience.\n\nLeaving the room with this message, I heard Mr. Franklin ask the\nSergeant a question, and stopped to hear the answer also at the\nthreshold of the door.\n\n\"Can you guess yet,\" inquired Mr. Franklin, \"who has stolen the\nDiamond?\"\n\n\"NOBODY HAS STOLEN THE DIAMOND,\" answered Sergeant Cuff.\n\nWe both started at that extraordinary view of the case, and both\nearnestly begged him to tell us what he meant.\n\n\"Wait a little,\" said the Sergeant. \"The pieces of the puzzle are not\nall put together yet.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\n\nI found my lady in her own sitting room. She started and looked annoyed\nwhen I mentioned that Sergeant Cuff wished to speak to her.\n\n\"MUST I see him?\" she asked. \"Can't you represent me, Gabriel?\"\n\nI felt at a loss to understand this, and showed it plainly, I suppose,\nin my face. My lady was so good as to explain herself.\n\n\"I am afraid my nerves are a little shaken,\" she said. \"There is\nsomething in that police-officer from London which I recoil from--I\ndon't know why. I have a presentiment that he is bringing trouble and\nmisery with him into the house. Very foolish, and very unlike ME--but so\nit is.\"\n\nI hardly knew what to say to this. The more I saw of Sergeant Cuff, the\nbetter I liked him. My lady rallied a little after having opened her\nheart to me--being, naturally, a woman of a high courage, as I have\nalready told you.\n\n\"If I must see him, I must,\" she said. \"But I can't prevail on myself\nto see him alone. Bring him in, Gabriel, and stay here as long as he\nstays.\"\n\nThis was the first attack of the megrims that I remembered in my\nmistress since the time when she was a young girl. I went back to the\n\"boudoir.\" Mr. Franklin strolled out into the garden, and joined Mr.\nGodfrey, whose time for departure was now drawing near. Sergeant Cuff\nand I went straight to my mistress's room.\n\nI declare my lady turned a shade paler at the sight of him! She\ncommanded herself, however, in other respects, and asked the Sergeant\nif he had any objection to my being present. She was so good as to add,\nthat I was her trusted adviser, as well as her old servant, and that in\nanything which related to the household I was the person whom it might\nbe most profitable to consult. The Sergeant politely answered that he\nwould take my presence as a favour, having something to say about the\nservants in general, and having found my experience in that quarter\nalready of some use to him. My lady pointed to two chairs, and we set in\nfor our conference immediately.\n\n\"I have already formed an opinion on this case,\" says Sergeant Cuff,\n\"which I beg your ladyship's permission to keep to myself for the\npresent. My business now is to mention what I have discovered upstairs\nin Miss Verinder's sitting-room, and what I have decided (with your\nladyship's leave) on doing next.\"\n\nHe then went into the matter of the smear on the paint, and stated\nthe conclusions he drew from it--just as he had stated them (only with\ngreater respect of language) to Superintendent Seegrave. \"One thing,\"\nhe said, in conclusion, \"is certain. The Diamond is missing out of the\ndrawer in the cabinet. Another thing is next to certain. The marks from\nthe smear on the door must be on some article of dress belonging to\nsomebody in this house. We must discover that article of dress before we\ngo a step further.\"\n\n\"And that discovery,\" remarked my mistress, \"implies, I presume, the\ndiscovery of the thief?\"\n\n\"I beg your ladyship's pardon--I don't say the Diamond is stolen. I\nonly say, at present, that the Diamond is missing. The discovery of the\nstained dress may lead the way to finding it.\"\n\nHer ladyship looked at me. \"Do you understand this?\" she said.\n\n\"Sergeant Cuff understands it, my lady,\" I answered.\n\n\"How do you propose to discover the stained dress?\" inquired my\nmistress, addressing herself once more to the Sergeant. \"My good\nservants, who have been with me for years, have, I am ashamed to say,\nhad their boxes and rooms searched already by the other officer. I can't\nand won't permit them to be insulted in that way a second time!\"\n\n(There was a mistress to serve! There was a woman in ten thousand, if\nyou like!)\n\n\"That is the very point I was about to put to your ladyship,\" said the\nSergeant. \"The other officer has done a world of harm to this inquiry,\nby letting the servants see that he suspected them. If I give them cause\nto think themselves suspected a second time, there's no knowing what\nobstacles they may not throw in my way--the women especially. At the\nsame time, their boxes must be searched again--for this plain reason,\nthat the first investigation only looked for the Diamond, and that the\nsecond investigation must look for the stained dress. I quite agree with\nyou, my lady, that the servants' feelings ought to be consulted. But I\nam equally clear that the servants' wardrobes ought to be searched.\"\n\nThis looked very like a dead-lock. My lady said so, in choicer language\nthan mine.\n\n\"I have got a plan to meet the difficulty,\" said Sergeant Cuff, \"if\nyour ladyship will consent to it. I propose explaining the case to the\nservants.\"\n\n\"The women will think themselves suspected directly,\" I said,\ninterrupting him.\n\n\"The women won't, Mr. Betteredge,\" answered the Sergeant, \"if I can tell\nthem I am going to examine the wardrobes of EVERYBODY--from her ladyship\ndownwards--who slept in the house on Wednesday night. It's a mere\nformality,\" he added, with a side look at my mistress; \"but the servants\nwill accept it as even dealing between them and their betters; and,\ninstead of hindering the investigation, they will make a point of honour\nof assisting it.\"\n\nI saw the truth of that. My lady, after her first surprise was over, saw\nthe truth of it also.\n\n\"You are certain the investigation is necessary?\" she said.\n\n\"It's the shortest way that I can see, my lady, to the end we have in\nview.\"\n\nMy mistress rose to ring the bell for her maid. \"You shall speak to the\nservants,\" she said, \"with the keys of my wardrobe in your hand.\"\n\nSergeant Cuff stopped her by a very unexpected question.\n\n\"Hadn't we better make sure first,\" he asked, \"that the other ladies and\ngentlemen in the house will consent, too?\"\n\n\"The only other lady in the house is Miss Verinder,\" answered my\nmistress, with a look of surprise. \"The only gentlemen are my nephews,\nMr. Blake and Mr. Ablewhite. There is not the least fear of a refusal\nfrom any of the three.\"\n\nI reminded my lady here that Mr. Godfrey was going away. As I said the\nwords, Mr. Godfrey himself knocked at the door to say good-bye, and was\nfollowed in by Mr. Franklin, who was going with him to the station.\nMy lady explained the difficulty. Mr. Godfrey settled it directly. He\ncalled to Samuel, through the window, to take his portmanteau up-stairs\nagain, and he then put the key himself into Sergeant Cuff's hand. \"My\nluggage can follow me to London,\" he said, \"when the inquiry is over.\"\nThe Sergeant received the key with a becoming apology. \"I am sorry to\nput you to any inconvenience, sir, for a mere formality; but the example\nof their betters will do wonders in reconciling the servants to\nthis inquiry.\" Mr. Godfrey, after taking leave of my lady, in a most\nsympathising manner, left a farewell message for Miss Rachel, the\nterms of which made it clear to my mind that he had not taken No for an\nanswer, and that he meant to put the marriage question to her once more,\nat the next opportunity. Mr. Franklin, on following his cousin out,\ninformed the Sergeant that all his clothes were open to examination,\nand that nothing he possessed was kept under lock and key. Sergeant Cuff\nmade his best acknowledgments. His views, you will observe, had been\nmet with the utmost readiness by my lady, by Mr. Godfrey, and by Mr.\nFranklin. There was only Miss. Rachel now wanting to follow their lead,\nbefore we called the servants together, and began the search for the\nstained dress.\n\nMy lady's unaccountable objection to the Sergeant seemed to make our\nconference more distasteful to her than ever, as soon as we were left\nalone again. \"If I send you down Miss Verinder's keys,\" she said to him,\n\"I presume I shall have done all you want of me for the present?\"\n\n\"I beg your ladyship's pardon,\" said Sergeant Cuff. \"Before we begin,\nI should like, if convenient, to have the washing-book. The stained\narticle of dress may be an article of linen. If the search leads to\nnothing, I want to be able to account next for all the linen in the\nhouse, and for all the linen sent to the wash. If there is an article\nmissing, there will be at least a presumption that it has got the\npaint-stain on it, and that it has been purposely made away with,\nyesterday or to-day, by the person owning it. Superintendent Seegrave,\"\nadded the Sergeant, turning to me, \"pointed the attention of the\nwomen-servants to the smear, when they all crowded into the room on\nThursday morning. That may turn out, Mr. Betteredge, to have been one\nmore of Superintendent Seegrave's many mistakes.\"\n\nMy lady desired me to ring the bell, and order the washing-book. She\nremained with us until it was produced, in case Sergeant Cuff had any\nfurther request to make of her after looking at it.\n\nThe washing-book was brought in by Rosanna Spearman. The girl had\ncome down to breakfast that morning miserably pale and haggard, but\nsufficiently recovered from her illness of the previous day to do her\nusual work. Sergeant Cuff looked attentively at our second housemaid--at\nher face, when she came in; at her crooked shoulder, when she went out.\n\n\"Have you anything more to say to me?\" asked my lady, still as eager as\never to be out of the Sergeant's society.\n\nThe great Cuff opened the washing-book, understood it perfectly in half\na minute, and shut it up again. \"I venture to trouble your ladyship with\none last question,\" he said. \"Has the young woman who brought us this\nbook been in your employment as long as the other servants?\"\n\n\"Why do you ask?\" said my lady.\n\n\"The last time I saw her,\" answered the Sergeant, \"she was in prison for\ntheft.\"\n\nAfter that, there was no help for it, but to tell him the truth. My\nmistress dwelt strongly on Rosanna's good conduct in her service, and\non the high opinion entertained of her by the matron at the reformatory.\n\"You don't suspect her, I hope?\" my lady added, in conclusion, very\nearnestly.\n\n\"I have already told your ladyship that I don't suspect any person in\nthe house of thieving--up to the present time.\"\n\nAfter that answer, my lady rose to go up-stairs, and ask for Miss\nRachel's keys. The Sergeant was before-hand with me in opening the door\nfor her. He made a very low bow. My lady shuddered as she passed him.\n\nWe waited, and waited, and no keys appeared. Sergeant Cuff made no\nremark to me. He turned his melancholy face to the window; he put his\nlanky hands into his pockets; and he whistled \"The Last Rose of Summer\"\nsoftly to himself.\n\nAt last, Samuel came in, not with the keys, but with a morsel of paper\nfor me. I got at my spectacles, with some fumbling and difficulty,\nfeeling the Sergeant's dismal eyes fixed on me all the time. There were\ntwo or three lines on the paper, written in pencil by my lady. They\ninformed me that Miss Rachel flatly refused to have her wardrobe\nexamined. Asked for her reasons, she had burst out crying. Asked again,\nshe had said: \"I won't, because I won't. I must yield to force if\nyou use it, but I will yield to nothing else.\" I understood my lady's\ndisinclination to face Sergeant Cuff with such an answer from her\ndaughter as that. If I had not been too old for the amiable weaknesses\nof youth, I believe I should have blushed at the notion of facing him\nmyself.\n\n\"Any news of Miss Verinder's keys?\" asked the Sergeant.\n\n\"My young lady refuses to have her wardrobe examined.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said the Sergeant.\n\nHis voice was not quite in such a perfect state of discipline as his\nface. When he said \"Ah!\" he said it in the tone of a man who had heard\nsomething which he expected to hear. He half angered and half frightened\nme--why, I couldn't tell, but he did it.\n\n\"Must the search be given up?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Sergeant, \"the search must be given up, because your\nyoung lady refuses to submit to it like the rest. We must examine all\nthe wardrobes in the house or none. Send Mr. Ablewhite's portmanteau\nto London by the next train, and return the washing-book, with my\ncompliments and thanks, to the young woman who brought it in.\"\n\nHe laid the washing-book on the table, and taking out his penknife,\nbegan to trim his nails.\n\n\"You don't seem to be much disappointed,\" I said.\n\n\"No,\" said Sergeant Cuff; \"I am not much disappointed.\"\n\nI tried to make him explain himself.\n\n\"Why should Miss Rachel put an obstacle in your way?\" I inquired. \"Isn't\nit her interest to help you?\"\n\n\"Wait a little, Mr. Betteredge--wait a little.\"\n\nCleverer heads than mine might have seen his drift. Or a person less\nfond of Miss Rachel than I was, might have seen his drift. My lady's\nhorror of him might (as I have since thought) have meant that she saw\nhis drift (as the scripture says) \"in a glass darkly.\" I didn't see it\nyet--that's all I know.\n\n\"What's to be done next?\" I asked.\n\nSergeant Cuff finished the nail on which he was then at work, looked at\nit for a moment with a melancholy interest, and put up his penknife.\n\n\"Come out into the garden,\" he said, \"and let's have a look at the\nroses.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\n\nThe nearest way to the garden, on going out of my lady's sitting-room,\nwas by the shrubbery path, which you already know of. For the sake of\nyour better understanding of what is now to come, I may add to this,\nthat the shrubbery path was Mr. Franklin's favourite walk. When he was\nout in the grounds, and when we failed to find him anywhere else, we\ngenerally found him here.\n\nI am afraid I must own that I am rather an obstinate old man. The more\nfirmly Sergeant Cuff kept his thoughts shut up from me, the more\nfirmly I persisted in trying to look in at them. As we turned into the\nshrubbery path, I attempted to circumvent him in another way.\n\n\"As things are now,\" I said, \"if I was in your place, I should be at my\nwits' end.\"\n\n\"If you were in my place,\" answered the Sergeant, \"you would have formed\nan opinion--and, as things are now, any doubt you might previously have\nfelt about your own conclusions would be completely set at rest. Never\nmind for the present what those conclusions are, Mr. Betteredge. I\nhaven't brought you out here to draw me like a badger; I have brought\nyou out here to ask for some information. You might have given it to me\nno doubt, in the house, instead of out of it. But doors and listeners\nhave a knack of getting together; and, in my line of life, we cultivate\na healthy taste for the open air.\"\n\nWho was to circumvent THIS man? I gave in--and waited as patiently as I\ncould to hear what was coming next.\n\n\"We won't enter into your young lady's motives,\" the Sergeant went on;\n\"we will only say it's a pity she declines to assist me, because, by\nso doing, she makes this investigation more difficult than it might\notherwise have been. We must now try to solve the mystery of the smear\non the door--which, you may take my word for it, means the mystery of\nthe Diamond also--in some other way. I have decided to see the servants,\nand to search their thoughts and actions, Mr. Betteredge, instead of\nsearching their wardrobes. Before I begin, however, I want to ask you\na question or two. You are an observant man--did you notice anything\nstrange in any of the servants (making due allowance, of course, for\nfright and fluster), after the loss of the Diamond was found out? Any\nparticular quarrel among them? Any one of them not in his or her usual\nspirits? Unexpectedly out of temper, for instance? or unexpectedly taken\nill?\"\n\nI had just time to think of Rosanna Spearman's sudden illness at\nyesterday's dinner--but not time to make any answer--when I saw Sergeant\nCuff's eyes suddenly turn aside towards the shrubbery; and I heard him\nsay softly to himself, \"Hullo!\"\n\n\"What's the matter?\" I asked.\n\n\"A touch of the rheumatics in my back,\" said the Sergeant, in a loud\nvoice, as if he wanted some third person to hear us. \"We shall have a\nchange in the weather before long.\"\n\nA few steps further brought us to the corner of the house. Turning off\nsharp to the right, we entered on the terrace, and went down, by the\nsteps in the middle, into the garden below. Sergeant Cuff stopped there,\nin the open space, where we could see round us on every side.\n\n\"About that young person, Rosanna Spearman?\" he said. \"It isn't very\nlikely, with her personal appearance, that she has got a lover. But,\nfor the girl's own sake, I must ask you at once whether SHE has provided\nherself with a sweetheart, poor wretch, like the rest of them?\"\n\nWhat on earth did he mean, under present circumstances, by putting such\na question to me as that? I stared at him, instead of answering him.\n\n\"I saw Rosanna Spearman hiding in the shrubbery as we went by,\" said the\nSergeant.\n\n\"When you said 'Hullo'?\"\n\n\"Yes--when I said 'Hullo!' If there's a sweetheart in the case, the\nhiding doesn't much matter. If there isn't--as things are in this\nhouse--the hiding is a highly suspicious circumstance, and it will be my\npainful duty to act on it accordingly.\"\n\nWhat, in God's name, was I to say to him? I knew the shrubbery was Mr.\nFranklin's favourite walk; I knew he would most likely turn that way\nwhen he came back from the station; I knew that Penelope had over and\nover again caught her fellow-servant hanging about there, and had always\ndeclared to me that Rosanna's object was to attract Mr. Franklin's\nattention. If my daughter was right, she might well have been lying in\nwait for Mr. Franklin's return when the Sergeant noticed her. I was put\nbetween the two difficulties of mentioning Penelope's fanciful notion\nas if it was mine, or of leaving an unfortunate creature to suffer the\nconsequences, the very serious consequences, of exciting the suspicion\nof Sergeant Cuff. Out of pure pity for the girl--on my soul and my\ncharacter, out of pure pity for the girl--I gave the Sergeant the\nnecessary explanations, and told him that Rosanna had been mad enough to\nset her heart on Mr. Franklin Blake.\n\nSergeant Cuff never laughed. On the few occasions when anything amused\nhim, he curled up a little at the corners of the lips, nothing more. He\ncurled up now.\n\n\"Hadn't you better say she's mad enough to be an ugly girl and only\na servant?\" he asked. \"The falling in love with a gentleman of Mr.\nFranklin Blake's manners and appearance doesn't seem to me to be the\nmaddest part of her conduct by any means. However, I'm glad the thing is\ncleared up: it relieves one's mind to have things cleared up. Yes,\nI'll keep it a secret, Mr. Betteredge. I like to be tender to human\ninfirmity--though I don't get many chances of exercising that virtue in\nmy line of life. You think Mr. Franklin Blake hasn't got a suspicion of\nthe girl's fancy for him? Ah! he would have found it out fast enough if\nshe had been nice-looking. The ugly women have a bad time of it in this\nworld; let's hope it will be made up to them in another. You have got a\nnice garden here, and a well-kept lawn. See for yourself how much better\nthe flowers look with grass about them instead of gravel. No, thank you.\nI won't take a rose. It goes to my heart to break them off the stem.\nJust as it goes to your heart, you know, when there's something wrong in\nthe servants' hall. Did you notice anything you couldn't account for in\nany of the servants when the loss of the Diamond was first found out?\"\n\nI had got on very fairly well with Sergeant Cuff so far. But the slyness\nwith which he slipped in that last question put me on my guard. In plain\nEnglish, I didn't at all relish the notion of helping his inquiries,\nwhen those inquiries took him (in the capacity of snake in the grass)\namong my fellow-servants.\n\n\"I noticed nothing,\" I said, \"except that we all lost our heads\ntogether, myself included.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" says the Sergeant, \"that's all you have to tell me, is it?\"\n\nI answered, with (as I flattered myself) an unmoved countenance, \"That\nis all.\"\n\nSergeant Cuff's dismal eyes looked me hard in the face.\n\n\"Mr. Betteredge,\" he said, \"have you any objection to oblige me by\nshaking hands? I have taken an extraordinary liking to you.\"\n\n(Why he should have chosen the exact moment when I was deceiving him to\ngive me that proof of his good opinion, is beyond all comprehension! I\nfelt a little proud--I really did feel a little proud of having been one\ntoo many at last for the celebrated Cuff!)\n\nWe went back to the house; the Sergeant requesting that I would give him\na room to himself, and then send in the servants (the indoor servants\nonly), one after another, in the order of their rank, from first to\nlast.\n\nI showed Sergeant Cuff into my own room, and then called the servants\ntogether in the hall. Rosanna Spearman appeared among them, much as\nusual. She was as quick in her way as the Sergeant in his, and I suspect\nshe had heard what he said to me about the servants in general, just\nbefore he discovered her. There she was, at any rate, looking as if she\nhad never heard of such a place as the shrubbery in her life.\n\nI sent them in, one by one, as desired. The cook was the first to enter\nthe Court of Justice, otherwise my room. She remained but a short time.\nReport, on coming out: \"Sergeant Cuff is depressed in his spirits; but\nSergeant Cuff is a perfect gentleman.\" My lady's own maid followed.\nRemained much longer. Report, on coming out: \"If Sergeant Cuff doesn't\nbelieve a respectable woman, he might keep his opinion to himself, at\nany rate!\" Penelope went next. Remained only a moment or two. Report,\non coming out: \"Sergeant Cuff is much to be pitied. He must have been\ncrossed in love, father, when he was a young man.\" The first housemaid\nfollowed Penelope. Remained, like my lady's maid, a long time. Report,\non coming out: \"I didn't enter her ladyship's service, Mr. Betteredge,\nto be doubted to my face by a low police-officer!\" Rosanna Spearman went\nnext. Remained longer than any of them. No report on coming out--dead\nsilence, and lips as pale as ashes. Samuel, the footman, followed\nRosanna. Remained a minute or two. Report, on coming out: \"Whoever\nblacks Sergeant Cuff's boots ought to be ashamed of himself.\" Nancy,\nthe kitchen-maid, went last. Remained a minute or two. Report, on coming\nout: \"Sergeant Cuff has a heart; HE doesn't cut jokes, Mr. Betteredge,\nwith a poor hard-working girl.\"\n\nGoing into the Court of Justice, when it was all over, to hear if\nthere were any further commands for me, I found the Sergeant at his old\ntrick--looking out of window, and whistling \"The Last Rose of Summer\" to\nhimself.\n\n\"Any discoveries, sir?\" I inquired.\n\n\"If Rosanna Spearman asks leave to go out,\" said the Sergeant, \"let the\npoor thing go; but let me know first.\"\n\nI might as well have held my tongue about Rosanna and Mr. Franklin! It\nwas plain enough; the unfortunate girl had fallen under Sergeant Cuff's\nsuspicions, in spite of all I could do to prevent it.\n\n\"I hope you don't think Rosanna is concerned in the loss of the\nDiamond?\" I ventured to say.\n\nThe corners of the Sergeant's melancholy mouth curled up, and he looked\nhard in my face, just as he had looked in the garden.\n\n\"I think I had better not tell you, Mr. Betteredge,\" he said. \"You might\nlose your head, you know, for the second time.\"\n\nI began to doubt whether I had been one too many for the celebrated\nCuff, after all! It was rather a relief to me that we were interrupted\nhere by a knock at the door, and a message from the cook. Rosanna\nSpearman HAD asked to go out, for the usual reason, that her head was\nbad, and she wanted a breath of fresh air. At a sign from the Sergeant,\nI said, Yes. \"Which is the servants' way out?\" he asked, when the\nmessenger had gone. I showed him the servants' way out. \"Lock the door\nof your room,\" says the Sergeant; \"and if anybody asks for me, say I'm\nin there, composing my mind.\" He curled up again at the corners of the\nlips, and disappeared.\n\nLeft alone, under those circumstances, a devouring curiosity pushed me\non to make some discoveries for myself.\n\nIt was plain that Sergeant Cuff's suspicions of Rosanna had been roused\nby something that he had found out at his examination of the servants in\nmy room. Now, the only two servants (excepting Rosanna herself) who had\nremained under examination for any length of time, were my lady's own\nmaid and the first housemaid, those two being also the women who had\ntaken the lead in persecuting their unfortunate fellow-servant from the\nfirst. Reaching these conclusions, I looked in on them, casually as\nit might be, in the servants' hall, and, finding tea going forward,\ninstantly invited myself to that meal. (For, NOTA BENE, a drop of tea is\nto a woman's tongue what a drop of oil is to a wasting lamp.)\n\nMy reliance on the tea-pot, as an ally, did not go unrewarded. In less\nthan half an hour I knew as much as the Sergeant himself.\n\nMy lady's maid and the housemaid, had, it appeared, neither of them\nbelieved in Rosanna's illness of the previous day. These two devils--I\nask your pardon; but how else CAN you describe a couple of spiteful\nwomen?--had stolen up-stairs, at intervals during the Thursday\nafternoon; had tried Rosanna's door, and found it locked; had knocked,\nand not been answered; had listened, and not heard a sound inside. When\nthe girl had come down to tea, and had been sent up, still out of sorts,\nto bed again, the two devils aforesaid had tried her door once more, and\nfound it locked; had looked at the keyhole, and found it stopped up; had\nseen a light under the door at midnight, and had heard the crackling of\na fire (a fire in a servant's bed-room in the month of June!) at four\nin the morning. All this they had told Sergeant Cuff, who, in return for\ntheir anxiety to enlighten him, had eyed them with sour and suspicious\nlooks, and had shown them plainly that he didn't believe either one or\nthe other. Hence, the unfavourable reports of him which these two women\nhad brought out with them from the examination. Hence, also (without\nreckoning the influence of the tea-pot), their readiness to let their\ntongues run to any length on the subject of the Sergeant's ungracious\nbehaviour to them.\n\nHaving had some experience of the great Cuff's round-about ways, and\nhaving last seen him evidently bent on following Rosanna privately when\nshe went out for her walk, it seemed clear to me that he had thought it\nunadvisable to let the lady's maid and the housemaid know how materially\nthey had helped him. They were just the sort of women, if he had treated\ntheir evidence as trustworthy, to have been puffed up by it, and to\nhave said or done something which would have put Rosanna Spearman on her\nguard.\n\nI walked out in the fine summer afternoon, very sorry for the poor\ngirl, and very uneasy in my mind at the turn things had taken. Drifting\ntowards the shrubbery, some time later, there I met Mr. Franklin. After\nreturning from seeing his cousin off at the station, he had been with\nmy lady, holding a long conversation with her. She had told him of Miss\nRachel's unaccountable refusal to let her wardrobe be examined; and had\nput him in such low spirits about my young lady that he seemed to shrink\nfrom speaking on the subject. The family temper appeared in his face\nthat evening, for the first time in my experience of him.\n\n\"Well, Betteredge,\" he said, \"how does the atmosphere of mystery\nand suspicion in which we are all living now, agree with you? Do you\nremember that morning when I first came here with the Moonstone? I wish\nto God we had thrown it into the quicksand!\"\n\nAfter breaking out in that way, he abstained from speaking again until\nhe had composed himself. We walked silently, side by side, for a minute\nor two, and then he asked me what had become of Sergeant Cuff. It was\nimpossible to put Mr. Franklin off with the excuse of the Sergeant being\nin my room, composing his mind. I told him exactly what had happened,\nmentioning particularly what my lady's maid and the house-maid had said\nabout Rosanna Spearman.\n\nMr. Franklin's clear head saw the turn the Sergeant's suspicions had\ntaken, in the twinkling of an eye.\n\n\"Didn't you tell me this morning,\" he said, \"that one of the\ntradespeople declared he had met Rosanna yesterday, on the footway to\nFrizinghall, when we supposed her to be ill in her room?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"If my aunt's maid and the other woman have spoken the truth, you may\ndepend upon it the tradesman did meet her. The girl's attack of illness\nwas a blind to deceive us. She had some guilty reason for going to the\ntown secretly. The paint-stained dress is a dress of hers; and the fire\nheard crackling in her room at four in the morning was a fire lit\nto destroy it. Rosanna Spearman has stolen the Diamond. I'll go in\ndirectly, and tell my aunt the turn things have taken.\"\n\n\"Not just yet, if you please, sir,\" said a melancholy voice behind us.\n\nWe both turned about, and found ourselves face to face with Sergeant\nCuff.\n\n\"Why not just yet?\" asked Mr. Franklin.\n\n\"Because, sir, if you tell her ladyship, her ladyship will tell Miss\nVerinder.\"\n\n\"Suppose she does. What then?\" Mr. Franklin said those words with a\nsudden heat and vehemence, as if the Sergeant had mortally offended him.\n\n\"Do you think it's wise, sir,\" said Sergeant Cuff, quietly, \"to put such\na question as that to me--at such a time as this?\"\n\nThere was a moment's silence between them: Mr. Franklin walked close\nup to the Sergeant. The two looked each other straight in the face. Mr.\nFranklin spoke first, dropping his voice as suddenly as he had raised\nit.\n\n\"I suppose you know, Mr. Cuff,\" he said, \"that you are treading on\ndelicate ground?\"\n\n\"It isn't the first time, by a good many hundreds, that I find myself\ntreading on delicate ground,\" answered the other, as immovable as ever.\n\n\"I am to understand that you forbid me to tell my aunt what has\nhappened?\"\n\n\"You are to understand, if you please, sir, that I throw up the case, if\nyou tell Lady Verinder, or tell anybody, what has happened, until I give\nyou leave.\"\n\nThat settled it. Mr. Franklin had no choice but to submit. He turned\naway in anger--and left us.\n\nI had stood there listening to them, all in a tremble; not knowing whom\nto suspect, or what to think next. In the midst of my confusion, two\nthings, however, were plain to me. First, that my young lady was, in\nsome unaccountable manner, at the bottom of the sharp speeches that had\npassed between them. Second, that they thoroughly understood each other,\nwithout having previously exchanged a word of explanation on either\nside.\n\n\"Mr. Betteredge,\" says the Sergeant, \"you have done a very foolish thing\nin my absence. You have done a little detective business on your own\naccount. For the future, perhaps you will be so obliging as to do your\ndetective business along with me.\"\n\nHe took me by the arm, and walked me away with him along the road by\nwhich he had come. I dare say I had deserved his reproof--but I was not\ngoing to help him to set traps for Rosanna Spearman, for all that. Thief\nor no thief, legal or not legal, I don't care--I pitied her.\n\n\"What do you want of me?\" I asked, shaking him off, and stopping short.\n\n\"Only a little information about the country round here,\" said the\nSergeant.\n\nI couldn't well object to improve Sergeant Cuff in his geography.\n\n\"Is there any path, in that direction, leading to the sea-beach from\nthis house?\" asked the Sergeant. He pointed, as he spoke, to the\nfir-plantation which led to the Shivering Sand.\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"there is a path.\"\n\n\"Show it to me.\"\n\nSide by side, in the grey of the summer evening, Sergeant Cuff and I set\nforth for the Shivering Sand.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\n\nThe Sergeant remained silent, thinking his own thoughts, till we entered\nthe plantation of firs which led to the quicksand. There he roused\nhimself, like a man whose mind was made up, and spoke to me again.\n\n\"Mr. Betteredge,\" he said, \"as you have honoured me by taking an oar in\nmy boat, and as you may, I think, be of some assistance to me before the\nevening is out, I see no use in our mystifying one another any longer,\nand I propose to set you an example of plain speaking on my side. You\nare determined to give me no information to the prejudice of Rosanna\nSpearman, because she has been a good girl to YOU, and because you pity\nher heartily. Those humane considerations do you a world of credit, but\nthey happen in this instance to be humane considerations clean thrown\naway. Rosanna Spearman is not in the slightest danger of getting into\ntrouble--no, not if I fix her with being concerned in the disappearance\nof the Diamond, on evidence which is as plain as the nose on your face!\"\n\n\"Do you mean that my lady won't prosecute?\" I asked.\n\n\"I mean that your lady CAN'T prosecute,\" said the Sergeant. \"Rosanna\nSpearman is simply an instrument in the hands of another person, and\nRosanna Spearman will be held harmless for that other person's sake.\"\n\nHe spoke like a man in earnest--there was no denying that. Still, I felt\nsomething stirring uneasily against him in my mind. \"Can't you give that\nother person a name?\" I said.\n\n\"Can't you, Mr. Betteredge?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nSergeant Cuff stood stock still, and surveyed me with a look of\nmelancholy interest.\n\n\"It's always a pleasure to me to be tender towards human infirmity,\" he\nsaid. \"I feel particularly tender at the present moment, Mr. Betteredge,\ntowards you. And you, with the same excellent motive, feel particularly\ntender towards Rosanna Spearman, don't you? Do you happen to know\nwhether she has had a new outfit of linen lately?\"\n\nWhat he meant by slipping in this extraordinary question unawares, I was\nat a total loss to imagine. Seeing no possible injury to Rosanna if I\nowned the truth, I answered that the girl had come to us rather sparely\nprovided with linen, and that my lady, in recompense for her good\nconduct (I laid a stress on her good conduct), had given her a new\noutfit not a fortnight since.\n\n\"This is a miserable world,\" says the Sergeant. \"Human life, Mr.\nBetteredge, is a sort of target--misfortune is always firing at it, and\nalways hitting the mark. But for that outfit, we should have discovered\na new nightgown or petticoat among Rosanna's things, and have nailed\nher in that way. You're not at a loss to follow me, are you? You have\nexamined the servants yourself, and you know what discoveries two of\nthem made outside Rosanna's door. Surely you know what the girl was\nabout yesterday, after she was taken ill? You can't guess? Oh dear me,\nit's as plain as that strip of light there, at the end of the trees. At\neleven, on Thursday morning, Superintendent Seegrave (who is a mass of\nhuman infirmity) points out to all the women servants the smear on the\ndoor. Rosanna has her own reasons for suspecting her own things;\nshe takes the first opportunity of getting to her room, finds the\npaint-stain on her night-gown, or petticoat, or what not, shams ill and\nslips away to the town, gets the materials for making a new petticoat\nor nightgown, makes it alone in her room on the Thursday night lights a\nfire (not to destroy it; two of her fellow-servants are prying outside\nher door, and she knows better than to make a smell of burning, and to\nhave a lot of tinder to get rid of)--lights a fire, I say, to dry and\niron the substitute dress after wringing it out, keeps the stained dress\nhidden (probably ON her), and is at this moment occupied in making away\nwith it, in some convenient place, on that lonely bit of beach ahead of\nus. I have traced her this evening to your fishing village, and to one\nparticular cottage, which we may possibly have to visit, before we go\nback. She stopped in the cottage for some time, and she came out with\n(as I believe) something hidden under her cloak. A cloak (on a woman's\nback) is an emblem of charity--it covers a multitude of sins. I saw her\nset off northwards along the coast, after leaving the cottage. Is your\nsea-shore here considered a fine specimen of marine landscape, Mr.\nBetteredge?\"\n\nI answered, \"Yes,\" as shortly as might be.\n\n\"Tastes differ,\" says Sergeant Cuff. \"Looking at it from my point of\nview, I never saw a marine landscape that I admired less. If you happen\nto be following another person along your sea-coast, and if that\nperson happens to look round, there isn't a scrap of cover to hide\nyou anywhere. I had to choose between taking Rosanna in custody on\nsuspicion, or leaving her, for the time being, with her little game in\nher own hands. For reasons which I won't trouble you with, I decided on\nmaking any sacrifice rather than give the alarm as soon as to-night to\na certain person who shall be nameless between us. I came back to the\nhouse to ask you to take me to the north end of the beach by another\nway. Sand--in respect of its printing off people's footsteps--is one\nof the best detective officers I know. If we don't meet with Rosanna\nSpearman by coming round on her in this way, the sand may tell us what\nshe has been at, if the light only lasts long enough. Here IS the sand.\nIf you will excuse my suggesting it--suppose you hold your tongue, and\nlet me go first?\"\n\nIf there is such a thing known at the doctor's shop as a\nDETECTIVE-FEVER, that disease had now got fast hold of your humble\nservant. Sergeant Cuff went on between the hillocks of sand, down to\nthe beach. I followed him (with my heart in my mouth); and waited at a\nlittle distance for what was to happen next.\n\nAs it turned out, I found myself standing nearly in the same place\nwhere Rosanna Spearman and I had been talking together when Mr. Franklin\nsuddenly appeared before us, on arriving at our house from London. While\nmy eyes were watching the Sergeant, my mind wandered away in spite of me\nto what had passed, on that former occasion, between Rosanna and me. I\ndeclare I almost felt the poor thing slip her hand again into mine, and\ngive it a little grateful squeeze to thank me for speaking kindly\nto her. I declare I almost heard her voice telling me again that the\nShivering Sand seemed to draw her to it against her own will, whenever\nshe went out--almost saw her face brighten again, as it brightened when\nshe first set eyes upon Mr. Franklin coming briskly out on us from among\nthe hillocks. My spirits fell lower and lower as I thought of these\nthings--and the view of the lonesome little bay, when I looked about to\nrouse myself, only served to make me feel more uneasy still.\n\nThe last of the evening light was fading away; and over all the desolate\nplace there hung a still and awful calm. The heave of the main ocean on\nthe great sandbank out in the bay, was a heave that made no sound. The\ninner sea lay lost and dim, without a breath of wind to stir it. Patches\nof nasty ooze floated, yellow-white, on the dead surface of the water.\nScum and slime shone faintly in certain places, where the last of the\nlight still caught them on the two great spits of rock jutting out,\nnorth and south, into the sea. It was now the time of the turn of the\ntide: and even as I stood there waiting, the broad brown face of the\nquicksand began to dimple and quiver--the only moving thing in all the\nhorrid place.\n\nI saw the Sergeant start as the shiver of the sand caught his eye. After\nlooking at it for a minute or so, he turned and came back to me.\n\n\"A treacherous place, Mr. Betteredge,\" he said; \"and no signs of Rosanna\nSpearman anywhere on the beach, look where you may.\"\n\nHe took me down lower on the shore, and I saw for myself that his\nfootsteps and mine were the only footsteps printed off on the sand.\n\n\"How does the fishing village bear, standing where we are now?\" asked\nSergeant Cuff.\n\n\"Cobb's Hole,\" I answered (that being the name of the place), \"bears as\nnear as may be, due south.\"\n\n\"I saw the girl this evening, walking northward along the shore, from\nCobb's Hole,\" said the Sergeant. \"Consequently, she must have been\nwalking towards this place. Is Cobb's Hole on the other side of that\npoint of land there? And can we get to it--now it's low water--by the\nbeach?\"\n\nI answered, \"Yes,\" to both those questions.\n\n\"If you'll excuse my suggesting it, we'll step out briskly,\" said the\nSergeant. \"I want to find the place where she left the shore, before it\ngets dark.\"\n\nWe had walked, I should say, a couple of hundred yards towards Cobb's\nHole, when Sergeant Cuff suddenly went down on his knees on the beach,\nto all appearance seized with a sudden frenzy for saying his prayers.\n\n\"There's something to be said for your marine landscape here, after\nall,\" remarked the Sergeant. \"Here are a woman's footsteps, Mr.\nBetteredge! Let us call them Rosanna's footsteps, until we find evidence\nto the contrary that we can't resist. Very confused footsteps, you will\nplease to observe--purposely confused, I should say. Ah, poor soul, she\nunderstands the detective virtues of sand as well as I do! But hasn't\nshe been in rather too great a hurry to tread out the marks thoroughly?\nI think she has. Here's one footstep going FROM Cobb's Hole; and here\nis another going back to it. Isn't that the toe of her shoe pointing\nstraight to the water's edge? And don't I see two heel-marks further\ndown the beach, close at the water's edge also? I don't want to hurt\nyour feelings, but I'm afraid Rosanna is sly. It looks as if she had\ndetermined to get to that place you and I have just come from, without\nleaving any marks on the sand to trace her by. Shall we say that she\nwalked through the water from this point till she got to that ledge of\nrocks behind us, and came back the same way, and then took to the beach\nagain where those two heel marks are still left? Yes, we'll say that. It\nseems to fit in with my notion that she had something under her cloak,\nwhen she left the cottage. No! not something to destroy--for, in that\ncase, where would have been the need of all these precautions to prevent\nmy tracing the place at which her walk ended? Something to hide is, I\nthink, the better guess of the two. Perhaps, if we go on to the cottage,\nwe may find out what that something is?\"\n\nAt this proposal, my detective-fever suddenly cooled. \"You don't want\nme,\" I said. \"What good can I do?\"\n\n\"The longer I know you, Mr. Betteredge,\" said the Sergeant, \"the more\nvirtues I discover. Modesty--oh dear me, how rare modesty is in this\nworld! and how much of that rarity you possess! If I go alone to the\ncottage, the people's tongues will be tied at the first question I\nput to them. If I go with you, I go introduced by a justly respected\nneighbour, and a flow of conversation is the necessary result. It\nstrikes me in that light; how does it strike you?\"\n\nNot having an answer of the needful smartness as ready as I could have\nwished, I tried to gain time by asking him what cottage he wanted to go\nto.\n\nOn the Sergeant describing the place, I recognised it as a cottage\ninhabited by a fisherman named Yolland, with his wife and two grown-up\nchildren, a son and a daughter. If you will look back, you will find\nthat, in first presenting Rosanna Spearman to your notice, I have\ndescribed her as occasionally varying her walk to the Shivering Sand, by\na visit to some friends of hers at Cobb's Hole. Those friends were the\nYollands--respectable, worthy people, a credit to the neighbourhood.\nRosanna's acquaintance with them had begun by means of the daughter, who\nwas afflicted with a misshapen foot, and who was known in our parts by\nthe name of Limping Lucy. The two deformed girls had, I suppose, a\nkind of fellow-feeling for each other. Anyway, the Yollands and Rosanna\nalways appeared to get on together, at the few chances they had of\nmeeting, in a pleasant and friendly manner. The fact of Sergeant Cuff\nhaving traced the girl to THEIR cottage, set the matter of my helping\nhis inquiries in quite a new light. Rosanna had merely gone where she\nwas in the habit of going; and to show that she had been in company with\nthe fisherman and his family was as good as to prove that she had been\ninnocently occupied so far, at any rate. It would be doing the girl\na service, therefore, instead of an injury, if I allowed myself to be\nconvinced by Sergeant Cuff's logic. I professed myself convinced by it\naccordingly.\n\nWe went on to Cobb's Hole, seeing the footsteps on the sand, as long as\nthe light lasted.\n\nOn reaching the cottage, the fisherman and his son proved to be out in\nthe boat; and Limping Lucy, always weak and weary, was resting on her\nbed up-stairs. Good Mrs. Yolland received us alone in her kitchen. When\nshe heard that Sergeant Cuff was a celebrated character in London, she\nclapped a bottle of Dutch gin and a couple of clean pipes on the table,\nand stared as if she could never see enough of him.\n\nI sat quiet in a corner, waiting to hear how the Sergeant would find his\nway to the subject of Rosanna Spearman. His usual roundabout manner of\ngoing to work proved, on this occasion, to be more roundabout than ever.\nHow he managed it is more than I could tell at the time, and more than\nI can tell now. But this is certain, he began with the Royal Family, the\nPrimitive Methodists, and the price of fish; and he got from that\n(in his dismal, underground way) to the loss of the Moonstone, the\nspitefulness of our first house-maid, and the hard behaviour of the\nwomen-servants generally towards Rosanna Spearman. Having reached his\nsubject in this fashion, he described himself as making his inquiries\nabout the lost Diamond, partly with a view to find it, and partly\nfor the purpose of clearing Rosanna from the unjust suspicions of her\nenemies in the house. In about a quarter of an hour from the time when\nwe entered the kitchen, good Mrs. Yolland was persuaded that she was\ntalking to Rosanna's best friend, and was pressing Sergeant Cuff to\ncomfort his stomach and revive his spirits out of the Dutch bottle.\n\nBeing firmly persuaded that the Sergeant was wasting his breath to no\npurpose on Mrs. Yolland, I sat enjoying the talk between them, much as\nI have sat, in my time, enjoying a stage play. The great Cuff showed a\nwonderful patience; trying his luck drearily this way and that way, and\nfiring shot after shot, as it were, at random, on the chance of\nhitting the mark. Everything to Rosanna's credit, nothing to Rosanna's\nprejudice--that was how it ended, try as he might; with Mrs. Yolland\ntalking nineteen to the dozen, and placing the most entire confidence\nin him. His last effort was made, when we had looked at our watches, and\nhad got on our legs previous to taking leave.\n\n\"I shall now wish you good-night, ma'am,\" says the Sergeant. \"And\nI shall only say, at parting, that Rosanna Spearman has a sincere\nwell-wisher in myself, your obedient servant. But, oh dear me! she will\nnever get on in her present place; and my advice to her is--leave it.\"\n\n\"Bless your heart alive! she is GOING to leave it!\" cries Mrs. Yolland.\n(NOTA BENE--I translate Mrs. Yolland out of the Yorkshire language into\nthe English language. When I tell you that the all-accomplished Cuff\nwas every now and then puzzled to understand her until I helped him, you\nwill draw your own conclusions as to what your state of mind would be if\nI reported her in her native tongue.)\n\nRosanna Spearman going to leave us! I pricked up my ears at that. It\nseemed strange, to say the least of it, that she should have given no\nwarning, in the first place, to my lady or to me. A certain doubt came\nup in my mind whether Sergeant Cuff's last random shot might not have\nhit the mark. I began to question whether my share in the proceedings\nwas quite as harmless a one as I had thought it. It might be all in the\nway of the Sergeant's business to mystify an honest woman by wrapping\nher round in a network of lies but it was my duty to have remembered,\nas a good Protestant, that the father of lies is the Devil--and that\nmischief and the Devil are never far apart. Beginning to smell mischief\nin the air, I tried to take Sergeant Cuff out. He sat down again\ninstantly, and asked for a little drop of comfort out of the Dutch\nbottle. Mrs Yolland sat down opposite to him, and gave him his nip. I\nwent on to the door, excessively uncomfortable, and said I thought I\nmust bid them good-night--and yet I didn't go.\n\n\"So she means to leave?\" says the Sergeant. \"What is she to do when she\ndoes leave? Sad, sad! The poor creature has got no friends in the world,\nexcept you and me.\"\n\n\"Ah, but she has though!\" says Mrs. Yolland. \"She came in here, as I\ntold you, this evening; and, after sitting and talking a little with my\ngirl Lucy and me she asked to go up-stairs by herself, into Lucy's room.\nIt's the only room in our place where there's pen and ink. 'I want to\nwrite a letter to a friend,' she says 'and I can't do it for the prying\nand peeping of the servants up at the house.' Who the letter was written\nto I can't tell you: it must have been a mortal long one, judging by the\ntime she stopped up-stairs over it. I offered her a postage-stamp when\nshe came down. She hadn't got the letter in her hand, and she didn't\naccept the stamp. A little close, poor soul (as you know), about herself\nand her doings. But a friend she has got somewhere, I can tell you; and\nto that friend you may depend upon it, she will go.\"\n\n\"Soon?\" asked the Sergeant.\n\n\"As soon as she can.\" says Mrs. Yolland.\n\nHere I stepped in again from the door. As chief of my lady's\nestablishment, I couldn't allow this sort of loose talk about a servant\nof ours going, or not going, to proceed any longer in my presence,\nwithout noticing it.\n\n\"You must be mistaken about Rosanna Spearman,\" I said. \"If she had been\ngoing to leave her present situation, she would have mentioned it, in\nthe first place, to _me_.\"\n\n\"Mistaken?\" cries Mrs. Yolland. \"Why, only an hour ago she bought some\nthings she wanted for travelling--of my own self, Mr. Betteredge, in\nthis very room. And that reminds me,\" says the wearisome woman, suddenly\nbeginning to feel in her pocket, \"of something I have got it on my mind\nto say about Rosanna and her money. Are you either of you likely to see\nher when you go back to the house?\"\n\n\"I'll take a message to the poor thing, with the greatest pleasure,\"\nanswered Sergeant Cuff, before I could put in a word edgewise.\n\nMrs. Yolland produced out of her pocket, a few shillings and sixpences,\nand counted them out with a most particular and exasperating carefulness\nin the palm of her hand. She offered the money to the Sergeant, looking\nmighty loth to part with it all the while.\n\n\"Might I ask you to give this back to Rosanna, with my love and\nrespects?\" says Mrs. Yolland. \"She insisted on paying me for the one or\ntwo things she took a fancy to this evening--and money's welcome enough\nin our house, I don't deny it. Still, I'm not easy in my mind about\ntaking the poor thing's little savings. And to tell you the truth,\nI don't think my man would like to hear that I had taken Rosanna\nSpearman's money, when he comes back to-morrow morning from his work.\nPlease say she's heartily welcome to the things she bought of me--as\na gift. And don't leave the money on the table,\" says Mrs. Yolland,\nputting it down suddenly before the Sergeant, as if it burnt her\nfingers--\"don't, there's a good man! For times are hard, and flesh is\nweak; and I MIGHT feel tempted to put it back in my pocket again.\"\n\n\"Come along!\" I said, \"I can't wait any longer: I must go back to the\nhouse.\"\n\n\"I'll follow you directly,\" says Sergeant Cuff.\n\nFor the second time, I went to the door; and, for the second time, try\nas I might, I couldn't cross the threshold.\n\n\"It's a delicate matter, ma'am,\" I heard the Sergeant say, \"giving money\nback. You charged her cheap for the things, I'm sure?\"\n\n\"Cheap!\" says Mrs. Yolland. \"Come and judge for yourself.\"\n\nShe took up the candle and led the Sergeant to a corner of the kitchen.\nFor the life of me, I couldn't help following them. Shaken down in\nthe corner was a heap of odds and ends (mostly old metal), which the\nfisherman had picked up at different times from wrecked ships, and which\nhe hadn't found a market for yet, to his own mind. Mrs. Yolland dived\ninto this rubbish, and brought up an old japanned tin case, with a cover\nto it, and a hasp to hang it up by--the sort of thing they use, on board\nship, for keeping their maps and charts, and such-like, from the wet.\n\n\"There!\" says she. \"When Rosanna came in this evening, she bought\nthe fellow to that. 'It will just do,' she says, 'to put my cuffs\nand collars in, and keep them from being crumpled in my box.' One and\nninepence, Mr. Cuff. As I live by bread, not a halfpenny more!\"\n\n\"Dirt cheap!\" says the Sergeant, with a heavy sigh.\n\nHe weighed the case in his hand. I thought I heard a note or two of \"The\nLast Rose of Summer\" as he looked at it. There was no doubt now! He\nhad made another discovery to the prejudice of Rosanna Spearman, in the\nplace of all others where I thought her character was safest, and all\nthrough me! I leave you to imagine what I felt, and how sincerely I\nrepented having been the medium of introduction between Mrs. Yolland and\nSergeant Cuff.\n\n\"That will do,\" I said. \"We really must go.\"\n\nWithout paying the least attention to me, Mrs. Yolland took another dive\ninto the rubbish, and came up out of it, this time, with a dog-chain.\n\n\"Weigh it in your hand, sir,\" she said to the Sergeant. \"We had three of\nthese; and Rosanna has taken two of them. 'What can you want, my dear,\nwith a couple of dog's chains?' says I. 'If I join them together they'll\ndo round my box nicely,' says she. 'Rope's cheapest,' says I. 'Chain's\nsurest,' says she. 'Who ever heard of a box corded with chain,' says\nI. 'Oh, Mrs. Yolland, don't make objections!' says she; 'let me have\nmy chains!' A strange girl, Mr. Cuff--good as gold, and kinder than a\nsister to my Lucy--but always a little strange. There! I humoured her.\nThree and sixpence. On the word of an honest woman, three and sixpence,\nMr. Cuff!\"\n\n\"Each?\" says the Sergeant.\n\n\"Both together!\" says Mrs. Yolland. \"Three and sixpence for the two.\"\n\n\"Given away, ma'am,\" says the Sergeant, shaking his head. \"Clean given\naway!\"\n\n\"There's the money,\" says Mrs. Yolland, getting back sideways to the\nlittle heap of silver on the table, as if it drew her in spite of\nherself. \"The tin case and the dog chains were all she bought, and all\nshe took away. One and ninepence and three and sixpence--total, five and\nthree. With my love and respects--and I can't find it in my conscience\nto take a poor girl's savings, when she may want them herself.\"\n\n\"I can't find it in MY conscience, ma'am, to give the money back,\"\nsays Sergeant Cuff. \"You have as good as made her a present of the\nthings--you have indeed.\"\n\n\"Is that your sincere opinion, sir?\" says Mrs. Yolland brightening up\nwonderfully.\n\n\"There can't be a doubt about it,\" answered the Sergeant. \"Ask Mr.\nBetteredge.\"\n\nIt was no use asking ME. All they got out of ME was, \"Good-night.\"\n\n\"Bother the money!\" says Mrs. Yolland. With these words, she appeared to\nlose all command over herself; and, making a sudden snatch at the heap\nof silver, put it back, holus-bolus, in her pocket. \"It upsets one's\ntemper, it does, to see it lying there, and nobody taking it,\" cries\nthis unreasonable woman, sitting down with a thump, and looking at\nSergeant Cuff, as much as to say, \"It's in my pocket again now--get it\nout if you can!\"\n\nThis time, I not only went to the door, but went fairly out on the\nroad back. Explain it how you may, I felt as if one or both of them had\nmortally offended me. Before I had taken three steps down the village, I\nheard the Sergeant behind me.\n\n\"Thank you for your introduction, Mr. Betteredge,\" he said. \"I am\nindebted to the fisherman's wife for an entirely new sensation. Mrs.\nYolland has puzzled me.\"\n\nIt was on the tip of my tongue to have given him a sharp answer, for no\nbetter reason than this--that I was out of temper with him, because I\nwas out of temper with myself. But when he owned to being puzzled, a\ncomforting doubt crossed my mind whether any great harm had been done\nafter all. I waited in discreet silence to hear more.\n\n\"Yes,\" says the Sergeant, as if he was actually reading my thoughts in\nthe dark. \"Instead of putting me on the scent, it may console you to\nknow, Mr. Betteredge (with your interest in Rosanna), that you have been\nthe means of throwing me off. What the girl has done, to-night, is clear\nenough, of course. She has joined the two chains, and has fastened them\nto the hasp in the tin case. She has sunk the case, in the water or\nin the quicksand. She has made the loose end of the chain fast to some\nplace under the rocks, known only to herself. And she will leave the\ncase secure at its anchorage till the present proceedings have come\nto an end; after which she can privately pull it up again out of its\nhiding-place, at her own leisure and convenience. All perfectly plain,\nso far. But,\" says the Sergeant, with the first tone of impatience in\nhis voice that I had heard yet, \"the mystery is--what the devil has she\nhidden in the tin case?\"\n\nI thought to myself, \"The Moonstone!\" But I only said to Sergeant Cuff,\n\"Can't you guess?\"\n\n\"It's not the Diamond,\" says the Sergeant. \"The whole experience of my\nlife is at fault, if Rosanna Spearman has got the Diamond.\"\n\nOn hearing those words, the infernal detective-fever began, I suppose,\nto burn in me again. At any rate, I forgot myself in the interest of\nguessing this new riddle. I said rashly, \"The stained dress!\"\n\nSergeant Cuff stopped short in the dark, and laid his hand on my arm.\n\n\"Is anything thrown into that quicksand of yours, ever thrown up on the\nsurface again?\" he asked.\n\n\"Never,\" I answered. \"Light or heavy whatever goes into the Shivering\nSand is sucked down, and seen no more.\"\n\n\"Does Rosanna Spearman know that?\"\n\n\"She knows it as well as I do.\"\n\n\"Then,\" says the Sergeant, \"what on earth has she got to do but to tie\nup a bit of stone in the stained dress and throw it into the quicksand?\nThere isn't the shadow of a reason why she should have hidden it--and\nyet she must have hidden it. Query,\" says the Sergeant, walking on\nagain, \"is the paint-stained dress a petticoat or a night-gown? or is it\nsomething else which there is a reason for preserving at any risk? Mr.\nBetteredge, if nothing occurs to prevent it, I must go to Frizinghall\nto-morrow, and discover what she bought in the town, when she privately\ngot the materials for making the substitute dress. It's a risk to\nleave the house, as things are now--but it's a worse risk still to stir\nanother step in this matter in the dark. Excuse my being a little out of\ntemper; I'm degraded in my own estimation--I have let Rosanna Spearman\npuzzle me.\"\n\nWhen we got back, the servants were at supper. The first person we saw\nin the outer yard was the policeman whom Superintendent Seegrave had\nleft at the Sergeant's disposal. The Sergeant asked if Rosanna Spearman\nhad returned. Yes. When? Nearly an hour since. What had she done? She\nhad gone up-stairs to take off her bonnet and cloak--and she was now at\nsupper quietly with the rest.\n\nWithout making any remark, Sergeant Cuff walked on, sinking lower and\nlower in his own estimation, to the back of the house. Missing the\nentrance in the dark, he went on (in spite of my calling to him) till\nhe was stopped by a wicket-gate which led into the garden. When I joined\nhim to bring him back by the right way, I found that he was looking up\nattentively at one particular window, on the bed-room floor, at the back\nof the house.\n\nLooking up, in my turn, I discovered that the object of his\ncontemplation was the window of Miss Rachel's room, and that lights were\npassing backwards and forwards there as if something unusual was going\non.\n\n\"Isn't that Miss Verinder's room?\" asked Sergeant Cuff.\n\nI replied that it was, and invited him to go in with me to supper. The\nSergeant remained in his place, and said something about enjoying the\nsmell of the garden at night. I left him to his enjoyment. Just as I\nwas turning in at the door, I heard \"The Last Rose of Summer\" at the\nwicket-gate. Sergeant Cuff had made another discovery! And my young\nlady's window was at the bottom of it this time!\n\nThe latter reflection took me back again to the Sergeant, with a polite\nintimation that I could not find it in my heart to leave him by himself.\n\"Is there anything you don't understand up there?\" I added, pointing to\nMiss Rachel's window.\n\nJudging by his voice, Sergeant Cuff had suddenly risen again to the\nright place in his own estimation. \"You are great people for betting in\nYorkshire, are you not?\" he asked.\n\n\"Well?\" I said. \"Suppose we are?\"\n\n\"If I was a Yorkshireman,\" proceeded the Sergeant, taking my arm, \"I\nwould lay you an even sovereign, Mr. Betteredge, that your young lady\nhas suddenly resolved to leave the house. If I won on that event, I\nshould offer to lay another sovereign, that the idea has occurred to her\nwithin the last hour.\" The first of the Sergeant's guesses startled me.\nThe second mixed itself up somehow in my head with the report we had\nheard from the policeman, that Rosanna Spearman had returned from the\nsands with in the last hour. The two together had a curious effect on\nme as we went in to supper. I shook off Sergeant Cuff's arm, and,\nforgetting my manners, pushed by him through the door to make my own\ninquiries for myself.\n\nSamuel, the footman, was the first person I met in the passage.\n\n\"Her ladyship is waiting to see you and Sergeant Cuff,\" he said, before\nI could put any questions to him.\n\n\"How long has she been waiting?\" asked the Sergeant's voice behind me.\n\n\"For the last hour, sir.\"\n\nThere it was again! Rosanna had come back; Miss Rachel had taken some\nresolution out of the common; and my lady had been waiting to see the\nSergeant--all within the last hour! It was not pleasant to find these\nvery different persons and things linking themselves together in this\nway. I went on upstairs, without looking at Sergeant Cuff, or speaking\nto him. My hand took a sudden fit of trembling as I lifted it to knock\nat my mistress's door.\n\n\"I shouldn't be surprised,\" whispered the Sergeant over my shoulder,\n\"if a scandal was to burst up in the house to-night. Don't be alarmed! I\nhave put the muzzle on worse family difficulties than this, in my time.\"\n\nAs he said the words I heard my mistress's voice calling to us to come\nin.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\n\nWe found my lady with no light in the room but the reading-lamp. The\nshade was screwed down so as to overshadow her face. Instead of looking\nup at us in her usual straightforward way, she sat close at the table,\nand kept her eyes fixed obstinately on an open book.\n\n\"Officer,\" she said, \"is it important to the inquiry you are conducting,\nto know beforehand if any person now in this house wishes to leave it?\"\n\n\"Most important, my lady.\"\n\n\"I have to tell you, then, that Miss Verinder proposes going to stay\nwith her aunt, Mrs. Ablewhite, of Frizinghall. She has arranged to leave\nus the first thing to-morrow morning.\"\n\nSergeant Cuff looked at me. I made a step forward to speak to my\nmistress--and, feeling my heart fail me (if I must own it), took a step\nback again, and said nothing.\n\n\"May I ask your ladyship WHEN Miss Verinder informed you that she was\ngoing to her aunt's?\" inquired the Sergeant.\n\n\"About an hour since,\" answered my mistress.\n\nSergeant Cuff looked at me once more. They say old people's hearts are\nnot very easily moved. My heart couldn't have thumped much harder than\nit did now, if I had been five-and-twenty again!\n\n\"I have no claim, my lady,\" says the Sergeant, \"to control Miss\nVerinder's actions. All I can ask you to do is to put off her departure,\nif possible, till later in the day. I must go to Frizinghall myself\nto-morrow morning--and I shall be back by two o'clock, if not before. If\nMiss Verinder can be kept here till that time, I should wish to say two\nwords to her--unexpectedly--before she goes.\"\n\nMy lady directed me to give the coachman her orders, that the carriage\nwas not to come for Miss Rachel until two o'clock. \"Have you more to\nsay?\" she asked of the Sergeant, when this had been done.\n\n\"Only one thing, your ladyship. If Miss Verinder is surprised at this\nchange in the arrangements, please not to mention Me as being the cause\nof putting off her journey.\"\n\nMy mistress lifted her head suddenly from her book as if she was going\nto say something--checked herself by a great effort--and, looking back\nagain at the open page, dismissed us with a sign of her hand.\n\n\"That's a wonderful woman,\" said Sergeant Cuff, when we were out in the\nhall again. \"But for her self-control, the mystery that puzzles you, Mr.\nBetteredge, would have been at an end to-night.\"\n\nAt those words, the truth rushed at last into my stupid old head. For\nthe moment, I suppose I must have gone clean out of my senses. I seized\nthe Sergeant by the collar of his coat, and pinned him against the wall.\n\n\"Damn you!\" I cried out, \"there's something wrong about Miss Rachel--and\nyou have been hiding it from me all this time!\"\n\nSergeant Cuff looked up at me--flat against the wall--without stirring a\nhand, or moving a muscle of his melancholy face.\n\n\"Ah,\" he said, \"you've guessed it at last.\"\n\nMy hand dropped from his collar, and my head sunk on my breast. Please\nto remember, as some excuse for my breaking out as I did, that I had\nserved the family for fifty years. Miss Rachel had climbed upon my\nknees, and pulled my whiskers, many and many a time when she was a\nchild. Miss Rachel, with all her faults, had been, to my mind, the\ndearest and prettiest and best young mistress that ever an old servant\nwaited on, and loved. I begged Sergeant's Cuff's pardon, but I am afraid\nI did it with watery eyes, and not in a very becoming way.\n\n\"Don't distress yourself, Mr. Betteredge,\" says the Sergeant, with more\nkindness than I had any right to expect from him. \"In my line of life\nif we were quick at taking offence, we shouldn't be worth salt to our\nporridge. If it's any comfort to you, collar me again. You don't in\nthe least know how to do it; but I'll overlook your awkwardness in\nconsideration of your feelings.\"\n\nHe curled up at the corners of his lips, and, in his own dreary way,\nseemed to think he had delivered himself of a very good joke.\n\nI led him into my own little sitting-room, and closed the door.\n\n\"Tell me the truth, Sergeant,\" I said. \"What do you suspect? It's no\nkindness to hide it from me now.\"\n\n\"I don't suspect,\" said Sergeant Cuff. \"I know.\"\n\nMy unlucky temper began to get the better of me again.\n\n\"Do you mean to tell me, in plain English,\" I said, \"that Miss Rachel\nhas stolen her own Diamond?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" says the Sergeant; \"that is what I mean to tell you, in so many\nwords. Miss Verinder has been in secret possession of the Moonstone from\nfirst to last; and she has taken Rosanna Spearman into her confidence,\nbecause she has calculated on our suspecting Rosanna Spearman of the\ntheft. There is the whole case in a nutshell. Collar me again, Mr.\nBetteredge. If it's any vent to your feelings, collar me again.\"\n\nGod help me! my feelings were not to be relieved in that way. \"Give me\nyour reasons!\" That was all I could say to him.\n\n\"You shall hear my reasons to-morrow,\" said the Sergeant. \"If Miss\nVerinder refuses to put off her visit to her aunt (which you will find\nMiss Verinder will do), I shall be obliged to lay the whole case before\nyour mistress to-morrow. And, as I don't know what may come of it, I\nshall request you to be present, and to hear what passes on both sides.\nLet the matter rest for to-night. No, Mr. Betteredge, you don't get a\nword more on the subject of the Moonstone out of me. There is your table\nspread for supper. That's one of the many human infirmities which I\nalways treat tenderly. If you will ring the bell, I'll say grace. 'For\nwhat we are going to receive----'\"\n\n\"I wish you a good appetite to it, Sergeant,\" I said. \"My appetite is\ngone. I'll wait and see you served, and then I'll ask you to excuse me,\nif I go away, and try to get the better of this by myself.\"\n\nI saw him served with the best of everything--and I shouldn't have been\nsorry if the best of everything had choked him. The head gardener (Mr.\nBegbie) came in at the same time, with his weekly account. The Sergeant\ngot on the subject of roses and the merits of grass walks and gravel\nwalks immediately. I left the two together, and went out with a heavy\nheart. This was the first trouble I remember for many a long year which\nwasn't to be blown off by a whiff of tobacco, and which was even beyond\nthe reach of ROBINSON CRUSOE.\n\nBeing restless and miserable, and having no particular room to go to, I\ntook a turn on the terrace, and thought it over in peace and quietness\nby myself. It doesn't much matter what my thoughts were. I felt\nwretchedly old, and worn out, and unfit for my place--and began to\nwonder, for the first time in my life, when it would please God to take\nme. With all this, I held firm, notwithstanding, to my belief in Miss\nRachel. If Sergeant Cuff had been Solomon in all his glory, and had told\nme that my young lady had mixed herself up in a mean and guilty plot, I\nshould have had but one answer for Solomon, wise as he was, \"You don't\nknow her; and I do.\"\n\nMy meditations were interrupted by Samuel. He brought me a written\nmessage from my mistress.\n\nGoing into the house to get a light to read it by, Samuel remarked\nthat there seemed a change coming in the weather. My troubled mind had\nprevented me from noticing it before. But, now my attention was roused,\nI heard the dogs uneasy, and the wind moaning low. Looking up at the\nsky, I saw the rack of clouds getting blacker and blacker, and hurrying\nfaster and faster over a watery moon. Wild weather coming--Samuel was\nright, wild weather coming.\n\nThe message from my lady informed me, that the magistrate at Frizinghall\nhad written to remind her about the three Indians. Early in the coming\nweek, the rogues must needs be released, and left free to follow their\nown devices. If we had any more questions to ask them, there was no\ntime to lose. Having forgotten to mention this, when she had last seen\nSergeant Cuff, my mistress now desired me to supply the omission. The\nIndians had gone clean out of my head (as they have, no doubt, gone\nclean out of yours). I didn't see much use in stirring that subject\nagain. However, I obeyed my orders on the spot, as a matter of course.\n\nI found Sergeant Cuff and the gardener, with a bottle of Scotch whisky\nbetween them, head over ears in an argument on the growing of roses. The\nSergeant was so deeply interested that he held up his hand, and signed\nto me not to interrupt the discussion, when I came in. As far as I could\nunderstand it, the question between them was, whether the white moss\nrose did, or did not, require to be budded on the dog-rose to make\nit grow well. Mr. Begbie said, Yes; and Sergeant Cuff said, No. They\nappealed to me, as hotly as a couple of boys. Knowing nothing whatever\nabout the growing of roses, I steered a middle course--just as her\nMajesty's judges do, when the scales of justice bother them by hanging\neven to a hair. \"Gentlemen,\" I remarked, \"there is much to be said on\nboth sides.\" In the temporary lull produced by that impartial sentence,\nI laid my lady's written message on the table, under the eyes of\nSergeant Cuff.\n\nI had got by this time, as nearly as might be, to hate the Sergeant. But\ntruth compels me to acknowledge that, in respect of readiness of mind,\nhe was a wonderful man.\n\nIn half a minute after he had read the message, he had looked back into\nhis memory for Superintendent Seegrave's report; had picked out that\npart of it in which the Indians were concerned; and was ready with his\nanswer. A certain great traveller, who understood the Indians and their\nlanguage, had figured in Mr. Seegrave's report, hadn't he? Very well.\nDid I know the gentleman's name and address? Very well again. Would\nI write them on the back of my lady's message? Much obliged to me.\nSergeant Cuff would look that gentleman up, when he went to Frizinghall\nin the morning.\n\n\"Do you expect anything to come of it?\" I asked. \"Superintendent\nSeegrave found the Indians as innocent as the babe unborn.\"\n\n\"Superintendent Seegrave has been proved wrong, up to this time, in all\nhis conclusions,\" answered the Sergeant. \"It may be worth while to\nfind out to-morrow whether Superintendent Seegrave was wrong about the\nIndians as well.\" With that he turned to Mr. Begbie, and took up\nthe argument again exactly at the place where it had left off. \"This\nquestion between us is a question of soils and seasons, and patience\nand pains, Mr. Gardener. Now let me put it to you from another point of\nview. You take your white moss rose----\"\n\nBy that time, I had closed the door on them, and was out of hearing of\nthe rest of the dispute.\n\nIn the passage, I met Penelope hanging about, and asked what she was\nwaiting for.\n\nShe was waiting for her young lady's bell, when her young lady chose\nto call her back to go on with the packing for the next day's journey.\nFurther inquiry revealed to me, that Miss Rachel had given it as a\nreason for wanting to go to her aunt at Frizinghall, that the house was\nunendurable to her, and that she could bear the odious presence of a\npoliceman under the same roof with herself no longer. On being informed,\nhalf an hour since, that her departure would be delayed till two in the\nafternoon, she had flown into a violent passion. My lady, present at the\ntime, had severely rebuked her, and then (having apparently something\nto say, which was reserved for her daughter's private ear) had sent\nPenelope out of the room. My girl was in wretchedly low spirits about\nthe changed state of things in the house. \"Nothing goes right,\nfather; nothing is like what it used to be. I feel as if some dreadful\nmisfortune was hanging over us all.\"\n\nThat was my feeling too. But I put a good face on it, before my\ndaughter. Miss Rachel's bell rang while we were talking. Penelope ran\nup the back stairs to go on with the packing. I went by the other way to\nthe hall, to see what the glass said about the change in the weather.\n\nJust as I approached the swing-door leading into the hall from the\nservants' offices, it was violently opened from the other side, and\nRosanna Spearman ran by me, with a miserable look of pain in her face,\nand one of her hands pressed hard over her heart, as if the pang was in\nthat quarter. \"What's the matter, my girl?\" I asked, stopping her. \"Are\nyou ill?\" \"For God's sake, don't speak to me,\" she answered, and twisted\nherself out of my hands, and ran on towards the servants' staircase. I\ncalled to the cook (who was within hearing) to look after the poor girl.\nTwo other persons proved to be within hearing, as well as the cook.\nSergeant Cuff darted softly out of my room, and asked what was the\nmatter. I answered, \"Nothing.\" Mr. Franklin, on the other side, pulled\nopen the swing-door, and beckoning me into the hall, inquired if I had\nseen anything of Rosanna Spearman.\n\n\"She has just passed me, sir, with a very disturbed face, and in a very\nodd manner.\"\n\n\"I am afraid I am innocently the cause of that disturbance, Betteredge.\"\n\n\"You, sir!\"\n\n\"I can't explain it,\" says Mr. Franklin; \"but, if the girl IS concerned\nin the loss of the Diamond, I do really believe she was on the point of\nconfessing everything--to me, of all the people in the world--not two\nminutes since.\"\n\nLooking towards the swing-door, as he said those last words, I fancied I\nsaw it opened a little way from the inner side.\n\nWas there anybody listening? The door fell to, before I could get to it.\nLooking through, the moment after, I thought I saw the tails of Sergeant\nCuff's respectable black coat disappearing round the corner of the\npassage. He knew, as well as I did, that he could expect no more help\nfrom me, now that I had discovered the turn which his investigations\nwere really taking. Under those circumstances, it was quite in his\ncharacter to help himself, and to do it by the underground way.\n\nNot feeling sure that I had really seen the Sergeant--and not desiring\nto make needless mischief, where, Heaven knows, there was mischief\nenough going on already--I told Mr. Franklin that I thought one of the\ndogs had got into the house--and then begged him to describe what had\nhappened between Rosanna and himself.\n\n\"Were you passing through the hall, sir?\" I asked. \"Did you meet her\naccidentally, when she spoke to you?\"\n\nMr. Franklin pointed to the billiard-table.\n\n\"I was knocking the balls about,\" he said, \"and trying to get this\nmiserable business of the Diamond out of my mind. I happened to look\nup--and there stood Rosanna Spearman at the side of me, like a ghost!\nHer stealing on me in that way was so strange, that I hardly knew what\nto do at first. Seeing a very anxious expression in her face, I asked\nher if she wished to speak to me. She answered, 'Yes, if I dare.'\nKnowing what suspicion attached to her, I could only put one\nconstruction on such language as that. I confess it made me\nuncomfortable. I had no wish to invite the girl's confidence. At the\nsame time, in the difficulties that now beset us, I could hardly feel\njustified in refusing to listen to her, if she was really bent on\nspeaking to me. It was an awkward position; and I dare say I got out of\nit awkwardly enough. I said to her, 'I don't quite understand you. Is\nthere anything you want me to do?' Mind, Betteredge, I didn't speak\nunkindly! The poor girl can't help being ugly--I felt that, at the time.\nThe cue was still in my hand, and I went on knocking the balls about,\nto take off the awkwardness of the thing. As it turned out, I only made\nmatters worse still. I'm afraid I mortified her without meaning it! She\nsuddenly turned away. 'He looks at the billiard balls,' I heard her say.\n'Anything rather than look at _me_!' Before I could stop her, she had\nleft the hall. I am not quite easy about it, Betteredge. Would you mind\ntelling Rosanna that I meant no unkindness? I have been a little hard on\nher, perhaps, in my own thoughts--I have almost hoped that the loss of\nthe Diamond might be traced to _her_. Not from any ill-will to the poor\ngirl: but----\" He stopped there, and going back to the billiard-table,\nbegan to knock the balls about once more.\n\nAfter what had passed between the Sergeant and me, I knew what it was\nthat he had left unspoken as well as he knew it himself.\n\nNothing but the tracing of the Moonstone to our second housemaid could\nnow raise Miss Rachel above the infamous suspicion that rested on her\nin the mind of Sergeant Cuff. It was no longer a question of quieting\nmy young lady's nervous excitement; it was a question of proving her\ninnocence. If Rosanna had done nothing to compromise herself, the hope\nwhich Mr. Franklin confessed to having felt would have been hard enough\non her in all conscience. But this was not the case. She had pretended\nto be ill, and had gone secretly to Frizinghall. She had been up all\nnight, making something or destroying something, in private. And she had\nbeen at the Shivering Sand, that evening, under circumstances which\nwere highly suspicious, to say the least of them. For all these reasons\n(sorry as I was for Rosanna) I could not but think that Mr. Franklin's\nway of looking at the matter was neither unnatural nor unreasonable, in\nMr. Franklin's position. I said a word to him to that effect.\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" he said in return. \"But there is just a chance--a very poor\none, certainly--that Rosanna's conduct may admit of some explanation\nwhich we don't see at present. I hate hurting a woman's feelings,\nBetteredge! Tell the poor creature what I told you to tell her. And if\nshe wants to speak to me--I don't care whether I get into a scrape or\nnot--send her to me in the library.\" With those kind words he laid down\nthe cue and left me.\n\nInquiry at the servants' offices informed me that Rosanna had retired to\nher own room. She had declined all offers of assistance with thanks, and\nhad only asked to be left to rest in quiet. Here, therefore, was an end\nof any confession on her part (supposing she really had a confession\nto make) for that night. I reported the result to Mr. Franklin, who,\nthereupon, left the library, and went up to bed.\n\nI was putting the lights out, and making the windows fast, when Samuel\ncame in with news of the two guests whom I had left in my room.\n\nThe argument about the white moss rose had apparently come to an end at\nlast. The gardener had gone home, and Sergeant Cuff was nowhere to be\nfound in the lower regions of the house.\n\nI looked into my room. Quite true--nothing was to be discovered there\nbut a couple of empty tumblers and a strong smell of hot grog. Had the\nSergeant gone of his own accord to the bed-chamber that was prepared for\nhim? I went up-stairs to see.\n\nAfter reaching the second landing, I thought I heard a sound of quiet\nand regular breathing on my left-hand side. My left-hand side led to the\ncorridor which communicated with Miss Rachel's room. I looked in, and\nthere, coiled up on three chairs placed right across the passage--there,\nwith a red handkerchief tied round his grizzled head, and his\nrespectable black coat rolled up for a pillow, lay and slept Sergeant\nCuff!\n\nHe woke, instantly and quietly, like a dog, the moment I approached him.\n\n\"Good night, Mr. Betteredge,\" he said. \"And mind, if you ever take\nto growing roses, the white moss rose is all the better for not being\nbudded on the dog-rose, whatever the gardener may say to the contrary!\"\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" I asked. \"Why are you not in your proper\nbed?\"\n\n\"I am not in my proper bed,\" answered the Sergeant, \"because I am one\nof the many people in this miserable world who can't earn their money\nhonestly and easily at the same time. There was a coincidence, this\nevening, between the period of Rosanna Spearman's return from the Sands\nand the period when Miss Verinder stated her resolution to leave the\nhouse. Whatever Rosanna may have hidden, it's clear to my mind that your\nyoung lady couldn't go away until she knew that it WAS hidden. The two\nmust have communicated privately once already to-night. If they try to\ncommunicate again, when the house is quiet, I want to be in the way, and\nstop it. Don't blame me for upsetting your sleeping arrangements, Mr.\nBetteredge--blame the Diamond.\"\n\n\"I wish to God the Diamond had never found its way into this house!\" I\nbroke out.\n\nSergeant Cuff looked with a rueful face at the three chairs on which he\nhad condemned himself to pass the night.\n\n\"So do I,\" he said, gravely.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\n\nNothing happened in the night; and (I am happy to add) no attempt at\ncommunication between Miss Rachel and Rosanna rewarded the vigilance of\nSergeant Cuff.\n\nI had expected the Sergeant to set off for Frizinghall the first thing\nin the morning. He waited about, however, as if he had something else\nto do first. I left him to his own devices; and going into the grounds\nshortly after, met Mr. Franklin on his favourite walk by the shrubbery\nside.\n\nBefore we had exchanged two words, the Sergeant unexpectedly joined\nus. He made up to Mr. Franklin, who received him, I must own, haughtily\nenough. \"Have you anything to say to me?\" was all the return he got for\npolitely wishing Mr. Franklin good morning.\n\n\"I have something to say to you, sir,\" answered the Sergeant, \"on the\nsubject of the inquiry I am conducting here. You detected the turn\nthat inquiry was really taking, yesterday. Naturally enough, in your\nposition, you are shocked and distressed. Naturally enough, also, you\nvisit your own angry sense of your own family scandal upon Me.\"\n\n\"What do you want?\" Mr. Franklin broke in, sharply enough.\n\n\"I want to remind you, sir, that I have at any rate, thus far, not been\nPROVED to be wrong. Bearing that in mind, be pleased to remember, at\nthe same time, that I am an officer of the law acting here under the\nsanction of the mistress of the house. Under these circumstances, is it,\nor is it not, your duty as a good citizen, to assist me with any special\ninformation which you may happen to possess?\"\n\n\"I possess no special information,\" says Mr. Franklin.\n\nSergeant Cuff put that answer by him, as if no answer had been made.\n\n\"You may save my time, sir, from being wasted on an inquiry at a\ndistance,\" he went on, \"if you choose to understand me and speak out.\"\n\n\"I don't understand you,\" answered Mr. Franklin; \"and I have nothing to\nsay.\"\n\n\"One of the female servants (I won't mention names) spoke to you\nprivately, sir, last night.\"\n\nOnce more Mr. Franklin cut him short; once more Mr. Franklin answered,\n\"I have nothing to say.\"\n\nStanding by in silence, I thought of the movement in the swing-door\non the previous evening, and of the coat-tails which I had seen\ndisappearing down the passage. Sergeant Cuff had, no doubt, just heard\nenough, before I interrupted him, to make him suspect that Rosanna had\nrelieved her mind by confessing something to Mr. Franklin Blake.\n\nThis notion had barely struck me--when who should appear at the end of\nthe shrubbery walk but Rosanna Spearman in her own proper person! She\nwas followed by Penelope, who was evidently trying to make her retrace\nher steps to the house. Seeing that Mr. Franklin was not alone, Rosanna\ncame to a standstill, evidently in great perplexity what to do next.\nPenelope waited behind her. Mr. Franklin saw the girls as soon as I\nsaw them. The Sergeant, with his devilish cunning, took on not to have\nnoticed them at all. All this happened in an instant. Before either Mr.\nFranklin or I could say a word, Sergeant Cuff struck in smoothly, with\nan appearance of continuing the previous conversation.\n\n\"You needn't be afraid of harming the girl, sir,\" he said to Mr.\nFranklin, speaking in a loud voice, so that Rosanna might hear him. \"On\nthe contrary, I recommend you to honour me with your confidence, if you\nfeel any interest in Rosanna Spearman.\"\n\nMr. Franklin instantly took on not to have noticed the girls either. He\nanswered, speaking loudly on his side:\n\n\"I take no interest whatever in Rosanna Spearman.\"\n\nI looked towards the end of the walk. All I saw at the distance was\nthat Rosanna suddenly turned round, the moment Mr. Franklin had spoken.\nInstead of resisting Penelope, as she had done the moment before, she\nnow let my daughter take her by the arm and lead her back to the house.\n\nThe breakfast-bell rang as the two girls disappeared--and even Sergeant\nCuff was now obliged to give it up as a bad job! He said to me quietly,\n\"I shall go to Frizinghall, Mr. Betteredge; and I shall be back before\ntwo.\" He went his way without a word more--and for some few hours we\nwere well rid of him.\n\n\"You must make it right with Rosanna,\" Mr. Franklin said to me, when we\nwere alone. \"I seem to be fated to say or do something awkward, before\nthat unlucky girl. You must have seen yourself that Sergeant Cuff laid\na trap for both of us. If he could confuse ME, or irritate HER into\nbreaking out, either she or I might have said something which would\nanswer his purpose. On the spur of the moment, I saw no better way out\nof it than the way I took. It stopped the girl from saying anything,\nand it showed the Sergeant that I saw through him. He was evidently\nlistening, Betteredge, when I was speaking to you last night.\"\n\nHe had done worse than listen, as I privately thought to myself. He had\nremembered my telling him that the girl was in love with Mr. Franklin;\nand he had calculated on THAT, when he appealed to Mr. Franklin's\ninterest in Rosanna--in Rosanna's hearing.\n\n\"As to listening, sir,\" I remarked (keeping the other point to myself),\n\"we shall all be rowing in the same boat if this sort of thing goes\non much longer. Prying, and peeping, and listening are the natural\noccupations of people situated as we are. In another day or two, Mr.\nFranklin, we shall all be struck dumb together--for this reason, that\nwe shall all be listening to surprise each other's secrets, and all know\nit. Excuse my breaking out, sir. The horrid mystery hanging over us in\nthis house gets into my head like liquor, and makes me wild. I won't\nforget what you have told me. I'll take the first opportunity of making\nit right with Rosanna Spearman.\"\n\n\"You haven't said anything to her yet about last night, have you?\" Mr.\nFranklin asked.\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Then say nothing now. I had better not invite the girl's confidence,\nwith the Sergeant on the look-out to surprise us together. My conduct\nis not very consistent, Betteredge--is it? I see no way out of this\nbusiness, which isn't dreadful to think of, unless the Diamond is traced\nto Rosanna. And yet I can't, and won't, help Sergeant Cuff to find the\ngirl out.\"\n\nUnreasonable enough, no doubt. But it was my state of mind as well. I\nthoroughly understood him. If you will, for once in your life, remember\nthat you are mortal, perhaps you will thoroughly understand him too.\n\nThe state of things, indoors and out, while Sergeant Cuff was on his way\nto Frizinghall, was briefly this:\n\nMiss Rachel waited for the time when the carriage was to take her to\nher aunt's, still obstinately shut up in her own room. My lady and Mr.\nFranklin breakfasted together. After breakfast, Mr. Franklin took one of\nhis sudden resolutions, and went out precipitately to quiet his mind\nby a long walk. I was the only person who saw him go; and he told me he\nshould be back before the Sergeant returned. The change in the weather,\nforeshadowed overnight, had come. Heavy rain had been followed soon\nafter dawn, by high wind. It was blowing fresh, as the day got on. But\nthough the clouds threatened more than once, the rain still held off.\nIt was not a bad day for a walk, if you were young and strong, and could\nbreast the great gusts of wind which came sweeping in from the sea.\n\nI attended my lady after breakfast, and assisted her in the settlement\nof our household accounts. She only once alluded to the matter of the\nMoonstone, and that was in the way of forbidding any present mention of\nit between us. \"Wait till that man comes back,\" she said, meaning the\nSergeant. \"We MUST speak of it then: we are not obliged to speak of it\nnow.\"\n\nAfter leaving my mistress, I found Penelope waiting for me in my room.\n\n\"I wish, father, you would come and speak to Rosanna,\" she said. \"I am\nvery uneasy about her.\"\n\nI suspected what was the matter readily enough. But it is a maxim of\nmine that men (being superior creatures) are bound to improve women--if\nthey can. When a woman wants me to do anything (my daughter, or not, it\ndoesn't matter), I always insist on knowing why. The oftener you make\nthem rummage their own minds for a reason, the more manageable you\nwill find them in all the relations of life. It isn't their fault (poor\nwretches!) that they act first and think afterwards; it's the fault of\nthe fools who humour them.\n\nPenelope's reason why, on this occasion, may be given in her own words.\n\"I am afraid, father,\" she said, \"Mr. Franklin has hurt Rosanna cruelly,\nwithout intending it.\"\n\n\"What took Rosanna into the shrubbery walk?\" I asked.\n\n\"Her own madness,\" says Penelope; \"I can call it nothing else. She was\nbent on speaking to Mr. Franklin, this morning, come what might of it. I\ndid my best to stop her; you saw that. If I could only have got her away\nbefore she heard those dreadful words----\"\n\n\"There! there!\" I said, \"don't lose your head. I can't call to mind that\nanything happened to alarm Rosanna.\"\n\n\"Nothing to alarm her, father. But Mr. Franklin said he took no interest\nwhatever in her--and, oh, he said it in such a cruel voice!\"\n\n\"He said it to stop the Sergeant's mouth,\" I answered.\n\n\"I told her that,\" says Penelope. \"But you see, father (though Mr.\nFranklin isn't to blame), he's been mortifying and disappointing her for\nweeks and weeks past; and now this comes on the top of it all! She has\nno right, of course, to expect him to take any interest in her. It's\nquite monstrous that she should forget herself and her station in\nthat way. But she seems to have lost pride, and proper feeling, and\neverything. She frightened me, father, when Mr. Franklin said those\nwords. They seemed to turn her into stone. A sudden quiet came over her,\nand she has gone about her work, ever since, like a woman in a dream.\"\n\nI began to feel a little uneasy. There was something in the way Penelope\nput it which silenced my superior sense. I called to mind, now my\nthoughts were directed that way, what had passed between Mr. Franklin\nand Rosanna overnight. She looked cut to the heart on that occasion; and\nnow, as ill-luck would have it, she had been unavoidably stung again,\npoor soul, on the tender place. Sad! sad!--all the more sad because the\ngirl had no reason to justify her, and no right to feel it.\n\nI had promised Mr. Franklin to speak to Rosanna, and this seemed the\nfittest time for keeping my word.\n\nWe found the girl sweeping the corridor outside the bedrooms, pale\nand composed, and neat as ever in her modest print dress. I noticed a\ncurious dimness and dullness in her eyes--not as if she had been crying\nbut as if she had been looking at something too long. Possibly, it was\na misty something raised by her own thoughts. There was certainly no\nobject about her to look at which she had not seen already hundreds on\nhundreds of times.\n\n\"Cheer up, Rosanna!\" I said. \"You mustn't fret over your own fancies. I\nhave got something to say to you from Mr. Franklin.\"\n\nI thereupon put the matter in the right view before her, in the\nfriendliest and most comforting words I could find. My principles, in\nregard to the other sex, are, as you may have noticed, very severe. But\nsomehow or other, when I come face to face with the women, my practice\n(I own) is not conformable.\n\n\"Mr. Franklin is very kind and considerate. Please to thank him.\" That\nwas all the answer she made me.\n\nMy daughter had already noticed that Rosanna went about her work like\na woman in a dream. I now added to this observation, that she also\nlistened and spoke like a woman in a dream. I doubted if her mind was in\na fit condition to take in what I had said to her.\n\n\"Are you quite sure, Rosanna, that you understand me?\" I asked.\n\n\"Quite sure.\"\n\nShe echoed me, not like a living woman, but like a creature moved by\nmachinery. She went on sweeping all the time. I took away the broom as\ngently and as kindly as I could.\n\n\"Come, come, my girl!\" I said, \"this is not like yourself. You have got\nsomething on your mind. I'm your friend--and I'll stand your friend,\neven if you have done wrong. Make a clean breast of it, Rosanna--make a\nclean breast of it!\"\n\nThe time had been, when my speaking to her in that way would have\nbrought the tears into her eyes. I could see no change in them now.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"I'll make a clean breast of it.\"\n\n\"To my lady?\" I asked.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"To Mr. Franklin?\"\n\n\"Yes; to Mr. Franklin.\"\n\nI hardly knew what to say to that. She was in no condition to understand\nthe caution against speaking to him in private, which Mr. Franklin had\ndirected me to give her. Feeling my way, little by little, I only told\nher Mr. Franklin had gone out for a walk.\n\n\"It doesn't matter,\" she answered. \"I shan't trouble Mr. Franklin,\nto-day.\"\n\n\"Why not speak to my lady?\" I said. \"The way to relieve your mind is to\nspeak to the merciful and Christian mistress who has always been kind to\nyou.\"\n\nShe looked at me for a moment with a grave and steady attention, as if\nshe was fixing what I said in her mind. Then she took the broom out of\nmy hands and moved off with it slowly, a little way down the corridor.\n\n\"No,\" she said, going on with her sweeping, and speaking to herself; \"I\nknow a better way of relieving my mind than that.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Please to let me go on with my work.\"\n\nPenelope followed her, and offered to help her.\n\nShe answered, \"No. I want to do my work. Thank you, Penelope.\" She\nlooked round at me. \"Thank you, Mr. Betteredge.\"\n\nThere was no moving her--there was nothing more to be said. I signed\nto Penelope to come away with me. We left her, as we had found her,\nsweeping the corridor, like a woman in a dream.\n\n\"This is a matter for the doctor to look into,\" I said. \"It's beyond\nme.\"\n\nMy daughter reminded me of Mr. Candy's illness, owing (as you may\nremember) to the chill he had caught on the night of the dinner-party.\nHis assistant--a certain Mr. Ezra Jennings--was at our disposal, to be\nsure. But nobody knew much about him in our parts. He had been engaged\nby Mr. Candy under rather peculiar circumstances; and, right or wrong,\nwe none of us liked him or trusted him. There were other doctors at\nFrizinghall. But they were strangers to our house; and Penelope doubted,\nin Rosanna's present state, whether strangers might not do her more harm\nthan good.\n\nI thought of speaking to my lady. But, remembering the heavy weight of\nanxiety which she already had on her mind, I hesitated to add to all the\nother vexations this new trouble. Still, there was a necessity for doing\nsomething. The girl's state was, to my thinking, downright alarming--and\nmy mistress ought to be informed of it. Unwilling enough, I went to her\nsitting-room. No one was there. My lady was shut up with Miss Rachel. It\nwas impossible for me to see her till she came out again.\n\nI waited in vain till the clock on the front staircase struck the\nquarter to two. Five minutes afterwards, I heard my name called, from\nthe drive outside the house. I knew the voice directly. Sergeant Cuff\nhad returned from Frizinghall.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\n\nGoing down to the front door, I met the Sergeant on the steps.\n\nIt went against the grain with me, after what had passed between us, to\nshow him that I felt any sort of interest in his proceedings. In spite\nof myself, however, I felt an interest that there was no resisting. My\nsense of dignity sank from under me, and out came the words: \"What news\nfrom Frizinghall?\"\n\n\"I have seen the Indians,\" answered Sergeant Cuff. \"And I have found out\nwhat Rosanna bought privately in the town, on Thursday last. The Indians\nwill be set free on Wednesday in next week. There isn't a doubt on my\nmind, and there isn't a doubt on Mr. Murthwaite's mind, that they came\nto this place to steal the Moonstone. Their calculations were all thrown\nout, of course, by what happened in the house on Wednesday night; and\nthey have no more to do with the actual loss of the jewel than you\nhave. But I can tell you one thing, Mr. Betteredge--if WE don't find the\nMoonstone, THEY will. You have not heard the last of the three jugglers\nyet.\"\n\nMr. Franklin came back from his walk as the Sergeant said those\nstartling words. Governing his curiosity better than I had governed\nmine, he passed us without a word, and went on into the house.\n\nAs for me, having already dropped my dignity, I determined to have the\nwhole benefit of the sacrifice. \"So much for the Indians,\" I said. \"What\nabout Rosanna next?\"\n\nSergeant Cuff shook his head.\n\n\"The mystery in that quarter is thicker than ever,\" he said. \"I have\ntraced her to a shop at Frizinghall, kept by a linen draper named\nMaltby. She bought nothing whatever at any of the other drapers' shops,\nor at any milliners' or tailors' shops; and she bought nothing at\nMaltby's but a piece of long cloth. She was very particular in\nchoosing a certain quality. As to quantity, she bought enough to make a\nnightgown.\"\n\n\"Whose nightgown?\" I asked.\n\n\"Her own, to be sure. Between twelve and three, on the Thursday morning,\nshe must have slipped down to your young lady's room, to settle the\nhiding of the Moonstone while all the rest of you were in bed. In going\nback to her own room, her nightgown must have brushed the wet paint\non the door. She couldn't wash out the stain; and she couldn't safely\ndestroy the night-gown without first providing another like it, to make\nthe inventory of her linen complete.\"\n\n\"What proves that it was Rosanna's nightgown?\" I objected.\n\n\"The material she bought for making the substitute dress,\" answered the\nSergeant. \"If it had been Miss Verinder's nightgown, she would have had\nto buy lace, and frilling, and Lord knows what besides; and she wouldn't\nhave had time to make it in one night. Plain long cloth means a plain\nservant's nightgown. No, no, Mr. Betteredge--all that is clear enough.\nThe pinch of the question is--why, after having provided the substitute\ndress, does she hide the smeared nightgown, instead of destroying it?\nIf the girl won't speak out, there is only one way of settling the\ndifficulty. The hiding-place at the Shivering Sand must be searched--and\nthe true state of the case will be discovered there.\"\n\n\"How are you to find the place?\" I inquired.\n\n\"I am sorry to disappoint you,\" said the Sergeant--\"but that's a secret\nwhich I mean to keep to myself.\"\n\n(Not to irritate your curiosity, as he irritated mine, I may here\ninform you that he had come back from Frizinghall provided with a\nsearch-warrant. His experience in such matters told him that Rosanna was\nin all probability carrying about her a memorandum of the hiding-place,\nto guide her, in case she returned to it, under changed circumstances\nand after a lapse of time. Possessed of this memorandum, the Sergeant\nwould be furnished with all that he could desire.)\n\n\"Now, Mr. Betteredge,\" he went on, \"suppose we drop speculation, and get\nto business. I told Joyce to have an eye on Rosanna. Where is Joyce?\"\n\nJoyce was the Frizinghall policeman, who had been left by Superintendent\nSeegrave at Sergeant Cuff's disposal. The clock struck two, as he put\nthe question; and, punctual to the moment, the carriage came round to\ntake Miss Rachel to her aunt's.\n\n\"One thing at a time,\" said the Sergeant, stopping me as I was about to\nsend in search of Joyce. \"I must attend to Miss Verinder first.\"\n\nAs the rain was still threatening, it was the close carriage that\nhad been appointed to take Miss Rachel to Frizinghall. Sergeant Cuff\nbeckoned Samuel to come down to him from the rumble behind.\n\n\"You will see a friend of mine waiting among the trees, on this side\nof the lodge gate,\" he said. \"My friend, without stopping the carriage,\nwill get up into the rumble with you. You have nothing to do but to hold\nyour tongue, and shut your eyes. Otherwise, you will get into trouble.\"\n\nWith that advice, he sent the footman back to his place. What Samuel\nthought I don't know. It was plain, to my mind, that Miss Rachel was to\nbe privately kept in view from the time when she left our house--if\nshe did leave it. A watch set on my young lady! A spy behind her in the\nrumble of her mother's carriage! I could have cut my own tongue out for\nhaving forgotten myself so far as to speak to Sergeant Cuff.\n\nThe first person to come out of the house was my lady. She stood aside,\non the top step, posting herself there to see what happened. Not a word\ndid she say, either to the Sergeant or to me. With her lips closed, and\nher arms folded in the light garden cloak which she had wrapped round\nher on coming into the air, there she stood, as still as a statue,\nwaiting for her daughter to appear.\n\nIn a minute more, Miss Rachel came downstairs--very nicely dressed in\nsome soft yellow stuff, that set off her dark complexion, and clipped\nher tight (in the form of a jacket) round the waist. She had a smart\nlittle straw hat on her head, with a white veil twisted round it. She\nhad primrose-coloured gloves that fitted her hands like a second skin.\nHer beautiful black hair looked as smooth as satin under her hat. Her\nlittle ears were like rosy shells--they had a pearl dangling from each\nof them. She came swiftly out to us, as straight as a lily on its stem,\nand as lithe and supple in every movement she made as a young cat.\nNothing that I could discover was altered in her pretty face, but her\neyes and her lips. Her eyes were brighter and fiercer than I liked to\nsee; and her lips had so completely lost their colour and their smile\nthat I hardly knew them again. She kissed her mother in a hasty and\nsudden manner on the cheek. She said, \"Try to forgive me, mamma\"--and\nthen pulled down her veil over her face so vehemently that she tore it.\nIn another moment she had run down the steps, and had rushed into the\ncarriage as if it was a hiding-place.\n\nSergeant Cuff was just as quick on his side. He put Samuel back, and\nstood before Miss Rachel, with the open carriage-door in his hand, at\nthe instant when she settled herself in her place.\n\n\"What do you want?\" says Miss Rachel, from behind her veil.\n\n\"I want to say one word to you, miss,\" answered the Sergeant, \"before\nyou go. I can't presume to stop your paying a visit to your aunt. I can\nonly venture to say that your leaving us, as things are now, puts an\nobstacle in the way of my recovering your Diamond. Please to understand\nthat; and now decide for yourself whether you go or stay.\"\n\nMiss Rachel never even answered him. \"Drive on, James!\" she called out\nto the coachman.\n\nWithout another word, the Sergeant shut the carriage-door. Just as he\nclosed it, Mr. Franklin came running down the steps. \"Good-bye, Rachel,\"\nhe said, holding out his hand.\n\n\"Drive on!\" cried Miss Rachel, louder than ever, and taking no more\nnotice of Mr. Franklin than she had taken of Sergeant Cuff.\n\nMr. Franklin stepped back thunderstruck, as well he might be. The\ncoachman, not knowing what to do, looked towards my lady, still standing\nimmovable on the top step. My lady, with anger and sorrow and shame all\nstruggling together in her face, made him a sign to start the horses,\nand then turned back hastily into the house. Mr. Franklin, recovering\nthe use of his speech, called after her, as the carriage drove off,\n\"Aunt! you were quite right. Accept my thanks for all your kindness--and\nlet me go.\"\n\nMy lady turned as though to speak to him. Then, as if distrusting\nherself, waved her hand kindly. \"Let me see you, before you leave us,\nFranklin,\" she said, in a broken voice--and went on to her own room.\n\n\"Do me a last favour, Betteredge,\" says Mr. Franklin, turning to me,\nwith the tears in his eyes. \"Get me away to the train as soon as you\ncan!\"\n\nHe too went his way into the house. For the moment, Miss Rachel had\ncompletely unmanned him. Judge from that, how fond he must have been of\nher!\n\nSergeant Cuff and I were left face to face, at the bottom of the\nsteps. The Sergeant stood with his face set towards a gap in the trees,\ncommanding a view of one of the windings of the drive which led from the\nhouse. He had his hands in his pockets, and he was softly whistling \"The\nLast Rose of Summer\" to himself.\n\n\"There's a time for everything,\" I said savagely enough. \"This isn't a\ntime for whistling.\"\n\nAt that moment, the carriage appeared in the distance, through the gap,\non its way to the lodge-gate. There was another man, besides Samuel,\nplainly visible in the rumble behind.\n\n\"All right!\" said the Sergeant to himself. He turned round to me. \"It's\nno time for whistling, Mr. Betteredge, as you say. It's time to take\nthis business in hand, now, without sparing anybody. We'll begin with\nRosanna Spearman. Where is Joyce?\"\n\nWe both called for Joyce, and received no answer. I sent one of the\nstable-boys to look for him.\n\n\"You heard what I said to Miss Verinder?\" remarked the Sergeant, while\nwe were waiting. \"And you saw how she received it? I tell her plainly\nthat her leaving us will be an obstacle in the way of my recovering her\nDiamond--and she leaves, in the face of that statement! Your young\nlady has got a travelling companion in her mother's carriage, Mr.\nBetteredge--and the name of it is, the Moonstone.\"\n\nI said nothing. I only held on like death to my belief in Miss Rachel.\n\nThe stable-boy came back, followed--very unwillingly, as it appeared to\nme--by Joyce.\n\n\"Where is Rosanna Spearman?\" asked Sergeant Cuff.\n\n\"I can't account for it, sir,\" Joyce began; \"and I am very sorry. But\nsomehow or other----\"\n\n\"Before I went to Frizinghall,\" said the Sergeant, cutting him short, \"I\ntold you to keep your eyes on Rosanna Spearman, without allowing her\nto discover that she was being watched. Do you mean to tell me that you\nhave let her give you the slip?\"\n\n\"I am afraid, sir,\" says Joyce, beginning to tremble, \"that I was\nperhaps a little TOO careful not to let her discover me. There are such\na many passages in the lower parts of this house----\"\n\n\"How long is it since you missed her?\"\n\n\"Nigh on an hour since, sir.\"\n\n\"You can go back to your regular business at Frizinghall,\" said the\nSergeant, speaking just as composedly as ever, in his usual quiet and\ndreary way. \"I don't think your talents are at all in our line, Mr.\nJoyce. Your present form of employment is a trifle beyond you. Good\nmorning.\"\n\nThe man slunk off. I find it very difficult to describe how I was\naffected by the discovery that Rosanna Spearman was missing. I seemed\nto be in fifty different minds about it, all at the same time. In that\nstate, I stood staring at Sergeant Cuff--and my powers of language quite\nfailed me.\n\n\"No, Mr. Betteredge,\" said the Sergeant, as if he had discovered the\nuppermost thought in me, and was picking it out to be answered, before\nall the rest. \"Your young friend, Rosanna, won't slip through my fingers\nso easy as you think. As long as I know where Miss Verinder is, I\nhave the means at my disposal of tracing Miss Verinder's accomplice. I\nprevented them from communicating last night. Very good. They will get\ntogether at Frizinghall, instead of getting together here. The present\ninquiry must be simply shifted (rather sooner than I had anticipated)\nfrom this house, to the house at which Miss Verinder is visiting. In the\nmeantime, I'm afraid I must trouble you to call the servants together\nagain.\"\n\nI went round with him to the servants' hall. It is very disgraceful,\nbut it is not the less true, that I had another attack of the\ndetective-fever, when he said those last words. I forgot that I hated\nSergeant Cuff. I seized him confidentially by the arm. I said, \"For\ngoodness' sake, tell us what you are going to do with the servants now?\"\n\nThe great Cuff stood stock still, and addressed himself in a kind of\nmelancholy rapture to the empty air.\n\n\"If this man,\" said the Sergeant (apparently meaning me), \"only\nunderstood the growing of roses he would be the most completely perfect\ncharacter on the face of creation!\" After that strong expression of\nfeeling, he sighed, and put his arm through mine. \"This is how it\nstands,\" he said, dropping down again to business. \"Rosanna has done one\nof two things. She has either gone direct to Frizinghall (before I\ncan get there), or she has gone first to visit her hiding-place at the\nShivering Sand. The first thing to find out is, which of the servants\nsaw the last of her before she left the house.\"\n\nOn instituting this inquiry, it turned out that the last person who had\nset eyes on Rosanna was Nancy, the kitchenmaid.\n\nNancy had seen her slip out with a letter in her hand, and stop the\nbutcher's man who had just been delivering some meat at the back door.\nNancy had heard her ask the man to post the letter when he got back to\nFrizinghall. The man had looked at the address, and had said it was a\nroundabout way of delivering a letter directed to Cobb's Hole, to\npost it at Frizinghall--and that, moreover, on a Saturday, which would\nprevent the letter from getting to its destination until Monday morning,\nRosanna had answered that the delivery of the letter being delayed till\nMonday was of no importance. The only thing she wished to be sure of was\nthat the man would do what she told him. The man had promised to do\nit, and had driven away. Nancy had been called back to her work in the\nkitchen. And no other person had seen anything afterwards of Rosanna\nSpearman.\n\n\"Well?\" I asked, when we were alone again.\n\n\"Well,\" says the Sergeant. \"I must go to Frizinghall.\"\n\n\"About the letter, sir?\"\n\n\"Yes. The memorandum of the hiding-place is in that letter. I must see\nthe address at the post-office. If it is the address I suspect, I shall\npay our friend, Mrs. Yolland, another visit on Monday next.\"\n\nI went with the Sergeant to order the pony-chaise. In the stable-yard we\ngot a new light thrown on the missing girl.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\n\nThe news of Rosanna's disappearance had, as it appeared, spread among\nthe out-of-door servants. They too had made their inquiries; and they\nhad just laid hands on a quick little imp, nicknamed \"Duffy\"--who was\noccasionally employed in weeding the garden, and who had seen Rosanna\nSpearman as lately as half-an-hour since. Duffy was certain that the\ngirl had passed him in the fir-plantation, not walking, but RUNNING, in\nthe direction of the sea-shore.\n\n\"Does this boy know the coast hereabouts?\" asked Sergeant Cuff.\n\n\"He has been born and bred on the coast,\" I answered.\n\n\"Duffy!\" says the Sergeant, \"do you want to earn a shilling? If you do,\ncome along with me. Keep the pony-chaise ready, Mr. Betteredge, till I\ncome back.\"\n\nHe started for the Shivering Sand, at a rate that my legs (though well\nenough preserved for my time of life) had no hope of matching. Little\nDuffy, as the way is with the young savages in our parts when they are\nin high spirits, gave a howl, and trotted off at the Sergeant's heels.\n\nHere again, I find it impossible to give anything like a clear account\nof the state of my mind in the interval after Sergeant Cuff had left\nus. A curious and stupefying restlessness got possession of me. I did\na dozen different needless things in and out of the house, not one of\nwhich I can now remember. I don't even know how long it was after the\nSergeant had gone to the sands, when Duffy came running back with a\nmessage for me. Sergeant Cuff had given the boy a leaf torn out of his\npocket-book, on which was written in pencil, \"Send me one of Rosanna\nSpearman's boots, and be quick about it.\"\n\nI despatched the first woman-servant I could find to Rosanna's room; and\nI sent the boy back to say that I myself would follow him with the boot.\n\nThis, I am well aware, was not the quickest way to take of obeying the\ndirections which I had received. But I was resolved to see for myself\nwhat new mystification was going on before I trusted Rosanna's boot in\nthe Sergeant's hands. My old notion of screening the girl, if I could,\nseemed to have come back on me again, at the eleventh hour. This state\nof feeling (to say nothing of the detective-fever) hurried me off, as\nsoon as I had got the boot, at the nearest approach to a run which a man\nturned seventy can reasonably hope to make.\n\nAs I got near the shore, the clouds gathered black, and the rain came\ndown, drifting in great white sheets of water before the wind. I heard\nthe thunder of the sea on the sand-bank at the mouth of the bay. A\nlittle further on, I passed the boy crouching for shelter under the lee\nof the sand hills. Then I saw the raging sea, and the rollers tumbling\nin on the sand-bank, and the driven rain sweeping over the waters like a\nflying garment, and the yellow wilderness of the beach with one solitary\nblack figure standing on it--the figure of Sergeant Cuff.\n\nHe waved his hand towards the north, when he first saw me. \"Keep on that\nside!\" he shouted. \"And come on down here to me!\"\n\nI went down to him, choking for breath, with my heart leaping as if\nit was like to leap out of me. I was past speaking. I had a hundred\nquestions to put to him; and not one of them would pass my lips. His\nface frightened me. I saw a look in his eyes which was a look of horror.\nHe snatched the boot out of my hand, and set it in a footmark on the\nsand, bearing south from us as we stood, and pointing straight towards\nthe rocky ledge called the South Spit. The mark was not yet blurred out\nby the rain--and the girl's boot fitted it to a hair.\n\nThe Sergeant pointed to the boot in the footmark, without saying a word.\n\nI caught at his arm, and tried to speak to him, and failed as I had\nfailed when I tried before. He went on, following the footsteps down\nand down to where the rocks and the sand joined. The South Spit was just\nawash with the flowing tide; the waters heaved over the hidden face\nof the Shivering Sand. Now this way and now that, with an obstinate\npatience that was dreadful to see, Sergeant Cuff tried the boot in the\nfootsteps, and always found it pointing the same way--straight TO the\nrocks. Hunt as he might, no sign could he find anywhere of the footsteps\nwalking FROM them.\n\nHe gave it up at last. Still keeping silence, he looked again at me; and\nthen he looked out at the waters before us, heaving in deeper and deeper\nover the quicksand. I looked where he looked--and I saw his thought in\nhis face. A dreadful dumb trembling crawled all over me on a sudden. I\nfell upon my knees on the beach.\n\n\"She has been back at the hiding-place,\" I heard the Sergeant say to\nhimself. \"Some fatal accident has happened to her on those rocks.\"\n\nThe girl's altered looks, and words, and actions--the numbed, deadened\nway in which she listened to me, and spoke to me--when I had found her\nsweeping the corridor but a few hours since, rose up in my mind, and\nwarned me, even as the Sergeant spoke, that his guess was wide of the\ndreadful truth. I tried to tell him of the fear that had frozen me up. I\ntried to say, \"The death she has died, Sergeant, was a death of her own\nseeking.\" No! the words wouldn't come. The dumb trembling held me in its\ngrip. I couldn't feel the driving rain. I couldn't see the rising tide.\nAs in the vision of a dream, the poor lost creature came back before me.\nI saw her again as I had seen her in the past time--on the morning when\nI went to fetch her into the house. I heard her again, telling me\nthat the Shivering Sand seemed to draw her to it against her will, and\nwondering whether her grave was waiting for her THERE. The horror of it\nstruck at me, in some unfathomable way, through my own child. My girl\nwas just her age. My girl, tried as Rosanna was tried, might have lived\nthat miserable life, and died this dreadful death.\n\nThe Sergeant kindly lifted me up, and turned me away from the sight of\nthe place where she had perished.\n\nWith that relief, I began to fetch my breath again, and to see things\nabout me, as things really were. Looking towards the sand-hills, I saw\nthe men-servants from out-of-doors, and the fisherman, named Yolland,\nall running down to us together; and all, having taken the alarm,\ncalling out to know if the girl had been found. In the fewest words, the\nSergeant showed them the evidence of the footmarks, and told them that\na fatal accident must have happened to her. He then picked out the\nfisherman from the rest, and put a question to him, turning about again\ntowards the sea: \"Tell me,\" he said. \"Could a boat have taken her off,\nin such weather as this, from those rocks where her footmarks stop?\"\n\nThe fisherman pointed to the rollers tumbling in on the sand-bank, and\nto the great waves leaping up in clouds of foam against the headlands on\neither side of us.\n\n\"No boat that ever was built,\" he answered, \"could have got to her\nthrough THAT.\"\n\nSergeant Cuff looked for the last time at the foot-marks on the sand,\nwhich the rain was now fast blurring out.\n\n\"There,\" he said, \"is the evidence that she can't have left this place\nby land. And here,\" he went on, looking at the fisherman, \"is the\nevidence that she can't have got away by sea.\" He stopped, and\nconsidered for a minute. \"She was seen running towards this place, half\nan hour before I got here from the house,\" he said to Yolland. \"Some\ntime has passed since then. Call it, altogether, an hour ago. How high\nwould the water be, at that time, on this side of the rocks?\" He pointed\nto the south side--otherwise, the side which was not filled up by the\nquicksand.\n\n\"As the tide makes to-day,\" said the fisherman, \"there wouldn't have\nbeen water enough to drown a kitten on that side of the Spit, an hour\nsince.\"\n\nSergeant Cuff turned about northward, towards the quicksand.\n\n\"How much on this side?\" he asked.\n\n\"Less still,\" answered Yolland. \"The Shivering Sand would have been just\nawash, and no more.\"\n\nThe Sergeant turned to me, and said that the accident must have happened\non the side of the quicksand. My tongue was loosened at that. \"No\naccident!\" I told him. \"When she came to this place, she came weary of\nher life, to end it here.\"\n\nHe started back from me. \"How do you know?\" he asked. The rest of them\ncrowded round. The Sergeant recovered himself instantly. He put them\nback from me; he said I was an old man; he said the discovery had shaken\nme; he said, \"Let him alone a little.\" Then he turned to Yolland, and\nasked, \"Is there any chance of finding her, when the tide ebbs again?\"\nAnd Yolland answered, \"None. What the Sand gets, the Sand keeps for\never.\" Having said that, the fisherman came a step nearer, and addressed\nhimself to me.\n\n\"Mr. Betteredge,\" he said, \"I have a word to say to you about the young\nwoman's death. Four foot out, broadwise, along the side of the Spit,\nthere's a shelf of rock, about half fathom down under the sand. My\nquestion is--why didn't she strike that? If she slipped, by accident,\nfrom off the Spit, she fell in where there's foothold at the bottom, at\na depth that would barely cover her to the waist. She must have waded\nout, or jumped out, into the Deeps beyond--or she wouldn't be missing\nnow. No accident, sir! The Deeps of the Quicksand have got her. And they\nhave got her by her own act.\"\n\nAfter that testimony from a man whose knowledge was to be relied on, the\nSergeant was silent. The rest of us, like him, held our peace. With one\naccord, we all turned back up the slope of the beach.\n\nAt the sand-hillocks we were met by the under-groom, running to us from\nthe house. The lad is a good lad, and has an honest respect for me. He\nhanded me a little note, with a decent sorrow in his face. \"Penelope\nsent me with this, Mr. Betteredge,\" he said. \"She found it in Rosanna's\nroom.\"\n\nIt was her last farewell word to the old man who had done his\nbest--thank God, always done his best--to befriend her.\n\n\"You have often forgiven me, Mr. Betteredge, in past times. When you\nnext see the Shivering Sand, try to forgive me once more. I have found\nmy grave where my grave was waiting for me. I have lived, and died, sir,\ngrateful for your kindness.\"\n\nThere was no more than that. Little as it was, I hadn't manhood enough\nto hold up against it. Your tears come easy, when you're young, and\nbeginning the world. Your tears come easy, when you're old, and leaving\nit. I burst out crying.\n\nSergeant Cuff took a step nearer to me--meaning kindly, I don't doubt. I\nshrank back from him. \"Don't touch me,\" I said. \"It's the dread of you,\nthat has driven her to it.\"\n\n\"You are wrong, Mr. Betteredge,\" he answered, quietly. \"But there will\nbe time enough to speak of it when we are indoors again.\"\n\nI followed the rest of them, with the help of the groom's arm. Through\nthe driving rain we went back--to meet the trouble and the terror that\nwere waiting for us at the house.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\n\nThose in front had spread the news before us. We found the servants in\na state of panic. As we passed my lady's door, it was thrown open\nviolently from the inner side. My mistress came out among us (with Mr.\nFranklin following, and trying vainly to compose her), quite beside\nherself with the horror of the thing.\n\n\"You are answerable for this!\" she cried out, threatening the Sergeant\nwildly with her hand. \"Gabriel! give that wretch his money--and release\nme from the sight of him!\"\n\nThe Sergeant was the only one among us who was fit to cope with\nher--being the only one among us who was in possession of himself.\n\n\"I am no more answerable for this distressing calamity, my lady, than\nyou are,\" he said. \"If, in half an hour from this, you still insist on\nmy leaving the house, I will accept your ladyship's dismissal, but not\nyour ladyship's money.\"\n\nIt was spoken very respectfully, but very firmly at the same time--and\nit had its effect on my mistress as well as on me. She suffered Mr.\nFranklin to lead her back into the room. As the door closed on the two,\nthe Sergeant, looking about among the women-servants in his observant\nway, noticed that while all the rest were merely frightened, Penelope\nwas in tears. \"When your father has changed his wet clothes,\" he said to\nher, \"come and speak to us, in your father's room.\"\n\nBefore the half-hour was out, I had got my dry clothes on, and had lent\nSergeant Cuff such change of dress as he required. Penelope came in to\nus to hear what the Sergeant wanted with her. I don't think I ever felt\nwhat a good dutiful daughter I had, so strongly as I felt it at that\nmoment. I took her and sat her on my knee and I prayed God bless her.\nShe hid her head on my bosom, and put her arms round my neck--and we\nwaited a little while in silence. The poor dead girl must have been at\nthe bottom of it, I think, with my daughter and with me. The Sergeant\nwent to the window, and stood there looking out. I thought it right to\nthank him for considering us both in this way--and I did.\n\nPeople in high life have all the luxuries to themselves--among others,\nthe luxury of indulging their feelings. People in low life have no such\nprivilege. Necessity, which spares our betters, has no pity on us. We\nlearn to put our feelings back into ourselves, and to jog on with our\nduties as patiently as may be. I don't complain of this--I only notice\nit. Penelope and I were ready for the Sergeant, as soon as the Sergeant\nwas ready on his side. Asked if she knew what had led her fellow-servant\nto destroy herself, my daughter answered (as you will foresee) that it\nwas for love of Mr. Franklin Blake. Asked next, if she had mentioned\nthis notion of hers to any other person, Penelope answered, \"I have not\nmentioned it, for Rosanna's sake.\" I felt it necessary to add a word to\nthis. I said, \"And for Mr. Franklin's sake, my dear, as well. If Rosanna\nHAS died for love of him, it is not with his knowledge or by his fault.\nLet him leave the house to-day, if he does leave it, without the useless\npain of knowing the truth.\" Sergeant Cuff said, \"Quite right,\" and fell\nsilent again; comparing Penelope's notion (as it seemed to me) with some\nother notion of his own which he kept to himself.\n\nAt the end of the half-hour, my mistress's bell rang.\n\nOn my way to answer it, I met Mr. Franklin coming out of his aunt's\nsitting-room. He mentioned that her ladyship was ready to see Sergeant\nCuff--in my presence as before--and he added that he himself wanted\nto say two words to the Sergeant first. On our way back to my room, he\nstopped, and looked at the railway time-table in the hall.\n\n\"Are you really going to leave us, sir?\" I asked. \"Miss Rachel will\nsurely come right again, if you only give her time?\"\n\n\"She will come right again,\" answered Mr. Franklin, \"when she hears that\nI have gone away, and that she will see me no more.\"\n\nI thought he spoke in resentment of my young lady's treatment of him.\nBut it was not so. My mistress had noticed, from the time when the\npolice first came into the house, that the bare mention of him was\nenough to set Miss Rachel's temper in a flame. He had been too fond of\nhis cousin to like to confess this to himself, until the truth had been\nforced on him, when she drove off to her aunt's. His eyes once opened\nin that cruel way which you know of, Mr. Franklin had taken his\nresolution--the one resolution which a man of any spirit COULD take--to\nleave the house.\n\nWhat he had to say to the Sergeant was spoken in my presence. He\ndescribed her ladyship as willing to acknowledge that she had spoken\nover-hastily. And he asked if Sergeant Cuff would consent--in that\ncase--to accept his fee, and to leave the matter of the Diamond where\nthe matter stood now. The Sergeant answered, \"No, sir. My fee is paid me\nfor doing my duty. I decline to take it, until my duty is done.\"\n\n\"I don't understand you,\" says Mr. Franklin.\n\n\"I'll explain myself, sir,\" says the Sergeant. \"When I came here, I\nundertook to throw the necessary light on the matter of the missing\nDiamond. I am now ready, and waiting to redeem my pledge. When I have\nstated the case to Lady Verinder as the case now stands, and when I have\ntold her plainly what course of action to take for the recovery of the\nMoonstone, the responsibility will be off my shoulders. Let her ladyship\ndecide, after that, whether she does, or does not, allow me to go on. I\nshall then have done what I undertook to do--and I'll take my fee.\"\n\nIn those words Sergeant Cuff reminded us that, even in the Detective\nPolice, a man may have a reputation to lose.\n\nThe view he took was so plainly the right one, that there was no more\nto be said. As I rose to conduct him to my lady's room, he asked if Mr.\nFranklin wished to be present. Mr. Franklin answered, \"Not unless Lady\nVerinder desires it.\" He added, in a whisper to me, as I was following\nthe Sergeant out, \"I know what that man is going to say about Rachel;\nand I am too fond of her to hear it, and keep my temper. Leave me by\nmyself.\"\n\nI left him, miserable enough, leaning on the sill of my window, with his\nface hidden in his hands and Penelope peeping through the door, longing\nto comfort him. In Mr. Franklin's place, I should have called her in.\nWhen you are ill-used by one woman, there is great comfort in telling it\nto another--because, nine times out of ten, the other always takes your\nside. Perhaps, when my back was turned, he did call her in? In that case\nit is only doing my daughter justice to declare that she would stick at\nnothing, in the way of comforting Mr. Franklin Blake.\n\nIn the meantime, Sergeant Cuff and I proceeded to my lady's room.\n\nAt the last conference we had held with her, we had found her not over\nwilling to lift her eyes from the book which she had on the table. On\nthis occasion there was a change for the better. She met the Sergeant's\neye with an eye that was as steady as his own. The family spirit showed\nitself in every line of her face; and I knew that Sergeant Cuff would\nmeet his match, when a woman like my mistress was strung up to hear the\nworst he could say to her.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\n\nThe first words, when we had taken our seats, were spoken by my lady.\n\n\"Sergeant Cuff,\" she said, \"there was perhaps some excuse for the\ninconsiderate manner in which I spoke to you half an hour since. I have\nno wish, however, to claim that excuse. I say, with perfect sincerity,\nthat I regret it, if I wronged you.\"\n\nThe grace of voice and manner with which she made him that atonement\nhad its due effect on the Sergeant. He requested permission to justify\nhimself--putting his justification as an act of respect to my mistress.\nIt was impossible, he said, that he could be in any way responsible for\nthe calamity, which had shocked us all, for this sufficient reason, that\nhis success in bringing his inquiry to its proper end depended on his\nneither saying nor doing anything that could alarm Rosanna Spearman.\nHe appealed to me to testify whether he had, or had not, carried that\nobject out. I could, and did, bear witness that he had. And there, as I\nthought, the matter might have been judiciously left to come to an end.\n\nSergeant Cuff, however, took it a step further, evidently (as you shall\nnow judge) with the purpose of forcing the most painful of all possible\nexplanations to take place between her ladyship and himself.\n\n\"I have heard a motive assigned for the young woman's suicide,\" said\nthe Sergeant, \"which may possibly be the right one. It is a motive quite\nunconnected with the case which I am conducting here. I am bound to\nadd, however, that my own opinion points the other way. Some unbearable\nanxiety in connexion with the missing Diamond, has, I believe, driven\nthe poor creature to her own destruction. I don't pretend to know what\nthat unbearable anxiety may have been. But I think (with your ladyship's\npermission) I can lay my hand on a person who is capable of deciding\nwhether I am right or wrong.\"\n\n\"Is the person now in the house?\" my mistress asked, after waiting a\nlittle.\n\n\"The person has left the house, my lady.\"\n\nThat answer pointed as straight to Miss Rachel as straight could be. A\nsilence dropped on us which I thought would never come to an end. Lord!\nhow the wind howled, and how the rain drove at the window, as I sat\nthere waiting for one or other of them to speak again!\n\n\"Be so good as to express yourself plainly,\" said my lady. \"Do you refer\nto my daughter?\"\n\n\"I do,\" said Sergeant Cuff, in so many words.\n\nMy mistress had her cheque-book on the table when we entered the\nroom--no doubt to pay the Sergeant his fee. She now put it back in the\ndrawer. It went to my heart to see how her poor hand trembled--the hand\nthat had loaded her old servant with benefits; the hand that, I pray\nGod, may take mine, when my time comes, and I leave my place for ever!\n\n\"I had hoped,\" said my lady, very slowly and quietly, \"to have\nrecompensed your services, and to have parted with you without Miss\nVerinder's name having been openly mentioned between us as it has been\nmentioned now. My nephew has probably said something of this, before you\ncame into my room?\"\n\n\"Mr. Blake gave his message, my lady. And I gave Mr. Blake a reason----\"\n\n\"It is needless to tell me your reason. After what you have just said,\nyou know as well as I do that you have gone too far to go back. I owe it\nto myself, and I owe it to my child, to insist on your remaining here,\nand to insist on your speaking out.\"\n\nThe Sergeant looked at his watch.\n\n\"If there had been time, my lady,\" he answered, \"I should have preferred\nwriting my report, instead of communicating it by word of mouth. But, if\nthis inquiry is to go on, time is of too much importance to be wasted in\nwriting. I am ready to go into the matter at once. It is a very painful\nmatter for me to speak of, and for you to hear.\"\n\nThere my mistress stopped him once more.\n\n\"I may possibly make it less painful to you, and to my good servant and\nfriend here,\" she said, \"if I set the example of speaking boldly, on my\nside. You suspect Miss Verinder of deceiving us all, by secreting the\nDiamond for some purpose of her own? Is that true?\"\n\n\"Quite true, my lady.\"\n\n\"Very well. Now, before you begin, I have to tell you, as Miss\nVerinder's mother, that she is ABSOLUTELY INCAPABLE of doing what you\nsuppose her to have done. Your knowledge of her character dates from a\nday or two since. My knowledge of her character dates from the beginning\nof her life. State your suspicion of her as strongly as you please--it\nis impossible that you can offend me by doing so. I am sure, beforehand,\nthat (with all your experience) the circumstances have fatally misled\nyou in this case. Mind! I am in possession of no private information. I\nam as absolutely shut out of my daughter's confidence as you are. My one\nreason for speaking positively, is the reason you have heard already. I\nknow my child.\"\n\nShe turned to me, and gave me her hand. I kissed it in silence. \"You may\ngo on,\" she said, facing the Sergeant again as steadily as ever.\n\nSergeant Cuff bowed. My mistress had produced but one effect on him. His\nhatchet-face softened for a moment, as if he was sorry for her. As to\nshaking him in his own conviction, it was plain to see that she had\nnot moved him by a single inch. He settled himself in his chair; and he\nbegan his vile attack on Miss Rachel's character in these words:\n\n\"I must ask your ladyship,\" he said, \"to look this matter in the face,\nfrom my point of view as well as from yours. Will you please to suppose\nyourself coming down here, in my place, and with my experience? and will\nyou allow me to mention very briefly what that experience has been?\"\n\nMy mistress signed to him that she would do this. The Sergeant went on:\n\n\"For the last twenty years,\" he said, \"I have been largely employed in\ncases of family scandal, acting in the capacity of confidential man. The\none result of my domestic practice which has any bearing on the matter\nnow in hand, is a result which I may state in two words. It is well\nwithin my experience, that young ladies of rank and position do\noccasionally have private debts which they dare not acknowledge to their\nnearest relatives and friends. Sometimes, the milliner and the jeweller\nare at the bottom of it. Sometimes, the money is wanted for purposes\nwhich I don't suspect in this case, and which I won't shock you by\nmentioning. Bear in mind what I have said, my lady--and now let us\nsee how events in this house have forced me back on my own experience,\nwhether I liked it or not!\"\n\nHe considered with himself for a moment, and went on--with a horrid\nclearness that obliged you to understand him; with an abominable justice\nthat favoured nobody.\n\n\"My first information relating to the loss of the Moonstone,\" said the\nSergeant, \"came to me from Superintendent Seegrave. He proved to my\ncomplete satisfaction that he was perfectly incapable of managing the\ncase. The one thing he said which struck me as worth listening to, was\nthis--that Miss Verinder had declined to be questioned by him, and had\nspoken to him with a perfectly incomprehensible rudeness and contempt.\nI thought this curious--but I attributed it mainly to some clumsiness\non the Superintendent's part which might have offended the young lady.\nAfter that, I put it by in my mind, and applied myself, single-handed,\nto the case. It ended, as you are aware, in the discovery of the smear\non the door, and in Mr. Franklin Blake's evidence satisfying me, that\nthis same smear, and the loss of the Diamond, were pieces of the same\npuzzle. So far, if I suspected anything, I suspected that the Moonstone\nhad been stolen, and that one of the servants might prove to be the\nthief. Very good. In this state of things, what happens? Miss Verinder\nsuddenly comes out of her room, and speaks to me. I observe three\nsuspicious appearances in that young lady. She is still violently\nagitated, though more than four-and-twenty hours have passed since\nthe Diamond was lost. She treats me as she has already treated\nSuperintendent Seegrave. And she is mortally offended with Mr. Franklin\nBlake. Very good again. Here (I say to myself) is a young lady who\nhas lost a valuable jewel--a young lady, also, as my own eyes and\nears inform me, who is of an impetuous temperament. Under these\ncircumstances, and with that character, what does she do? She betrays an\nincomprehensible resentment against Mr. Blake, Mr. Superintendent,\nand myself--otherwise, the very three people who have all, in their\ndifferent ways, been trying to help her to recover her lost jewel.\nHaving brought my inquiry to that point--THEN, my lady, and not till\nthen, I begin to look back into my own mind for my own experience.\nMy own experience explains Miss Verinder's otherwise incomprehensible\nconduct. It associates her with those other young ladies that I know of.\nIt tells me she has debts she daren't acknowledge, that must be paid.\nAnd it sets me asking myself, whether the loss of the Diamond may not\nmean--that the Diamond must be secretly pledged to pay them. That is the\nconclusion which my experience draws from plain facts. What does your\nladyship's experience say against it?\"\n\n\"What I have said already,\" answered my mistress. \"The circumstances\nhave misled you.\"\n\nI said nothing on my side. ROBINSON CRUSOE--God knows how--had got into\nmy muddled old head. If Sergeant Cuff had found himself, at that\nmoment, transported to a desert island, without a man Friday to keep him\ncompany, or a ship to take him off--he would have found himself exactly\nwhere I wished him to be! (Nota bene:--I am an average good Christian,\nwhen you don't push my Christianity too far. And all the rest of\nyou--which is a great comfort--are, in this respect, much the same as I\nam.)\n\nSergeant Cuff went on:\n\n\"Right or wrong, my lady,\" he said, \"having drawn my conclusion, the\nnext thing to do was to put it to the test. I suggested to your ladyship\nthe examination of all the wardrobes in the house. It was a means of\nfinding the article of dress which had, in all probability, made the\nsmear; and it was a means of putting my conclusion to the test. How did\nit turn out? Your ladyship consented; Mr. Blake consented; Mr. Ablewhite\nconsented. Miss Verinder alone stopped the whole proceeding by refusing\npoint-blank. That result satisfied me that my view was the right one.\nIf your ladyship and Mr. Betteredge persist in not agreeing with me,\nyou must be blind to what happened before you this very day. In your\nhearing, I told the young lady that her leaving the house (as things\nwere then) would put an obstacle in the way of my recovering her jewel.\nYou saw yourselves that she drove off in the face of that statement. You\nsaw yourself that, so far from forgiving Mr. Blake for having done more\nthan all the rest of you to put the clue into my hands, she publicly\ninsulted Mr. Blake, on the steps of her mother's house. What do these\nthings mean? If Miss Verinder is not privy to the suppression of the\nDiamond, what do these things mean?\"\n\nThis time he looked my way. It was downright frightful to hear him\npiling up proof after proof against Miss Rachel, and to know, while one\nwas longing to defend her, that there was no disputing the truth of what\nhe said. I am (thank God!) constitutionally superior to reason. This\nenabled me to hold firm to my lady's view, which was my view also. This\nroused my spirit, and made me put a bold face on it before Sergeant\nCuff. Profit, good friends, I beseech you, by my example. It will save\nyou from many troubles of the vexing sort. Cultivate a superiority to\nreason, and see how you pare the claws of all the sensible people when\nthey try to scratch you for your own good!\n\nFinding that I made no remark, and that my mistress made no remark,\nSergeant Cuff proceeded. Lord! how it did enrage me to notice that he\nwas not in the least put out by our silence!\n\n\"There is the case, my lady, as it stands against Miss Verinder alone,\"\nhe said. \"The next thing is to put the case as it stands against Miss\nVerinder and the deceased Rosanna Spearman taken together. We will go\nback for a moment, if you please, to your daughter's refusal to let her\nwardrobe be examined. My mind being made up, after that circumstance,\nI had two questions to consider next. First, as to the right method\nof conducting my inquiry. Second, as to whether Miss Verinder had an\naccomplice among the female servants in the house. After carefully\nthinking it over, I determined to conduct the inquiry in, what we should\ncall at our office, a highly irregular manner. For this reason: I had a\nfamily scandal to deal with, which it was my business to keep within the\nfamily limits. The less noise made, and the fewer strangers employed to\nhelp me, the better. As to the usual course of taking people in\ncustody on suspicion, going before the magistrate, and all the rest\nof it--nothing of the sort was to be thought of, when your ladyship's\ndaughter was (as I believed) at the bottom of the whole business.\nIn this case, I felt that a person of Mr. Betteredge's character and\nposition in the house--knowing the servants as he did, and having the\nhonour of the family at heart--would be safer to take as an assistant\nthan any other person whom I could lay my hand on. I should have tried\nMr. Blake as well--but for one obstacle in the way. HE saw the drift\nof my proceedings at a very early date; and, with his interest in Miss\nVerinder, any mutual understanding was impossible between him and me.\nI trouble your ladyship with these particulars to show you that I have\nkept the family secret within the family circle. I am the only outsider\nwho knows it--and my professional existence depends on holding my\ntongue.\"\n\nHere I felt that my professional existence depended on not holding my\ntongue. To be held up before my mistress, in my old age, as a sort of\ndeputy-policeman, was, once again, more than my Christianity was strong\nenough to bear.\n\n\"I beg to inform your ladyship,\" I said, \"that I never, to my knowledge,\nhelped this abominable detective business, in any way, from first to\nlast; and I summon Sergeant Cuff to contradict me, if he dares!\"\n\nHaving given vent in those words, I felt greatly relieved. Her ladyship\nhonoured me by a little friendly pat on the shoulder. I looked with\nrighteous indignation at the Sergeant, to see what he thought of such a\ntestimony as THAT. The Sergeant looked back like a lamb, and seemed to\nlike me better than ever.\n\nMy lady informed him that he might continue his statement. \"I\nunderstand,\" she said, \"that you have honestly done your best, in what\nyou believe to be my interest. I am ready to hear what you have to say\nnext.\"\n\n\"What I have to say next,\" answered Sergeant Cuff, \"relates to Rosanna\nSpearman. I recognised the young woman, as your ladyship may remember,\nwhen she brought the washing-book into this room. Up to that time I was\ninclined to doubt whether Miss Verinder had trusted her secret to any\none. When I saw Rosanna, I altered my mind. I suspected her at once of\nbeing privy to the suppression of the Diamond. The poor creature has met\nher death by a dreadful end, and I don't want your ladyship to think,\nnow she's gone, that I was unduly hard on her. If this had been a common\ncase of thieving, I should have given Rosanna the benefit of the doubt\njust as freely as I should have given it to any of the other servants in\nthe house. Our experience of the Reformatory woman is, that when\ntried in service--and when kindly and judiciously treated--they prove\nthemselves in the majority of cases to be honestly penitent, and\nhonestly worthy of the pains taken with them. But this was not a common\ncase of thieving. It was a case--in my mind--of a deeply planned fraud,\nwith the owner of the Diamond at the bottom of it. Holding this view,\nthe first consideration which naturally presented itself to me, in\nconnection with Rosanna, was this: Would Miss Verinder be satisfied\n(begging your ladyship's pardon) with leading us all to think that the\nMoonstone was merely lost? Or would she go a step further, and delude us\ninto believing that the Moonstone was stolen? In the latter event there\nwas Rosanna Spearman--with the character of a thief--ready to her hand;\nthe person of all others to lead your ladyship off, and to lead me off,\non a false scent.\"\n\nWas it possible (I asked myself) that he could put his case against\nMiss Rachel and Rosanna in a more horrid point of view than this? It WAS\npossible, as you shall now see.\n\n\"I had another reason for suspecting the deceased woman,\" he said,\n\"which appears to me to have been stronger still. Who would be the very\nperson to help Miss Verinder in raising money privately on the Diamond?\nRosanna Spearman. No young lady in Miss Verinder's position could manage\nsuch a risky matter as that by herself. A go-between she must have, and\nwho so fit, I ask again, as Rosanna Spearman? Your ladyship's deceased\nhousemaid was at the top of her profession when she was a thief. She had\nrelations, to my certain knowledge, with one of the few men in London\n(in the money-lending line) who would advance a large sum on such a\nnotable jewel as the Moonstone, without asking awkward questions, or\ninsisting on awkward conditions. Bear this in mind, my lady; and now let\nme show you how my suspicions have been justified by Rosanna's own acts,\nand by the plain inferences to be drawn from them.\"\n\nHe thereupon passed the whole of Rosanna's proceedings under review. You\nare already as well acquainted with those proceedings as I am; and you\nwill understand how unanswerably this part of his report fixed the guilt\nof being concerned in the disappearance of the Moonstone on the memory\nof the poor dead girl. Even my mistress was daunted by what he said now.\nShe made him no answer when he had done. It didn't seem to matter to the\nSergeant whether he was answered or not. On he went (devil take him!),\njust as steady as ever.\n\n\"Having stated the whole case as I understand it,\" he said, \"I have only\nto tell your ladyship, now, what I propose to do next. I see two ways of\nbringing this inquiry successfully to an end. One of those ways I look\nupon as a certainty. The other, I admit, is a bold experiment, and\nnothing more. Your ladyship shall decide. Shall we take the certainty\nfirst?\"\n\nMy mistress made him a sign to take his own way, and choose for himself.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the Sergeant. \"We'll begin with the certainty, as your\nladyship is so good as to leave it to me. Whether Miss Verinder remains\nat Frizinghall, or whether she returns here, I propose, in either case,\nto keep a careful watch on all her proceedings--on the people she sees,\non the rides and walks she may take, and on the letters she may write\nand receive.\"\n\n\"What next?\" asked my mistress.\n\n\"I shall next,\" answered the Sergeant, \"request your ladyship's leave to\nintroduce into the house, as a servant in the place of Rosanna Spearman,\na woman accustomed to private inquiries of this sort, for whose\ndiscretion I can answer.\"\n\n\"What next?\" repeated my mistress.\n\n\"Next,\" proceeded the Sergeant, \"and last, I propose to send one of\nmy brother-officers to make an arrangement with that money-lender in\nLondon, whom I mentioned just now as formerly acquainted with Rosanna\nSpearman--and whose name and address, your ladyship may rely on it, have\nbeen communicated by Rosanna to Miss Verinder. I don't deny that the\ncourse of action I am now suggesting will cost money, and consume time.\nBut the result is certain. We run a line round the Moonstone, and we\ndraw that line closer and closer till we find it in Miss Verinder's\npossession, supposing she decides to keep it. If her debts press, and\nshe decides on sending it away, then we have our man ready, and we meet\nthe Moonstone on its arrival in London.\"\n\nTo hear her own daughter made the subject of such a proposal as this,\nstung my mistress into speaking angrily for the first time.\n\n\"Consider your proposal declined, in every particular,\" she said. \"And\ngo on to your other way of bringing the inquiry to an end.\"\n\n\"My other way,\" said the Sergeant, going on as easy as ever, \"is to try\nthat bold experiment to which I have alluded. I think I have formed a\npretty correct estimate of Miss Verinder's temperament. She is quite\ncapable (according to my belief) of committing a daring fraud. But she\nis too hot and impetuous in temper, and too little accustomed to deceit\nas a habit, to act the hypocrite in small things, and to restrain\nherself under all provocations. Her feelings, in this case, have\nrepeatedly got beyond her control, at the very time when it was plainly\nher interest to conceal them. It is on this peculiarity in her character\nthat I now propose to act. I want to give her a great shock suddenly,\nunder circumstances that will touch her to the quick. In plain English,\nI want to tell Miss Verinder, without a word of warning, of Rosanna's\ndeath--on the chance that her own better feelings will hurry her\ninto making a clean breast of it. Does your ladyship accept that\nalternative?\"\n\nMy mistress astonished me beyond all power of expression. She answered\nhim on the instant:\n\n\"Yes; I do.\"\n\n\"The pony-chaise is ready,\" said the Sergeant. \"I wish your ladyship\ngood morning.\"\n\nMy lady held up her hand, and stopped him at the door.\n\n\"My daughter's better feelings shall be appealed to, as you propose,\"\nshe said. \"But I claim the right, as her mother, of putting her to\nthe test myself. You will remain here, if you please; and I will go to\nFrizinghall.\"\n\nFor once in his life, the great Cuff stood speechless with amazement,\nlike an ordinary man.\n\nMy mistress rang the bell, and ordered her water-proof things. It was\nstill pouring with rain; and the close carriage had gone, as you know,\nwith Miss Rachel to Frizinghall. I tried to dissuade her ladyship from\nfacing the severity of the weather. Quite useless! I asked leave to\ngo with her, and hold the umbrella. She wouldn't hear of it. The\npony-chaise came round, with the groom in charge. \"You may rely on\ntwo things,\" she said to Sergeant Cuff, in the hall. \"I will try the\nexperiment on Miss Verinder as boldly as you could try it yourself. And\nI will inform you of the result, either personally or by letter, before\nthe last train leaves for London to-night.\"\n\nWith that, she stepped into the chaise, and, taking the reins herself,\ndrove off to Frizinghall.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\n\nMy mistress having left us, I had leisure to think of Sergeant Cuff.\nI found him sitting in a snug corner of the hall, consulting his\nmemorandum book, and curling up viciously at the corners of the lips.\n\n\"Making notes of the case?\" I asked.\n\n\"No,\" said the Sergeant. \"Looking to see what my next professional\nengagement is.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" I said. \"You think it's all over then, here?\"\n\n\"I think,\" answered Sergeant Cuff, \"that Lady Verinder is one of the\ncleverest women in England. I also think a rose much better worth\nlooking at than a diamond. Where is the gardener, Mr. Betteredge?\"\n\nThere was no getting a word more out of him on the matter of the\nMoonstone. He had lost all interest in his own inquiry; and he would\npersist in looking for the gardener. An hour afterwards, I heard them\nat high words in the conservatory, with the dog-rose once more at the\nbottom of the dispute.\n\nIn the meantime, it was my business to find out whether Mr. Franklin\npersisted in his resolution to leave us by the afternoon train. After\nhaving been informed of the conference in my lady's room, and of how\nit had ended, he immediately decided on waiting to hear the news from\nFrizinghall. This very natural alteration in his plans--which, with\nordinary people, would have led to nothing in particular--proved, in\nMr. Franklin's case, to have one objectionable result. It left him\nunsettled, with a legacy of idle time on his hands, and, in so doing,\nit let out all the foreign sides of his character, one on the top of\nanother, like rats out of a bag.\n\nNow as an Italian-Englishman, now as a German-Englishman, and now as a\nFrench-Englishman, he drifted in and out of all the sitting-rooms in the\nhouse, with nothing to talk of but Miss Rachel's treatment of him; and\nwith nobody to address himself to but me. I found him (for example) in\nthe library, sitting under the map of Modern Italy, and quite unaware of\nany other method of meeting his troubles, except the method of talking\nabout them. \"I have several worthy aspirations, Betteredge; but what am\nI to do with them now? I am full of dormant good qualities, if Rachel\nwould only have helped me to bring them out!\" He was so eloquent in\ndrawing the picture of his own neglected merits, and so pathetic in\nlamenting over it when it was done, that I felt quite at my wits' end\nhow to console him, when it suddenly occurred to me that here was a case\nfor the wholesome application of a bit of ROBINSON CRUSOE. I hobbled out\nto my own room, and hobbled back with that immortal book. Nobody in the\nlibrary! The map of Modern Italy stared at ME; and I stared at the map\nof Modern Italy.\n\nI tried the drawing-room. There was his handkerchief on the floor, to\nprove that he had drifted in. And there was the empty room to prove that\nhe had drifted out again.\n\nI tried the dining-room, and discovered Samuel with a biscuit and a\nglass of sherry, silently investigating the empty air. A minute since,\nMr. Franklin had rung furiously for a little light refreshment. On its\nproduction, in a violent hurry, by Samuel, Mr. Franklin had vanished\nbefore the bell downstairs had quite done ringing with the pull he had\ngiven to it.\n\nI tried the morning-room, and found him at last. There he was at the\nwindow, drawing hieroglyphics with his finger in the damp on the glass.\n\n\"Your sherry is waiting for you, sir,\" I said to him. I might as well\nhave addressed myself to one of the four walls of the room; he was down\nin the bottomless deep of his own meditations, past all pulling up.\n\"How do YOU explain Rachel's conduct, Betteredge?\" was the only answer\nI received. Not being ready with the needful reply, I produced ROBINSON\nCRUSOE, in which I am firmly persuaded some explanation might have been\nfound, if we had only searched long enough for it. Mr. Franklin shut up\nROBINSON CRUSOE, and floundered into his German-English gibberish on the\nspot. \"Why not look into it?\" he said, as if I had personally objected\nto looking into it. \"Why the devil lose your patience, Betteredge, when\npatience is all that's wanted to arrive at the truth? Don't interrupt\nme. Rachel's conduct is perfectly intelligible, if you will only do her\nthe common justice to take the Objective view first, and the Subjective\nview next, and the Objective-Subjective view to wind up with. What do we\nknow? We know that the loss of the Moonstone, on Thursday morning last,\nthrew her into a state of nervous excitement, from which she has not\nrecovered yet. Do you mean to deny the Objective view, so far? Very\nwell, then--don't interrupt me. Now, being in a state of nervous\nexcitement, how are we to expect that she should behave as she might\notherwise have behaved to any of the people about her? Arguing in this\nway, from within-outwards, what do we reach? We reach the Subjective\nview. I defy you to controvert the Subjective view. Very well then--what\nfollows? Good Heavens! the Objective-Subjective explanation follows, of\ncourse! Rachel, properly speaking, is not Rachel, but Somebody Else.\nDo I mind being cruelly treated by Somebody Else? You are unreasonable\nenough, Betteredge; but you can hardly accuse me of that. Then how does\nit end? It ends, in spite of your confounded English narrowness and\nprejudice, in my being perfectly happy and comfortable. Where's the\nsherry?\"\n\nMy head was by this time in such a condition, that I was not quite sure\nwhether it was my own head, or Mr. Franklin's. In this deplorable state,\nI contrived to do, what I take to have been, three Objective things.\nI got Mr. Franklin his sherry; I retired to my own room; and I solaced\nmyself with the most composing pipe of tobacco I ever remember to have\nsmoked in my life.\n\nDon't suppose, however, that I was quit of Mr. Franklin on such easy\nterms as these. Drifting again, out of the morning-room into the hall,\nhe found his way to the offices next, smelt my pipe, and was instantly\nreminded that he had been simple enough to give up smoking for Miss\nRachel's sake. In the twinkling of an eye, he burst in on me with his\ncigar-case, and came out strong on the one everlasting subject, in his\nneat, witty, unbelieving, French way. \"Give me a light, Betteredge.\nIs it conceivable that a man can have smoked as long as I have without\ndiscovering that there is a complete system for the treatment of women\nat the bottom of his cigar-case? Follow me carefully, and I will prove\nit in two words. You choose a cigar, you try it, and it disappoints you.\nWhat do you do upon that? You throw it away and try another. Now observe\nthe application! You choose a woman, you try her, and she breaks your\nheart. Fool! take a lesson from your cigar-case. Throw her away, and try\nanother!\"\n\nI shook my head at that. Wonderfully clever, I dare say, but my\nown experience was dead against it. \"In the time of the late Mrs.\nBetteredge,\" I said, \"I felt pretty often inclined to try your\nphilosophy, Mr. Franklin. But the law insists on your smoking your\ncigar, sir, when you have once chosen it.\" I pointed that observation\nwith a wink. Mr. Franklin burst out laughing--and we were as merry as\ncrickets, until the next new side of his character turned up in due\ncourse. So things went on with my young master and me; and so (while the\nSergeant and the gardener were wrangling over the roses) we two spent\nthe interval before the news came back from Frizinghall.\n\nThe pony-chaise returned a good half hour before I had ventured to\nexpect it. My lady had decided to remain for the present, at her\nsister's house. The groom brought two letters from his mistress; one\naddressed to Mr. Franklin, and the other to me.\n\nMr. Franklin's letter I sent to him in the library--into which refuge\nhis driftings had now taken him for the second time. My own letter,\nI read in my own room. A cheque, which dropped out when I opened it,\ninformed me (before I had mastered the contents) that Sergeant Cuff's\ndismissal from the inquiry after the Moonstone was now a settled thing.\n\nI sent to the conservatory to say that I wished to speak to the Sergeant\ndirectly. He appeared, with his mind full of the gardener and the\ndog-rose, declaring that the equal of Mr. Begbie for obstinacy never\nhad existed yet, and never would exist again. I requested him to dismiss\nsuch wretched trifling as this from our conversation, and to give his\nbest attention to a really serious matter. Upon that he exerted himself\nsufficiently to notice the letter in my hand. \"Ah!\" he said in a weary\nway, \"you have heard from her ladyship. Have I anything to do with it,\nMr. Betteredge?\"\n\n\"You shall judge for yourself, Sergeant.\" I thereupon read him the\nletter (with my best emphasis and discretion), in the following words:\n\n\"MY GOOD GABRIEL,--I request that you will inform Sergeant Cuff, that\nI have performed the promise I made to him; with this result, so far as\nRosanna Spearman is concerned. Miss Verinder solemnly declares, that she\nhas never spoken a word in private to Rosanna, since that unhappy woman\nfirst entered my house. They never met, even accidentally, on the night\nwhen the Diamond was lost; and no communication of any sort whatever\ntook place between them, from the Thursday morning when the alarm was\nfirst raised in the house, to this present Saturday afternoon, when Miss\nVerinder left us. After telling my daughter suddenly, and in so many\nwords, of Rosanna Spearman's suicide--this is what has come of it.\"\n\nHaving reached that point, I looked up, and asked Sergeant Cuff what he\nthought of the letter, so far?\n\n\"I should only offend you if I expressed MY opinion,\" answered the\nSergeant. \"Go on, Mr. Betteredge,\" he said, with the most exasperating\nresignation, \"go on.\"\n\nWhen I remembered that this man had had the audacity to complain of our\ngardener's obstinacy, my tongue itched to \"go on\" in other words than my\nmistress's. This time, however, my Christianity held firm. I proceeded\nsteadily with her ladyship's letter:\n\n\"Having appealed to Miss Verinder in the manner which the officer\nthought most desirable, I spoke to her next in the manner which I myself\nthought most likely to impress her. On two different occasions, before\nmy daughter left my roof, I privately warned her that she was exposing\nherself to suspicion of the most unendurable and most degrading kind.\nI have now told her, in the plainest terms, that my apprehensions have\nbeen realised.\n\n\"Her answer to this, on her own solemn affirmation, is as plain as words\ncan be. In the first place, she owes no money privately to any living\ncreature. In the second place, the Diamond is not now, and never has\nbeen, in her possession, since she put it into her cabinet on Wednesday\nnight.\n\n\"The confidence which my daughter has placed in me goes no further than\nthis. She maintains an obstinate silence, when I ask her if she can\nexplain the disappearance of the Diamond. She refuses, with tears, when\nI appeal to her to speak out for my sake. 'The day will come when you\nwill know why I am careless about being suspected, and why I am silent\neven to you. I have done much to make my mother pity me--nothing to make\nmy mother blush for me.' Those are my daughter's own words.\n\n\"After what has passed between the officer and me, I think--stranger\nas he is--that he should be made acquainted with what Miss Verinder has\nsaid, as well as you. Read my letter to him, and then place in his\nhands the cheque which I enclose. In resigning all further claim on his\nservices, I have only to say that I am convinced of his honesty and\nhis intelligence; but I am more firmly persuaded than ever, that the\ncircumstances, in this case, have fatally misled him.\"\n\nThere the letter ended. Before presenting the cheque, I asked Sergeant\nCuff if he had any remark to make.\n\n\"It's no part of my duty, Mr. Betteredge,\" he answered, \"to make remarks\non a case, when I have done with it.\"\n\nI tossed the cheque across the table to him. \"Do you believe in THAT\npart of her ladyship's letter?\" I said, indignantly.\n\nThe Sergeant looked at the cheque, and lifted up his dismal eyebrows in\nacknowledgment of her ladyship's liberality.\n\n\"This is such a generous estimate of the value of my time,\" he said,\n\"that I feel bound to make some return for it. I'll bear in mind the\namount in this cheque, Mr. Betteredge, when the occasion comes round for\nremembering it.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" I asked.\n\n\"Her ladyship has smoothed matters over for the present very cleverly,\"\nsaid the Sergeant. \"But THIS family scandal is of the sort that bursts\nup again when you least expect it. We shall have more detective-business\non our hands, sir, before the Moonstone is many months older.\"\n\nIf those words meant anything, and if the manner in which he spoke them\nmeant anything--it came to this. My mistress's letter had proved, to\nhis mind, that Miss Rachel was hardened enough to resist the strongest\nappeal that could be addressed to her, and that she had deceived her own\nmother (good God, under what circumstances!) by a series of abominable\nlies. How other people, in my place, might have replied to the Sergeant,\nI don't know. I answered what he said in these plain terms:\n\n\"Sergeant Cuff, I consider your last observation as an insult to my lady\nand her daughter!\"\n\n\"Mr. Betteredge, consider it as a warning to yourself, and you will be\nnearer the mark.\"\n\nHot and angry as I was, the infernal confidence with which he gave me\nthat answer closed my lips.\n\nI walked to the window to compose myself. The rain had given over;\nand, who should I see in the court-yard, but Mr. Begbie, the gardener,\nwaiting outside to continue the dog-rose controversy with Sergeant Cuff.\n\n\"My compliments to the Sairgent,\" said Mr. Begbie, the moment he set\neyes on me. \"If he's minded to walk to the station, I'm agreeable to go\nwith him.\"\n\n\"What!\" cries the Sergeant, behind me, \"are you not convinced yet?\"\n\n\"The de'il a bit I'm convinced!\" answered Mr. Begbie.\n\n\"Then I'll walk to the station!\" says the Sergeant.\n\n\"Then I'll meet you at the gate!\" says Mr. Begbie.\n\nI was angry enough, as you know--but how was any man's anger to hold out\nagainst such an interruption as this? Sergeant Cuff noticed the change\nin me, and encouraged it by a word in season. \"Come! come!\" he said,\n\"why not treat my view of the case as her ladyship treats it? Why not\nsay, the circumstances have fatally misled me?\"\n\nTo take anything as her ladyship took it was a privilege worth\nenjoying--even with the disadvantage of its having been offered to me\nby Sergeant Cuff. I cooled slowly down to my customary level. I regarded\nany other opinion of Miss Rachel, than my lady's opinion or mine, with\na lofty contempt. The only thing I could not do, was to keep off the\nsubject of the Moonstone! My own good sense ought to have warned me, I\nknow, to let the matter rest--but, there! the virtues which distinguish\nthe present generation were not invented in my time. Sergeant Cuff had\nhit me on the raw, and, though I did look down upon him with contempt,\nthe tender place still tingled for all that. The end of it was that I\nperversely led him back to the subject of her ladyship's letter. \"I am\nquite satisfied myself,\" I said. \"But never mind that! Go on, as if\nI was still open to conviction. You think Miss Rachel is not to be\nbelieved on her word; and you say we shall hear of the Moonstone again.\nBack your opinion, Sergeant,\" I concluded, in an airy way. \"Back your\nopinion.\"\n\nInstead of taking offence, Sergeant Cuff seized my hand, and shook it\ntill my fingers ached again.\n\n\"I declare to heaven,\" says this strange officer solemnly, \"I would\ntake to domestic service to-morrow, Mr. Betteredge, if I had a chance of\nbeing employed along with You! To say you are as transparent as a child,\nsir, is to pay the children a compliment which nine out of ten of them\ndon't deserve. There! there! we won't begin to dispute again. You shall\nhave it out of me on easier terms than that. I won't say a word more\nabout her ladyship, or about Miss Verinder--I'll only turn prophet, for\nonce in a way, and for your sake. I have warned you already that you\nhaven't done with the Moonstone yet. Very well. Now I'll tell you, at\nparting, of three things which will happen in the future, and which, I\nbelieve, will force themselves on your attention, whether you like it or\nnot.\"\n\n\"Go on!\" I said, quite unabashed, and just as airy as ever.\n\n\"First,\" said the Sergeant, \"you will hear something from the\nYollands--when the postman delivers Rosanna's letter at Cobb's Hole, on\nMonday next.\"\n\nIf he had thrown a bucket of cold water over me, I doubt if I could have\nfelt it much more unpleasantly than I felt those words. Miss Rachel's\nassertion of her innocence had left Rosanna's conduct--the making the\nnew nightgown, the hiding the smeared nightgown, and all the rest of\nit--entirely without explanation. And this had never occurred to me,\ntill Sergeant Cuff forced it on my mind all in a moment!\n\n\"In the second place,\" proceeded the Sergeant, \"you will hear of the\nthree Indians again. You will hear of them in the neighbourhood, if Miss\nRachel remains in the neighbourhood. You will hear of them in London, if\nMiss Rachel goes to London.\"\n\nHaving lost all interest in the three jugglers, and having thoroughly\nconvinced myself of my young lady's innocence, I took this second\nprophecy easily enough. \"So much for two of the three things that are\ngoing to happen,\" I said. \"Now for the third!\"\n\n\"Third, and last,\" said Sergeant Cuff, \"you will, sooner or later, hear\nsomething of that money-lender in London, whom I have twice taken the\nliberty of mentioning already. Give me your pocket-book, and I'll make\na note for you of his name and address--so that there may be no mistake\nabout it if the thing really happens.\"\n\nHe wrote accordingly on a blank leaf--\"Mr. Septimus Luker,\nMiddlesex-place, Lambeth, London.\"\n\n\"There,\" he said, pointing to the address, \"are the last words, on\nthe subject of the Moonstone, which I shall trouble you with for the\npresent. Time will show whether I am right or wrong. In the meanwhile,\nsir, I carry away with me a sincere personal liking for you, which\nI think does honour to both of us. If we don't meet again before my\nprofessional retirement takes place, I hope you will come and see me in\na little house near London, which I have got my eye on. There will be\ngrass walks, Mr. Betteredge, I promise you, in my garden. And as for the\nwhite moss rose----\"\n\n\"The de'il a bit ye'll get the white moss rose to grow, unless you bud\nhim on the dogue-rose first,\" cried a voice at the window.\n\nWe both turned round. There was the everlasting Mr. Begbie, too eager\nfor the controversy to wait any longer at the gate. The Sergeant wrung\nmy hand, and darted out into the court-yard, hotter still on his side.\n\"Ask him about the moss rose, when he comes back, and see if I have left\nhim a leg to stand on!\" cried the great Cuff, hailing me through the\nwindow in his turn. \"Gentlemen, both!\" I answered, moderating them again\nas I had moderated them once already.\n\n\"In the matter of the moss rose there is a great deal to be said on\nboth sides!\" I might as well (as the Irish say) have whistled jigs to\na milestone. Away they went together, fighting the battle of the roses\nwithout asking or giving quarter on either side. The last I saw of them,\nMr. Begbie was shaking his obstinate head, and Sergeant Cuff had got him\nby the arm like a prisoner in charge. Ah, well! well! I own I couldn't\nhelp liking the Sergeant--though I hated him all the time.\n\nExplain that state of mind, if you can. You will soon be rid, now, of\nme and my contradictions. When I have reported Mr. Franklin's departure,\nthe history of the Saturday's events will be finished at last. And when\nI have next described certain strange things that happened in the course\nof the new week, I shall have done my part of the Story, and shall hand\nover the pen to the person who is appointed to follow my lead. If you\nare as tired of reading this narrative as I am of writing it--Lord, how\nwe shall enjoy ourselves on both sides a few pages further on!\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\n\nI had kept the pony chaise ready, in case Mr. Franklin persisted in\nleaving us by the train that night. The appearance of the luggage,\nfollowed downstairs by Mr. Franklin himself, informed me plainly enough\nthat he had held firm to a resolution for once in his life.\n\n\"So you have really made up your mind, sir?\" I said, as we met in the\nhall. \"Why not wait a day or two longer, and give Miss Rachel another\nchance?\"\n\nThe foreign varnish appeared to have all worn off Mr. Franklin, now\nthat the time had come for saying good-bye. Instead of replying to me in\nwords, he put the letter which her ladyship had addressed to him into my\nhand. The greater part of it said over again what had been said already\nin the other communication received by me. But there was a bit about\nMiss Rachel added at the end, which will account for the steadiness of\nMr. Franklin's determination, if it accounts for nothing else.\n\n\"You will wonder, I dare say\" (her ladyship wrote), \"at my allowing my\nown daughter to keep me perfectly in the dark. A Diamond worth twenty\nthousand pounds has been lost--and I am left to infer that the\nmystery of its disappearance is no mystery to Rachel, and that some\nincomprehensible obligation of silence has been laid on her, by some\nperson or persons utterly unknown to me, with some object in view at\nwhich I cannot even guess. Is it conceivable that I should allow myself\nto be trifled with in this way? It is quite conceivable, in Rachel's\npresent state. She is in a condition of nervous agitation pitiable to\nsee. I dare not approach the subject of the Moonstone again until time\nhas done something to quiet her. To help this end, I have not hesitated\nto dismiss the police-officer. The mystery which baffles us, baffles him\ntoo. This is not a matter in which any stranger can help us. He adds to\nwhat I have to suffer; and he maddens Rachel if she only hears his name.\n\n\"My plans for the future are as well settled as they can be. My present\nidea is to take Rachel to London--partly to relieve her mind by a\ncomplete change, partly to try what may be done by consulting the best\nmedical advice. Can I ask you to meet us in town? My dear Franklin, you,\nin your way, must imitate my patience, and wait, as I do, for a fitter\ntime. The valuable assistance which you rendered to the inquiry after\nthe lost jewel is still an unpardoned offence, in the present dreadful\nstate of Rachel's mind. Moving blindfold in this matter, you have\nadded to the burden of anxiety which she has had to bear, by innocently\nthreatening her secret with discovery, through your exertions. It is\nimpossible for me to excuse the perversity that holds you responsible\nfor consequences which neither you nor I could imagine or foresee. She\nis not to be reasoned with--she can only be pitied. I am grieved to have\nto say it, but for the present, you and Rachel are better apart. The\nonly advice I can offer you is, to give her time.\"\n\nI handed the letter back, sincerely sorry for Mr. Franklin, for I knew\nhow fond he was of my young lady; and I saw that her mother's account\nof her had cut him to the heart. \"You know the proverb, sir,\" was all I\nsaid to him. \"When things are at the worst, they're sure to mend. Things\ncan't be much worse, Mr. Franklin, than they are now.\"\n\nMr. Franklin folded up his aunt's letter, without appearing to be much\ncomforted by the remark which I had ventured on addressing to him.\n\n\"When I came here from London with that horrible Diamond,\" he said, \"I\ndon't believe there was a happier household in England than this. Look\nat the household now! Scattered, disunited--the very air of the place\npoisoned with mystery and suspicion! Do you remember that morning at\nthe Shivering Sand, when we talked about my uncle Herncastle, and\nhis birthday gift? The Moonstone has served the Colonel's vengeance,\nBetteredge, by means which the Colonel himself never dreamt of!\"\n\nWith that he shook me by the hand, and went out to the pony chaise.\n\nI followed him down the steps. It was very miserable to see him leaving\nthe old place, where he had spent the happiest years of his life, in\nthis way. Penelope (sadly upset by all that had happened in the house)\ncame round crying, to bid him good-bye. Mr. Franklin kissed her. I waved\nmy hand as much as to say, \"You're heartily welcome, sir.\" Some of the\nother female servants appeared, peeping after him round the corner.\nHe was one of those men whom the women all like. At the last moment,\nI stopped the pony chaise, and begged as a favour that he would let\nus hear from him by letter. He didn't seem to heed what I said--he was\nlooking round from one thing to another, taking a sort of farewell of\nthe old house and grounds. \"Tell us where you are going to, sir!\" I\nsaid, holding on by the chaise, and trying to get at his future plans\nin that way. Mr. Franklin pulled his hat down suddenly over his eyes.\n\"Going?\" says he, echoing the word after me. \"I am going to the devil!\"\nThe pony started at the word, as if he had felt a Christian horror of\nit. \"God bless you, sir, go where you may!\" was all I had time to say,\nbefore he was out of sight and hearing. A sweet and pleasant gentleman!\nWith all his faults and follies, a sweet and pleasant gentleman! He left\na sad gap behind him, when he left my lady's house.\n\nIt was dull and dreary enough, when the long summer evening closed in,\non that Saturday night.\n\nI kept my spirits from sinking by sticking fast to my pipe and my\nROBINSON CRUSOE. The women (excepting Penelope) beguiled the time by\ntalking of Rosanna's suicide. They were all obstinately of opinion\nthat the poor girl had stolen the Moonstone, and that she had destroyed\nherself in terror of being found out. My daughter, of course, privately\nheld fast to what she had said all along. Her notion of the motive which\nwas really at the bottom of the suicide failed, oddly enough, just\nwhere my young lady's assertion of her innocence failed also. It left\nRosanna's secret journey to Frizinghall, and Rosanna's proceedings in\nthe matter of the nightgown entirely unaccounted for. There was no\nuse in pointing this out to Penelope; the objection made about as much\nimpression on her as a shower of rain on a waterproof coat. The truth\nis, my daughter inherits my superiority to reason--and, in respect to\nthat accomplishment, has got a long way ahead of her own father.\n\nOn the next day (Sunday), the close carriage, which had been kept at Mr.\nAblewhite's, came back to us empty. The coachman brought a message for\nme, and written instructions for my lady's own maid and for Penelope.\n\nThe message informed me that my mistress had determined to take Miss\nRachel to her house in London, on the Monday. The written instructions\ninformed the two maids of the clothing that was wanted, and directed\nthem to meet their mistresses in town at a given hour. Most of the other\nservants were to follow. My lady had found Miss Rachel so unwilling to\nreturn to the house, after what had happened in it, that she had decided\non going to London direct from Frizinghall. I was to remain in the\ncountry, until further orders, to look after things indoors and out. The\nservants left with me were to be put on board wages.\n\nBeing reminded, by all this, of what Mr. Franklin had said about our\nbeing a scattered and disunited household, my mind was led naturally to\nMr. Franklin himself. The more I thought of him, the more uneasy I felt\nabout his future proceedings. It ended in my writing, by the Sunday's\npost, to his father's valet, Mr. Jeffco (whom I had known in former\nyears) to beg he would let me know what Mr. Franklin had settled to do,\non arriving in London.\n\nThe Sunday evening was, if possible, duller even than the Saturday\nevening. We ended the day of rest, as hundreds of thousands of people\nend it regularly, once a week, in these islands--that is to say, we all\nanticipated bedtime, and fell asleep in our chairs.\n\nHow the Monday affected the rest of the household I don't know. The\nMonday gave ME a good shake up. The first of Sergeant Cuff's\nprophecies of what was to happen--namely, that I should hear from the\nYollands--came true on that day.\n\nI had seen Penelope and my lady's maid off in the railway with the\nluggage for London, and was pottering about the grounds, when I heard\nmy name called. Turning round, I found myself face to face with the\nfisherman's daughter, Limping Lucy. Bating her lame foot and her\nleanness (this last a horrid draw-back to a woman, in my opinion), the\ngirl had some pleasing qualities in the eye of a man. A dark, keen,\nclever face, and a nice clear voice, and a beautiful brown head of\nhair counted among her merits. A crutch appeared in the list of her\nmisfortunes. And a temper reckoned high in the sum total of her defects.\n\n\"Well, my dear,\" I said, \"what do you want with me?\"\n\n\"Where's the man you call Franklin Blake?\" says the girl, fixing me with\na fierce look, as she rested herself on her crutch.\n\n\"That's not a respectful way to speak of any gentleman,\" I answered. \"If\nyou wish to inquire for my lady's nephew, you will please to mention him\nas MR. Franklin Blake.\"\n\nShe limped a step nearer to me, and looked as if she could have eaten me\nalive. \"MR. Franklin Blake?\" she repeated after me. \"Murderer Franklin\nBlake would be a fitter name for him.\"\n\nMy practice with the late Mrs. Betteredge came in handy here. Whenever\na woman tries to put you out of temper, turn the tables, and put HER out\nof temper instead. They are generally prepared for every effort you\ncan make in your own defence, but that. One word does it as well as a\nhundred; and one word did it with Limping Lucy. I looked her pleasantly\nin the face; and I said--\"Pooh!\"\n\nThe girl's temper flamed out directly. She poised herself on her sound\nfoot, and she took her crutch, and beat it furiously three times on the\nground. \"He's a murderer! he's a murderer! he's a murderer! He has been\nthe death of Rosanna Spearman!\" She screamed that answer out at the top\nof her voice. One or two of the people at work in the grounds near\nus looked up--saw it was Limping Lucy--knew what to expect from that\nquarter--and looked away again.\n\n\"He has been the death of Rosanna Spearman?\" I repeated. \"What makes you\nsay that, Lucy?\"\n\n\"What do you care? What does any man care? Oh! if she had only thought\nof the men as I think, she might have been living now!\"\n\n\"She always thought kindly of ME, poor soul,\" I said; \"and, to the best\nof my ability, I always tried to act kindly by HER.\"\n\nI spoke those words in as comforting a manner as I could. The truth is,\nI hadn't the heart to irritate the girl by another of my smart replies.\nI had only noticed her temper at first. I noticed her wretchedness\nnow--and wretchedness is not uncommonly insolent, you will find, in\nhumble life. My answer melted Limping Lucy. She bent her head down, and\nlaid it on the top of her crutch.\n\n\"I loved her,\" the girl said softly. \"She had lived a miserable life,\nMr. Betteredge--vile people had ill-treated her and led her wrong--and\nit hadn't spoiled her sweet temper. She was an angel. She might have\nbeen happy with me. I had a plan for our going to London together like\nsisters, and living by our needles. That man came here, and spoilt it\nall. He bewitched her. Don't tell me he didn't mean it, and didn't know\nit. He ought to have known it. He ought to have taken pity on her.\n'I can't live without him--and, oh, Lucy, he never even looks at me.'\nThat's what she said. Cruel, cruel, cruel. I said, 'No man is worth\nfretting for in that way.' And she said, 'There are men worth dying\nfor, Lucy, and he is one of them.' I had saved up a little money. I had\nsettled things with father and mother. I meant to take her away from\nthe mortification she was suffering here. We should have had a little\nlodging in London, and lived together like sisters. She had a good\neducation, sir, as you know, and she wrote a good hand. She was quick at\nher needle. I have a good education, and I write a good hand. I am not\nas quick at my needle as she was--but I could have done. We might have\ngot our living nicely. And, oh! what happens this morning? what happens\nthis morning? Her letter comes and tells me that she has done with the\nburden of her life. Her letter comes, and bids me good-bye for ever.\nWhere is he?\" cries the girl, lifting her head from the crutch, and\nflaming out again through her tears. \"Where's this gentleman that I\nmustn't speak of, except with respect? Ha, Mr. Betteredge, the day is\nnot far off when the poor will rise against the rich. I pray Heaven they\nmay begin with HIM. I pray Heaven they may begin with HIM.\"\n\nHere was another of your average good Christians, and here was the usual\nbreak-down, consequent on that same average Christianity being pushed\ntoo far! The parson himself (though I own this is saying a great deal)\ncould hardly have lectured the girl in the state she was in now. All I\nventured to do was to keep her to the point--in the hope of something\nturning up which might be worth hearing.\n\n\"What do you want with Mr. Franklin Blake?\" I asked.\n\n\"I want to see him.\"\n\n\"For anything particular?\"\n\n\"I have got a letter to give him.\"\n\n\"From Rosanna Spearman?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Sent to you in your own letter?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nWas the darkness going to lift? Were all the discoveries that I was\ndying to make, coming and offering themselves to me of their own accord?\nI was obliged to wait a moment. Sergeant Cuff had left his infection\nbehind him. Certain signs and tokens, personal to myself, warned me that\nthe detective-fever was beginning to set in again.\n\n\"You can't see Mr. Franklin,\" I said.\n\n\"I must, and will, see him.\"\n\n\"He went to London last night.\"\n\nLimping Lucy looked me hard in the face, and saw that I was speaking\nthe truth. Without a word more, she turned about again instantly towards\nCobb's Hole.\n\n\"Stop!\" I said. \"I expect news of Mr. Franklin Blake to-morrow. Give me\nyour letter, and I'll send it on to him by the post.\"\n\nLimping Lucy steadied herself on her crutch and looked back at me over\nher shoulder.\n\n\"I am to give it from my hands into his hands,\" she said. \"And I am to\ngive it to him in no other way.\"\n\n\"Shall I write, and tell him what you have said?\"\n\n\"Tell him I hate him. And you will tell him the truth.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes. But about the letter?\"\n\n\"If he wants the letter, he must come back here, and get it from Me.\"\n\nWith those words she limped off on the way to Cobb's Hole. The\ndetective-fever burnt up all my dignity on the spot. I followed her,\nand tried to make her talk. All in vain. It was my misfortune to be\na man--and Limping Lucy enjoyed disappointing me. Later in the day, I\ntried my luck with her mother. Good Mrs. Yolland could only cry,\nand recommend a drop of comfort out of the Dutch bottle. I found the\nfisherman on the beach. He said it was \"a bad job,\" and went on mending\nhis net. Neither father nor mother knew more than I knew. The one\nway left to try was the chance, which might come with the morning, of\nwriting to Mr. Franklin Blake.\n\nI leave you to imagine how I watched for the postman on Tuesday morning.\nHe brought me two letters. One, from Penelope (which I had hardly\npatience enough to read), announced that my lady and Miss Rachel were\nsafely established in London. The other, from Mr. Jeffco, informed me\nthat his master's son had left England already.\n\nOn reaching the metropolis, Mr. Franklin had, it appeared, gone straight\nto his father's residence. He arrived at an awkward time. Mr. Blake, the\nelder, was up to his eyes in the business of the House of Commons, and\nwas amusing himself at home that night with the favourite parliamentary\nplaything which they call \"a private bill.\" Mr. Jeffco himself showed\nMr. Franklin into his father's study. \"My dear Franklin! why do you\nsurprise me in this way? Anything wrong?\" \"Yes; something wrong with\nRachel; I am dreadfully distressed about it.\" \"Grieved to hear it. But\nI can't listen to you now.\" \"When can you listen?\" \"My dear boy! I\nwon't deceive you. I can listen at the end of the session, not a moment\nbefore. Good-night.\" \"Thank you, sir. Good-night.\"\n\nSuch was the conversation, inside the study, as reported to me by Mr.\nJeffco. The conversation outside the study, was shorter still. \"Jeffco,\nsee what time the tidal train starts to-morrow morning.\" \"At six-forty,\nMr. Franklin.\" \"Have me called at five.\" \"Going abroad, sir?\" \"Going,\nJeffco, wherever the railway chooses to take me.\" \"Shall I tell your\nfather, sir?\" \"Yes; tell him at the end of the session.\"\n\nThe next morning Mr. Franklin had started for foreign parts. To what\nparticular place he was bound, nobody (himself included) could presume\nto guess. We might hear of him next in Europe, Asia, Africa, or America.\nThe chances were as equally divided as possible, in Mr. Jeffco's\nopinion, among the four quarters of the globe.\n\nThis news--by closing up all prospects of my bringing Limping Lucy and\nMr. Franklin together--at once stopped any further progress of mine\non the way to discovery. Penelope's belief that her fellow-servant had\ndestroyed herself through unrequited love for Mr. Franklin Blake, was\nconfirmed--and that was all. Whether the letter which Rosanna had\nleft to be given to him after her death did, or did not, contain the\nconfession which Mr. Franklin had suspected her of trying to make to him\nin her life-time, it was impossible to say. It might be only a farewell\nword, telling nothing but the secret of her unhappy fancy for a person\nbeyond her reach. Or it might own the whole truth about the strange\nproceedings in which Sergeant Cuff had detected her, from the time\nwhen the Moonstone was lost, to the time when she rushed to her own\ndestruction at the Shivering Sand. A sealed letter it had been placed in\nLimping Lucy's hand, and a sealed letter it remained to me and to every\none about the girl, her own parents included. We all suspected her of\nhaving been in the dead woman's confidence; we all tried to make her\nspeak; we all failed. Now one, and now another, of the servants--still\nholding to the belief that Rosanna had stolen the Diamond and had hidden\nit--peered and poked about the rocks to which she had been traced,\nand peered and poked in vain. The tide ebbed, and the tide flowed; the\nsummer went on, and the autumn came. And the Quicksand, which hid her\nbody, hid her secret too.\n\nThe news of Mr. Franklin's departure from England on the Sunday morning,\nand the news of my lady's arrival in London with Miss Rachel on the\nMonday afternoon, had reached me, as you are aware, by the Tuesday's\npost. The Wednesday came, and brought nothing. The Thursday produced a\nsecond budget of news from Penelope.\n\nMy girl's letter informed me that some great London doctor had been\nconsulted about her young lady, and had earned a guinea by remarking\nthat she had better be amused. Flower-shows, operas, balls--there was\na whole round of gaieties in prospect; and Miss Rachel, to her mother's\nastonishment, eagerly took to it all. Mr. Godfrey had called; evidently\nas sweet as ever on his cousin, in spite of the reception he had\nmet with, when he tried his luck on the occasion of the birthday. To\nPenelope's great regret, he had been most graciously received, and had\nadded Miss Rachel's name to one of his Ladies' Charities on the spot.\nMy mistress was reported to be out of spirits, and to have held two long\ninterviews with her lawyer. Certain speculations followed, referring to\na poor relation of the family--one Miss Clack, whom I have mentioned in\nmy account of the birthday dinner, as sitting next to Mr. Godfrey, and\nhaving a pretty taste in champagne. Penelope was astonished to find that\nMiss Clack had not called yet. She would surely not be long before she\nfastened herself on my lady as usual--and so forth, and so forth, in the\nway women have of girding at each other, on and off paper. This would\nnot have been worth mentioning, I admit, but for one reason. I hear you\nare likely to be turned over to Miss Clack, after parting with me. In\nthat case, just do me the favour of not believing a word she says, if\nshe speaks of your humble servant.\n\nOn Friday, nothing happened--except that one of the dogs showed signs of\na breaking out behind the ears. I gave him a dose of syrup of buckthorn,\nand put him on a diet of pot-liquor and vegetables till further orders.\nExcuse my mentioning this. It has slipped in somehow. Pass it over\nplease. I am fast coming to the end of my offences against your\ncultivated modern taste. Besides, the dog was a good creature, and\ndeserved a good physicking; he did indeed.\n\nSaturday, the last day of the week, is also the last day in my\nnarrative.\n\nThe morning's post brought me a surprise in the shape of a London\nnewspaper. The handwriting on the direction puzzled me. I compared it\nwith the money-lender's name and address as recorded in my pocket-book,\nand identified it at once as the writing of Sergeant Cuff.\n\nLooking through the paper eagerly enough, after this discovery, I found\nan ink-mark drawn round one of the police reports. Here it is, at your\nservice. Read it as I read it, and you will set the right value on the\nSergeant's polite attention in sending me the news of the day:\n\n\"LAMBETH--Shortly before the closing of the court, Mr. Septimus Luker,\nthe well-known dealer in ancient gems, carvings, intagli, &c., &c.,\napplied to the sitting magistrate for advice. The applicant stated that\nhe had been annoyed, at intervals throughout the day, by the proceedings\nof some of those strolling Indians who infest the streets. The persons\ncomplained of were three in number. After having been sent away by the\npolice, they had returned again and again, and had attempted to enter\nthe house on pretence of asking for charity. Warned off in the front,\nthey had been discovered again at the back of the premises. Besides the\nannoyance complained of, Mr. Luker expressed himself as being under\nsome apprehension that robbery might be contemplated. His collection\ncontained many unique gems, both classical and Oriental, of the highest\nvalue. He had only the day before been compelled to dismiss a skilled\nworkman in ivory carving from his employment (a native of India, as we\nunderstood), on suspicion of attempted theft; and he felt by no means\nsure that this man and the street jugglers of whom he complained, might\nnot be acting in concert. It might be their object to collect a crowd,\nand create a disturbance in the street, and, in the confusion thus\ncaused, to obtain access to the house. In reply to the magistrate, Mr.\nLuker admitted that he had no evidence to produce of any attempt\nat robbery being in contemplation. He could speak positively to the\nannoyance and interruption caused by the Indians, but not to anything\nelse. The magistrate remarked that, if the annoyance were repeated,\nthe applicant could summon the Indians to that court, where they might\neasily be dealt with under the Act. As to the valuables in Mr. Luker's\npossession, Mr. Luker himself must take the best measures for their safe\ncustody. He would do well perhaps to communicate with the police, and to\nadopt such additional precautions as their experience might suggest. The\napplicant thanked his worship, and withdrew.\"\n\nOne of the wise ancients is reported (I forget on what occasion) as\nhaving recommended his fellow-creatures to \"look to the end.\" Looking to\nthe end of these pages of mine, and wondering for some days past how I\nshould manage to write it, I find my plain statement of facts coming to\na conclusion, most appropriately, of its own self. We have gone on, in\nthis matter of the Moonstone, from one marvel to another; and here we end\nwith the greatest marvel of all--namely, the accomplishment of Sergeant\nCuff's three predictions in less than a week from the time when he had\nmade them.\n\nAfter hearing from the Yollands on the Monday, I had now heard of the\nIndians, and heard of the money-lender, in the news from London--Miss\nRachel herself remember, being also in London at the time. You see, I\nput things at their worst, even when they tell dead against my own view.\nIf you desert me, and side with the Sergeant, on the evidence before\nyou--if the only rational explanation you can see is, that Miss Rachel\nand Mr. Luker must have got together, and that the Moonstone must be\nnow in pledge in the money-lender's house--I own, I can't blame you for\narriving at that conclusion. In the dark, I have brought you thus far.\nIn the dark I am compelled to leave you, with my best respects.\n\nWhy compelled? it may be asked. Why not take the persons who have gone\nalong with me, so far, up into those regions of superior enlightenment\nin which I sit myself?\n\nIn answer to this, I can only state that I am acting under orders,\nand that those orders have been given to me (as I understand) in the\ninterests of truth. I am forbidden to tell more in this narrative than\nI knew myself at the time. Or, to put it plainer, I am to keep strictly\nwithin the limits of my own experience, and am not to inform you of what\nother persons told me--for the very sufficient reason that you are to\nhave the information from those other persons themselves, at first hand.\nIn this matter of the Moonstone the plan is, not to present reports, but\nto produce witnesses. I picture to myself a member of the family reading\nthese pages fifty years hence. Lord! what a compliment he will feel\nit, to be asked to take nothing on hear-say, and to be treated in all\nrespects like a Judge on the bench.\n\nAt this place, then, we part--for the present, at least--after long\njourneying together, with a companionable feeling, I hope, on both\nsides. The devil's dance of the Indian Diamond has threaded its way\nto London; and to London you must go after it, leaving me at the\ncountry-house. Please to excuse the faults of this composition--my\ntalking so much of myself, and being too familiar, I am afraid, with\nyou. I mean no harm; and I drink most respectfully (having just done\ndinner) to your health and prosperity, in a tankard of her ladyship's\nale. May you find in these leaves of my writing, what ROBINSON CRUSOE\nfound in his experience on the desert island--namely, \"something to\ncomfort yourselves from, and to set in the Description of Good and Evil,\non the Credit Side of the Account.\"--Farewell.\n\nTHE END OF THE FIRST PERIOD.\n\n\n\n\n\nSECOND PERIOD\n\nTHE DISCOVERY OF THE TRUTH (1848-1849)\n\nThe events related in several narratives.\n\n\n\n\nFIRST NARRATIVE\n\nContributed by MISS CLACK; niece of the late SIR JOHN VERINDER\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nI am indebted to my dear parents (both now in heaven) for having had\nhabits of order and regularity instilled into me at a very early age.\n\nIn that happy bygone time, I was taught to keep my hair tidy at all\nhours of the day and night, and to fold up every article of my clothing\ncarefully, in the same order, on the same chair, in the same place at\nthe foot of the bed, before retiring to rest. An entry of the day's\nevents in my little diary invariably preceded the folding up. The\n\"Evening Hymn\" (repeated in bed) invariably followed the folding up. And\nthe sweet sleep of childhood invariably followed the \"Evening Hymn.\"\n\nIn later life (alas!) the Hymn has been succeeded by sad and bitter\nmeditations; and the sweet sleep has been but ill exchanged for the\nbroken slumbers which haunt the uneasy pillow of care. On the other\nhand, I have continued to fold my clothes, and to keep my little diary.\nThe former habit links me to my happy childhood--before papa was ruined.\nThe latter habit--hitherto mainly useful in helping me to discipline the\nfallen nature which we all inherit from Adam--has unexpectedly proved\nimportant to my humble interests in quite another way. It has enabled\npoor Me to serve the caprice of a wealthy member of the family into\nwhich my late uncle married. I am fortunate enough to be useful to Mr.\nFranklin Blake.\n\nI have been cut off from all news of my relatives by marriage for\nsome time past. When we are isolated and poor, we are not infrequently\nforgotten. I am now living, for economy's sake, in a little town in\nBrittany, inhabited by a select circle of serious English friends, and\npossessed of the inestimable advantages of a Protestant clergyman and a\ncheap market.\n\nIn this retirement--a Patmos amid the howling ocean of popery that\nsurrounds us--a letter from England has reached me at last. I find my\ninsignificant existence suddenly remembered by Mr. Franklin Blake.\nMy wealthy relative--would that I could add my spiritually-wealthy\nrelative!--writes, without even an attempt at disguising that he wants\nsomething of me. The whim has seized him to stir up the deplorable\nscandal of the Moonstone: and I am to help him by writing the account\nof what I myself witnessed while visiting at Aunt Verinder's house\nin London. Pecuniary remuneration is offered to me--with the want of\nfeeling peculiar to the rich. I am to re-open wounds that Time\nhas barely closed; I am to recall the most intensely painful\nremembrances--and this done, I am to feel myself compensated by a new\nlaceration, in the shape of Mr. Blake's cheque. My nature is weak. It\ncost me a hard struggle, before Christian humility conquered sinful\npride, and self-denial accepted the cheque.\n\nWithout my diary, I doubt--pray let me express it in the grossest\nterms!--if I could have honestly earned my money. With my diary, the\npoor labourer (who forgives Mr. Blake for insulting her) is worthy\nof her hire. Nothing escaped me at the time I was visiting dear Aunt\nVerinder. Everything was entered (thanks to my early training) day by\nday as it happened; and everything down to the smallest particular,\nshall be told here. My sacred regard for truth is (thank God) far above\nmy respect for persons. It will be easy for Mr. Blake to suppress what\nmay not prove to be sufficiently flattering in these pages to the person\nchiefly concerned in them. He has purchased my time, but not even HIS\nwealth can purchase my conscience too.*\n\n     * NOTE. ADDED BY FRANKLIN BLAKE.--Miss Clack may make her\n     mind quite easy on this point. Nothing will be added,\n     altered or removed, in her manuscript, or in any of the\n     other manuscripts which pass through my hands. Whatever\n     opinions any of the writers may express, whatever\n     peculiarities of treatment may mark, and perhaps in a\n     literary sense, disfigure the narratives which I am now\n     collecting, not a line will be tampered with anywhere, from\n     first to last. As genuine documents they are sent to me--and\n     as genuine documents I shall preserve them, endorsed by the\n     attestations of witnesses who can speak to the facts. It\n     only remains to be added that \"the person chiefly concerned\"\n     in Miss Clack's narrative, is happy enough at the present\n     moment, not only to brave the smartest exercise of Miss\n     Clack's pen, but even to recognise its unquestionable value\n     as an instrument for the exhibition of Miss Clack's\n     character.\n\nMy diary informs me, that I was accidentally passing Aunt Verinder's\nhouse in Montagu Square, on Monday, 3rd July, 1848.\n\nSeeing the shutters opened, and the blinds drawn up, I felt that it\nwould be an act of polite attention to knock, and make inquiries. The\nperson who answered the door, informed me that my aunt and her daughter\n(I really cannot call her my cousin!) had arrived from the country\na week since, and meditated making some stay in London. I sent up a\nmessage at once, declining to disturb them, and only begging to know\nwhether I could be of any use.\n\nThe person who answered the door, took my message in insolent silence,\nand left me standing in the hall. She is the daughter of a heathen old\nman named Betteredge--long, too long, tolerated in my aunt's family.\nI sat down in the hall to wait for my answer--and, having always a few\ntracts in my bag, I selected one which proved to be quite providentially\napplicable to the person who answered the door. The hall was dirty, and\nthe chair was hard; but the blessed consciousness of returning good for\nevil raised me quite above any trifling considerations of that kind. The\ntract was one of a series addressed to young women on the sinfulness of\ndress. In style it was devoutly familiar. Its title was, \"A Word With\nYou On Your Cap-Ribbons.\"\n\n\"My lady is much obliged, and begs you will come and lunch to-morrow at\ntwo.\"\n\nI passed over the manner in which she gave her message, and the dreadful\nboldness of her look. I thanked this young castaway; and I said, in a\ntone of Christian interest, \"Will you favour me by accepting a tract?\"\n\nShe looked at the title. \"Is it written by a man or a woman, Miss? If\nit's written by a woman, I had rather not read it on that account. If\nit's written by a man, I beg to inform him that he knows nothing about\nit.\" She handed me back the tract, and opened the door. We must sow the\ngood seed somehow. I waited till the door was shut on me, and slipped\nthe tract into the letter-box. When I had dropped another tract through\nthe area railings, I felt relieved, in some small degree, of a heavy\nresponsibility towards others.\n\nWe had a meeting that evening of the Select Committee of the\nMothers'-Small-Clothes-Conversion-Society. The object of this excellent\nCharity is--as all serious people know--to rescue unredeemed fathers'\ntrousers from the pawnbroker, and to prevent their resumption, on the\npart of the irreclaimable parent, by abridging them immediately to suit\nthe proportions of the innocent son. I was a member, at that time,\nof the select committee; and I mention the Society here, because my\nprecious and admirable friend, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, was associated\nwith our work of moral and material usefulness. I had expected to see\nhim in the boardroom, on the Monday evening of which I am now writing,\nand had proposed to tell him, when we met, of dear Aunt Verinder's\narrival in London. To my great disappointment he never appeared. On\nmy expressing a feeling of surprise at his absence, my sisters of the\nCommittee all looked up together from their trousers (we had a great\npressure of business that night), and asked in amazement, if I had not\nheard the news. I acknowledged my ignorance, and was then told, for the\nfirst time, of an event which forms, so to speak, the starting-point\nof this narrative. On the previous Friday, two gentlemen--occupying\nwidely-different positions in society--had been the victims of an\noutrage which had startled all London. One of the gentlemen was Mr.\nSeptimus Luker, of Lambeth. The other was Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.\n\nLiving in my present isolation, I have no means of introducing the\nnewspaper-account of the outrage into my narrative. I was also deprived,\nat the time, of the inestimable advantage of hearing the events related\nby the fervid eloquence of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. All I can do is to\nstate the facts as they were stated, on that Monday evening, to me;\nproceeding on the plan which I have been taught from infancy to adopt\nin folding up my clothes. Everything shall be put neatly, and everything\nshall be put in its place. These lines are written by a poor weak woman.\nFrom a poor weak woman who will be cruel enough to expect more?\n\nThe date--thanks to my dear parents, no dictionary that ever was written\ncan be more particular than I am about dates--was Friday, June 30th,\n1848.\n\nEarly on that memorable day, our gifted Mr. Godfrey happened to be\ncashing a cheque at a banking-house in Lombard Street. The name of the\nfirm is accidentally blotted in my diary, and my sacred regard for truth\nforbids me to hazard a guess in a matter of this kind. Fortunately, the\nname of the firm doesn't matter. What does matter is a circumstance that\noccurred when Mr. Godfrey had transacted his business. On gaining the\ndoor, he encountered a gentleman--a perfect stranger to him--who was\naccidentally leaving the office exactly at the same time as himself. A\nmomentary contest of politeness ensued between them as to who should be\nthe first to pass through the door of the bank. The stranger insisted on\nmaking Mr. Godfrey precede him; Mr. Godfrey said a few civil words; they\nbowed, and parted in the street.\n\nThoughtless and superficial people may say, Here is surely a very\ntrumpery little incident related in an absurdly circumstantial manner.\nOh, my young friends and fellow-sinners! beware of presuming to exercise\nyour poor carnal reason. Oh, be morally tidy. Let your faith be as your\nstockings, and your stockings as your faith. Both ever spotless, and\nboth ready to put on at a moment's notice!\n\nI beg a thousand pardons. I have fallen insensibly into my Sunday-school\nstyle. Most inappropriate in such a record as this. Let me try to be\nworldly--let me say that trifles, in this case as in many others, led\nto terrible results. Merely premising that the polite stranger was Mr.\nLuker, of Lambeth, we will now follow Mr. Godfrey home to his residence\nat Kilburn.\n\nHe found waiting for him, in the hall, a poorly clad but delicate and\ninteresting-looking little boy. The boy handed him a letter, merely\nmentioning that he had been entrusted with it by an old lady whom he did\nnot know, and who had given him no instructions to wait for an answer.\nSuch incidents as these were not uncommon in Mr. Godfrey's large\nexperience as a promoter of public charities. He let the boy go, and\nopened the letter.\n\nThe handwriting was entirely unfamiliar to him. It requested his\nattendance, within an hour's time, at a house in Northumberland Street,\nStrand, which he had never had occasion to enter before. The object\nsought was to obtain from the worthy manager certain details on the\nsubject of the Mothers'-Small-Clothes-Conversion-Society, and the\ninformation was wanted by an elderly lady who proposed adding largely to\nthe resources of the charity, if her questions were met by satisfactory\nreplies. She mentioned her name, and she added that the shortness of\nher stay in London prevented her from giving any longer notice to the\neminent philanthropist whom she addressed.\n\nOrdinary people might have hesitated before setting aside their own\nengagements to suit the convenience of a stranger. The Christian Hero\nnever hesitates where good is to be done. Mr. Godfrey instantly turned\nback, and proceeded to the house in Northumberland Street. A most\nrespectable though somewhat corpulent man answered the door, and, on\nhearing Mr. Godfrey's name, immediately conducted him into an empty\napartment at the back, on the drawing-room floor. He noticed two unusual\nthings on entering the room. One of them was a faint odour of musk\nand camphor. The other was an ancient Oriental manuscript, richly\nilluminated with Indian figures and devices, that lay open to inspection\non a table.\n\nHe was looking at the book, the position of which caused him to stand\nwith his back turned towards the closed folding doors communicating with\nthe front room, when, without the slightest previous noise to warn him,\nhe felt himself suddenly seized round the neck from behind. He had\njust time to notice that the arm round his neck was naked and of a\ntawny-brown colour, before his eyes were bandaged, his mouth was gagged,\nand he was thrown helpless on the floor by (as he judged) two men. A\nthird rifled his pockets, and--if, as a lady, I may venture to use such\nan expression--searched him, without ceremony, through and through to\nhis skin.\n\nHere I should greatly enjoy saying a few cheering words on the devout\nconfidence which could alone have sustained Mr. Godfrey in an emergency\nso terrible as this. Perhaps, however, the position and appearance of\nmy admirable friend at the culminating period of the outrage (as above\ndescribed) are hardly within the proper limits of female discussion. Let\nme pass over the next few moments, and return to Mr. Godfrey at the time\nwhen the odious search of his person had been completed. The outrage had\nbeen perpetrated throughout in dead silence. At the end of it some words\nwere exchanged, among the invisible wretches, in a language which he\ndid not understand, but in tones which were plainly expressive (to his\ncultivated ear) of disappointment and rage. He was suddenly lifted from\nthe ground, placed in a chair, and bound there hand and foot. The next\nmoment he felt the air flowing in from the open door, listened, and\nconcluded that he was alone again in the room.\n\nAn interval elapsed, and he heard a sound below like the rustling sound\nof a woman's dress. It advanced up the stairs, and stopped. A female\nscream rent the atmosphere of guilt. A man's voice below exclaimed\n\"Hullo!\" A man's feet ascended the stairs. Mr. Godfrey felt Christian\nfingers unfastening his bandage, and extracting his gag. He looked in\namazement at two respectable strangers, and faintly articulated, \"What\ndoes it mean?\" The two respectable strangers looked back, and said,\n\"Exactly the question we were going to ask YOU.\"\n\nThe inevitable explanation followed. No! Let me be scrupulously\nparticular. Sal volatile and water followed, to compose dear Mr.\nGodfrey's nerves. The explanation came next.\n\nIt appeared from the statement of the landlord and landlady of the house\n(persons of good repute in the neighbourhood), that their first and\nsecond floor apartments had been engaged, on the previous day, for a\nweek certain, by a most respectable-looking gentleman--the same who has\nbeen already described as answering the door to Mr. Godfrey's knock. The\ngentleman had paid the week's rent and all the week's extras in advance,\nstating that the apartments were wanted for three Oriental noblemen,\nfriends of his, who were visiting England for the first time. Early on\nthe morning of the outrage, two of the Oriental strangers, accompanied\nby their respectable English friend, took possession of the apartments.\nThe third was expected to join them shortly; and the luggage (reported\nas very bulky) was announced to follow when it had passed through the\nCustom-house, late in the afternoon. Not more than ten minutes previous\nto Mr. Godfrey's visit, the third foreigner had arrived. Nothing out of\nthe common had happened, to the knowledge of the landlord and landlady\ndown-stairs, until within the last five minutes--when they had seen the\nthree foreigners, accompanied by their respectable English friend,\nall leave the house together, walking quietly in the direction of the\nStrand. Remembering that a visitor had called, and not having seen the\nvisitor also leave the house, the landlady had thought it rather strange\nthat the gentleman should be left by himself up-stairs. After a\nshort discussion with her husband, she had considered it advisable to\nascertain whether anything was wrong. The result had followed, as I\nhave already attempted to describe it; and there the explanation of the\nlandlord and the landlady came to an end.\n\nAn investigation was next made in the room. Dear Mr. Godfrey's property\nwas found scattered in all directions. When the articles were\ncollected, however, nothing was missing; his watch, chain, purse,\nkeys, pocket-handkerchief, note-book, and all his loose papers had been\nclosely examined, and had then been left unharmed to be resumed by the\nowner. In the same way, not the smallest morsel of property belonging to\nthe proprietors of the house had been abstracted. The Oriental noblemen\nhad removed their own illuminated manuscript, and had removed nothing\nelse.\n\nWhat did it mean? Taking the worldly point of view, it appeared to mean\nthat Mr. Godfrey had been the victim of some incomprehensible error,\ncommitted by certain unknown men. A dark conspiracy was on foot in the\nmidst of us; and our beloved and innocent friend had been entangled in\nits meshes. When the Christian hero of a hundred charitable victories\nplunges into a pitfall that has been dug for him by mistake, oh, what a\nwarning it is to the rest of us to be unceasingly on our guard! How soon\nmay our own evil passions prove to be Oriental noblemen who pounce on us\nunawares!\n\nI could write pages of affectionate warning on this one theme, but\n(alas!) I am not permitted to improve--I am condemned to narrate.\nMy wealthy relative's cheque--henceforth, the incubus of my\nexistence--warns me that I have not done with this record of violence\nyet. We must leave Mr. Godfrey to recover in Northumberland Street, and\nmust follow the proceedings of Mr. Luker at a later period of the day.\n\nAfter leaving the bank, Mr. Luker had visited various parts of London\non business errands. Returning to his own residence, he found a letter\nwaiting for him, which was described as having been left a short\ntime previously by a boy. In this case, as in Mr. Godfrey's case, the\nhandwriting was strange; but the name mentioned was the name of one of\nMr. Luker's customers. His correspondent announced (writing in the\nthird person--apparently by the hand of a deputy) that he had been\nunexpectedly summoned to London. He had just established himself in\nlodgings in Alfred Place, Tottenham Court Road; and he desired to\nsee Mr. Luker immediately, on the subject of a purchase which he\ncontemplated making. The gentleman was an enthusiastic collector of\nOriental antiquities, and had been for many years a liberal patron of\nthe establishment in Lambeth. Oh, when shall we wean ourselves from the\nworship of Mammon! Mr. Luker called a cab, and drove off instantly to\nhis liberal patron.\n\nExactly what had happened to Mr. Godfrey in Northumberland Street now\nhappened to Mr. Luker in Alfred Place. Once more the respectable man\nanswered the door, and showed the visitor up-stairs into the back\ndrawing-room. There, again, lay the illuminated manuscript on a table.\nMr. Luker's attention was absorbed, as Mr. Godfrey's attention had been\nabsorbed, by this beautiful work of Indian art. He too was aroused from\nhis studies by a tawny naked arm round his throat, by a bandage over\nhis eyes, and by a gag in his mouth. He too was thrown prostrate and\nsearched to the skin. A longer interval had then elapsed than had passed\nin the experience of Mr. Godfrey; but it had ended as before, in the\npersons of the house suspecting something wrong, and going up-stairs to\nsee what had happened. Precisely the same explanation which the landlord\nin Northumberland Street had given to Mr. Godfrey, the landlord in\nAlfred Place now gave to Mr. Luker. Both had been imposed on in the same\nway by the plausible address and well-filled purse of the respectable\nstranger, who introduced himself as acting for his foreign friends.\nThe one point of difference between the two cases occurred when the\nscattered contents of Mr. Luker's pockets were being collected from\nthe floor. His watch and purse were safe, but (less fortunate than Mr.\nGodfrey) one of the loose papers that he carried about him had been\ntaken away. The paper in question acknowledged the receipt of a valuable\nof great price which Mr. Luker had that day left in the care of his\nbankers. This document would be useless for purposes of fraud, inasmuch\nas it provided that the valuable should only be given up on the personal\napplication of the owner. As soon as he recovered himself, Mr. Luker\nhurried to the bank, on the chance that the thieves who had robbed him\nmight ignorantly present themselves with the receipt. Nothing had been\nseen of them when he arrived at the establishment, and nothing was seen\nof them afterwards. Their respectable English friend had (in the opinion\nof the bankers) looked the receipt over before they attempted to make\nuse of it, and had given them the necessary warning in good time.\n\nInformation of both outrages was communicated to the police, and the\nneedful investigations were pursued, I believe, with great energy.\nThe authorities held that a robbery had been planned, on insufficient\ninformation received by the thieves. They had been plainly not sure\nwhether Mr. Luker had, or had not, trusted the transmission of his\nprecious gem to another person; and poor polite Mr. Godfrey had paid the\npenalty of having been seen accidentally speaking to him. Add to this,\nthat Mr. Godfrey's absence from our Monday evening meeting had been\noccasioned by a consultation of the authorities, at which he was\nrequested to assist--and all the explanations required being now\ngiven, I may proceed with the simpler story of my own little personal\nexperiences in Montagu Square.\n\nI was punctual to the luncheon hour on Tuesday. Reference to my diary\nshows this to have been a chequered day--much in it to be devoutly\nregretted, much in it to be devoutly thankful for.\n\nDear Aunt Verinder received me with her usual grace and kindness. But I\nnoticed, after a little while, that something was wrong. Certain anxious\nlooks escaped my aunt, all of which took the direction of her daughter.\nI never see Rachel myself without wondering how it can be that so\ninsignificant-looking a person should be the child of such distinguished\nparents as Sir John and Lady Verinder. On this occasion, however, she\nnot only disappointed--she really shocked me. There was an absence of\nall lady-like restraint in her language and manner most painful to\nsee. She was possessed by some feverish excitement which made her\ndistressingly loud when she laughed, and sinfully wasteful and\ncapricious in what she ate and drank at lunch. I felt deeply for\nher poor mother, even before the true state of the case had been\nconfidentially made known to me.\n\nLuncheon over, my aunt said: \"Remember what the doctor told you, Rachel,\nabout quieting yourself with a book after taking your meals.\"\n\n\"I'll go into the library, mamma,\" she answered. \"But if Godfrey\ncalls, mind I am told of it. I am dying for more news of him, after\nhis adventure in Northumberland Street.\" She kissed her mother on the\nforehead, and looked my way. \"Good-bye, Clack,\" she said, carelessly.\nHer insolence roused no angry feeling in me; I only made a private\nmemorandum to pray for her.\n\nWhen we were left by ourselves, my aunt told me the whole horrible story\nof the Indian Diamond, which, I am happy to know, it is not necessary to\nrepeat here. She did not conceal from me that she would have preferred\nkeeping silence on the subject. But when her own servants all knew\nof the loss of the Moonstone, and when some of the circumstances had\nactually found their way into the newspapers--when strangers were\nspeculating whether there was any connection between what had\nhappened at Lady Verinder's country-house, and what had happened in\nNorthumberland Street and Alfred Place--concealment was not to be\nthought of; and perfect frankness became a necessity as well as a\nvirtue.\n\nSome persons, hearing what I now heard, would have been probably\noverwhelmed with astonishment. For my own part, knowing Rachel's spirit\nto have been essentially unregenerate from her childhood upwards, I\nwas prepared for whatever my aunt could tell me on the subject of her\ndaughter. It might have gone on from bad to worse till it ended in\nMurder; and I should still have said to myself, The natural result! oh,\ndear, dear, the natural result! The one thing that DID shock me was the\ncourse my aunt had taken under the circumstances. Here surely was a case\nfor a clergyman, if ever there was one yet! Lady Verinder had thought it\na case for a physician. All my poor aunt's early life had been passed\nin her father's godless household. The natural result again! Oh, dear,\ndear, the natural result again!\n\n\"The doctors recommend plenty of exercise and amusement for Rachel, and\nstrongly urge me to keep her mind as much as possible from dwelling on\nthe past,\" said Lady Verinder.\n\n\"Oh, what heathen advice!\" I thought to myself. \"In this Christian\ncountry, what heathen advice!\"\n\nMy aunt went on, \"I do my best to carry out my instructions. But this\nstrange adventure of Godfrey's happens at a most unfortunate time.\nRachel has been incessantly restless and excited since she first heard\nof it. She left me no peace till I had written and asked my nephew\nAblewhite to come here. She even feels an interest in the other person\nwho was roughly used--Mr. Luker, or some such name--though the man is,\nof course, a total stranger to her.\"\n\n\"Your knowledge of the world, dear aunt, is superior to mine,\" I\nsuggested diffidently. \"But there must be a reason surely for this\nextraordinary conduct on Rachel's part. She is keeping a sinful secret\nfrom you and from everybody. May there not be something in these recent\nevents which threatens her secret with discovery?\"\n\n\"Discovery?\" repeated my aunt. \"What can you possibly mean? Discovery\nthrough Mr. Luker? Discovery through my nephew?\"\n\nAs the word passed her lips, a special providence occurred. The servant\nopened the door, and announced Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nMr. Godfrey followed the announcement of his name--as Mr. Godfrey does\neverything else--exactly at the right time. He was not so close on the\nservant's heels as to startle us. He was not so far behind as to cause\nus the double inconvenience of a pause and an open door. It is in the\ncompleteness of his daily life that the true Christian appears. This\ndear man was very complete.\n\n\"Go to Miss Verinder,\" said my aunt, addressing the servant, \"and tell\nher Mr. Ablewhite is here.\"\n\nWe both inquired after his health. We both asked him together whether he\nfelt like himself again, after his terrible adventure of the past week.\nWith perfect tact, he contrived to answer us at the same moment. Lady\nVerinder had his reply in words. I had his charming smile.\n\n\"What,\" he cried, with infinite tenderness, \"have I done to deserve\nall this sympathy? My dear aunt! my dear Miss Clack! I have merely been\nmistaken for somebody else. I have only been blindfolded; I have only\nbeen strangled; I have only been thrown flat on my back, on a very thin\ncarpet, covering a particularly hard floor. Just think how much worse it\nmight have been! I might have been murdered; I might have been robbed.\nWhat have I lost? Nothing but Nervous Force--which the law doesn't\nrecognise as property; so that, strictly speaking, I have lost nothing\nat all. If I could have had my own way, I would have kept my adventure\nto myself--I shrink from all this fuss and publicity. But Mr. Luker made\nHIS injuries public, and my injuries, as the necessary consequence,\nhave been proclaimed in their turn. I have become the property of the\nnewspapers, until the gentle reader gets sick of the subject. I am very\nsick indeed of it myself. May the gentle reader soon be like me! And how\nis dear Rachel? Still enjoying the gaieties of London? So glad to hear\nit! Miss Clack, I need all your indulgence. I am sadly behind-hand with\nmy Committee Work and my dear Ladies. But I really do hope to look in at\nthe Mothers'-Small-Clothes next week. Did you make cheering progress at\nMonday's Committee? Was the Board hopeful about future prospects? And\nare we nicely off for Trousers?\"\n\nThe heavenly gentleness of his smile made his apologies irresistible.\nThe richness of his deep voice added its own indescribable charm to\nthe interesting business question which he had just addressed to me.\nIn truth, we were almost TOO nicely off for Trousers; we were quite\noverwhelmed by them. I was just about to say so, when the door opened\nagain, and an element of worldly disturbance entered the room, in the\nperson of Miss Verinder.\n\nShe approached dear Mr. Godfrey at a most unladylike rate of speed,\nwith her hair shockingly untidy, and her face, what I should call,\nunbecomingly flushed.\n\n\"I am charmed to see you, Godfrey,\" she said, addressing him, I grieve\nto add, in the off-hand manner of one young man talking to another.\n\"I wish you had brought Mr. Luker with you. You and he (as long as\nour present excitement lasts) are the two most interesting men in\nall London. It's morbid to say this; it's unhealthy; it's all that a\nwell-regulated mind like Miss Clack's most instinctively shudders at.\nNever mind that. Tell me the whole of the Northumberland Street story\ndirectly. I know the newspapers have left some of it out.\"\n\nEven dear Mr. Godfrey partakes of the fallen nature which we all inherit\nfrom Adam--it is a very small share of our human legacy, but, alas! he\nhas it. I confess it grieved me to see him take Rachel's hand in both of\nhis own hands, and lay it softly on the left side of his waistcoat.\nIt was a direct encouragement to her reckless way of talking, and her\ninsolent reference to me.\n\n\"Dearest Rachel,\" he said, in the same voice which had thrilled me when\nhe spoke of our prospects and our trousers, \"the newspapers have told\nyou everything--and they have told it much better than I can.\"\n\n\"Godfrey thinks we all make too much of the matter,\" my aunt remarked.\n\"He has just been saying that he doesn't care to speak of it.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nShe put the question with a sudden flash in her eyes, and a sudden look\nup into Mr. Godfrey's face. On his side, he looked down at her with an\nindulgence so injudicious and so ill-deserved, that I really felt called\non to interfere.\n\n\"Rachel, darling!\" I remonstrated gently, \"true greatness and true\ncourage are ever modest.\"\n\n\"You are a very good fellow in your way, Godfrey,\" she said--not taking\nthe smallest notice, observe, of me, and still speaking to her cousin\nas if she was one young man addressing another. \"But I am quite sure you\nare not great; I don't believe you possess any extraordinary courage;\nand I am firmly persuaded--if you ever had any modesty--that your\nlady-worshippers relieved you of that virtue a good many years since.\nYou have some private reason for not talking of your adventure in\nNorthumberland Street; and I mean to know it.\"\n\n\"My reason is the simplest imaginable, and the most easily\nacknowledged,\" he answered, still bearing with her. \"I am tired of the\nsubject.\"\n\n\"You are tired of the subject? My dear Godfrey, I am going to make a\nremark.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"You live a great deal too much in the society of women. And you have\ncontracted two very bad habits in consequence. You have learnt to talk\nnonsense seriously, and you have got into a way of telling fibs for\nthe pleasure of telling them. You can't go straight with your\nlady-worshippers. I mean to make you go straight with me. Come, and\nsit down. I am brimful of downright questions; and I expect you to be\nbrimful of downright answers.\"\n\nShe actually dragged him across the room to a chair by the window, where\nthe light would fall on his face. I deeply feel being obliged to report\nsuch language, and to describe such conduct. But, hemmed in, as I am,\nbetween Mr. Franklin Blake's cheque on one side and my own sacred regard\nfor truth on the other, what am I to do? I looked at my aunt. She sat\nunmoved; apparently in no way disposed to interfere. I had never noticed\nthis kind of torpor in her before. It was, perhaps, the reaction after\nthe trying time she had had in the country. Not a pleasant symptom to\nremark, be it what it might, at dear Lady Verinder's age, and with dear\nLady Verinder's autumnal exuberance of figure.\n\nIn the meantime, Rachel had settled herself at the window with our\namiable and forbearing--our too forbearing--Mr. Godfrey. She began the\nstring of questions with which she had threatened him, taking no more\nnotice of her mother, or of myself, than if we had not been in the room.\n\n\"Have the police done anything, Godfrey?\"\n\n\"Nothing whatever.\"\n\n\"It is certain, I suppose, that the three men who laid the trap for you\nwere the same three men who afterwards laid the trap for Mr. Luker?\"\n\n\"Humanly speaking, my dear Rachel, there can be no doubt of it.\"\n\n\"And not a trace of them has been discovered?\"\n\n\"Not a trace.\"\n\n\"It is thought--is it not?--that these three men are the three Indians\nwho came to our house in the country.\"\n\n\"Some people think so.\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\"\n\n\"My dear Rachel, they blindfolded me before I could see their faces. I\nknow nothing whatever of the matter. How can I offer an opinion on it?\"\n\nEven the angelic gentleness of Mr. Godfrey was, you see, beginning\nto give way at last under the persecution inflicted on him. Whether\nunbridled curiosity, or ungovernable dread, dictated Miss Verinder's\nquestions I do not presume to inquire. I only report that, on Mr.\nGodfrey's attempting to rise, after giving her the answer just\ndescribed, she actually took him by the two shoulders, and pushed him\nback into his chair--Oh, don't say this was immodest! don't even hint\nthat the recklessness of guilty terror could alone account for such\nconduct as I have described! We must not judge others. My Christian\nfriends, indeed, indeed, indeed, we must not judge others!\n\nShe went on with her questions, unabashed. Earnest Biblical students\nwill perhaps be reminded--as I was reminded--of the blinded children of\nthe devil, who went on with their orgies, unabashed, in the time before\nthe Flood.\n\n\"I want to know something about Mr. Luker, Godfrey.\"\n\n\"I am again unfortunate, Rachel. No man knows less of Mr. Luker than I\ndo.\"\n\n\"You never saw him before you and he met accidentally at the bank?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"You have seen him since?\"\n\n\"Yes. We have been examined together, as well as separately, to assist\nthe police.\"\n\n\"Mr. Luker was robbed of a receipt which he had got from his\nbanker's--was he not? What was the receipt for?\"\n\n\"For a valuable gem which he had placed in the safe keeping of the\nbank.\"\n\n\"That's what the newspapers say. It may be enough for the general\nreader; but it is not enough for me. The banker's receipt must have\nmentioned what the gem was?\"\n\n\"The banker's receipt, Rachel--as I have heard it described--mentioned\nnothing of the kind. A valuable gem, belonging to Mr. Luker; deposited\nby Mr. Luker; sealed with Mr. Luker's seal; and only to be given up on\nMr. Luker's personal application. That was the form, and that is all I\nknow about it.\"\n\nShe waited a moment, after he had said that. She looked at her mother,\nand sighed. She looked back again at Mr. Godfrey, and went on.\n\n\"Some of our private affairs, at home,\" she said, \"seem to have got into\nthe newspapers?\"\n\n\"I grieve to say, it is so.\"\n\n\"And some idle people, perfect strangers to us, are trying to trace a\nconnexion between what happened at our house in Yorkshire and what has\nhappened since, here in London?\"\n\n\"The public curiosity, in certain quarters, is, I fear, taking that\nturn.\"\n\n\"The people who say that the three unknown men who ill-used you and Mr.\nLuker are the three Indians, also say that the valuable gem----\"\n\nThere she stopped. She had become gradually, within the last few\nmoments, whiter and whiter in the face. The extraordinary blackness of\nher hair made this paleness, by contrast, so ghastly to look at, that we\nall thought she would faint, at the moment when she checked herself in\nthe middle of her question. Dear Mr. Godfrey made a second attempt to\nleave his chair. My aunt entreated her to say no more. I followed my\naunt with a modest medicinal peace-offering, in the shape of a bottle\nof salts. We none of us produced the slightest effect on her. \"Godfrey,\nstay where you are. Mamma, there is not the least reason to be alarmed\nabout me. Clack, you're dying to hear the end of it--I won't faint,\nexpressly to oblige YOU.\"\n\nThose were the exact words she used--taken down in my diary the moment\nI got home. But, oh, don't let us judge! My Christian friends, don't let\nus judge!\n\nShe turned once more to Mr. Godfrey. With an obstinacy dreadful to see,\nshe went back again to the place where she had checked herself, and\ncompleted her question in these words:\n\n\"I spoke to you, a minute since, about what people were saying in\ncertain quarters. Tell me plainly, Godfrey, do they any of them say that\nMr. Luker's valuable gem is--the Moonstone?\"\n\nAs the name of the Indian Diamond passed her lips, I saw a change come\nover my admirable friend. His complexion deepened. He lost the\ngenial suavity of manner which is one of his greatest charms. A noble\nindignation inspired his reply.\n\n\"They DO say it,\" he answered. \"There are people who don't hesitate to\naccuse Mr. Luker of telling a falsehood to serve some private interests\nof his own. He has over and over again solemnly declared that, until\nthis scandal assailed him, he had never even heard of the Moonstone. And\nthese vile people reply, without a shadow of proof to justify them, He\nhas his reasons for concealment; we decline to believe him on his oath.\nShameful! shameful!\"\n\nRachel looked at him very strangely--I can't well describe how--while he\nwas speaking. When he had done, she said, \"Considering that Mr. Luker\nis only a chance acquaintance of yours, you take up his cause, Godfrey,\nrather warmly.\"\n\nMy gifted friend made her one of the most truly evangelical answers I\never heard in my life.\n\n\"I hope, Rachel, I take up the cause of all oppressed people rather\nwarmly,\" he said.\n\nThe tone in which those words were spoken might have melted a stone.\nBut, oh dear, what is the hardness of stone? Nothing, compared to the\nhardness of the unregenerate human heart! She sneered. I blush to record\nit--she sneered at him to his face.\n\n\"Keep your noble sentiments for your Ladies' Committees, Godfrey. I am\ncertain that the scandal which has assailed Mr. Luker, has not spared\nYou.\"\n\nEven my aunt's torpor was roused by those words.\n\n\"My dear Rachel,\" she remonstrated, \"you have really no right to say\nthat!\"\n\n\"I mean no harm, mamma--I mean good. Have a moment's patience with me,\nand you will see.\"\n\nShe looked back at Mr. Godfrey, with what appeared to be a sudden pity\nfor him. She went the length--the very unladylike length--of taking him\nby the hand.\n\n\"I am certain,\" she said, \"that I have found out the true reason of your\nunwillingness to speak of this matter before my mother and before me.\nAn unlucky accident has associated you in people's minds with Mr. Luker.\nYou have told me what scandal says of HIM. What does scandal say of\nyou?\"\n\nEven at the eleventh hour, dear Mr. Godfrey--always ready to return good\nfor evil--tried to spare her.\n\n\"Don't ask me!\" he said. \"It's better forgotten, Rachel--it is, indeed.\"\n\n\"I WILL hear it!\" she cried out, fiercely, at the top of her voice.\n\n\"Tell her, Godfrey!\" entreated my aunt. \"Nothing can do her such harm as\nyour silence is doing now!\"\n\nMr. Godfrey's fine eyes filled with tears. He cast one last appealing\nlook at her--and then he spoke the fatal words:\n\n\"If you will have it, Rachel--scandal says that the Moonstone is in\npledge to Mr. Luker, and that I am the man who has pawned it.\"\n\nShe started to her feet with a scream. She looked backwards and forwards\nfrom Mr. Godfrey to my aunt, and from my aunt to Mr. Godfrey, in such a\nfrantic manner that I really thought she had gone mad.\n\n\"Don't speak to me! Don't touch me!\" she exclaimed, shrinking back from\nall of us (I declare like some hunted animal!) into a corner of\nthe room. \"This is my fault! I must set it right. I have sacrificed\nmyself--I had a right to do that, if I liked. But to let an innocent man\nbe ruined; to keep a secret which destroys his character for life--Oh,\ngood God, it's too horrible! I can't bear it!\"\n\nMy aunt half rose from her chair, then suddenly sat down again. She\ncalled to me faintly, and pointed to a little phial in her work-box.\n\n\"Quick!\" she whispered. \"Six drops, in water. Don't let Rachel see.\"\n\nUnder other circumstances, I should have thought this strange. There was\nno time now to think--there was only time to give the medicine. Dear Mr.\nGodfrey unconsciously assisted me in concealing what I was about from\nRachel, by speaking composing words to her at the other end of the room.\n\n\"Indeed, indeed, you exaggerate,\" I heard him say. \"My reputation stands\ntoo high to be destroyed by a miserable passing scandal like this. It\nwill be all forgotten in another week. Let us never speak of it again.\"\nShe was perfectly inaccessible, even to such generosity as this. She\nwent on from bad to worse.\n\n\"I must, and will, stop it,\" she said. \"Mamma! hear what I say. Miss\nClack! hear what I say. I know the hand that took the Moonstone. I\nknow--\" she laid a strong emphasis on the words; she stamped her foot in\nthe rage that possessed her--\"I KNOW THAT GODFREY ABLEWHITE IS INNOCENT.\nTake me to the magistrate, Godfrey! Take me to the magistrate, and I\nwill swear it!\"\n\nMy aunt caught me by the hand, and whispered, \"Stand between us for a\nminute or two. Don't let Rachel see me.\" I noticed a bluish tinge in her\nface which alarmed me. She saw I was startled. \"The drops will put me\nright in a minute or two,\" she said, and so closed her eyes, and waited\na little.\n\nWhile this was going on, I heard dear Mr. Godfrey still gently\nremonstrating.\n\n\"You must not appear publicly in such a thing as this,\" he said. \"YOUR\nreputation, dearest Rachel, is something too pure and too sacred to be\ntrifled with.\"\n\n\"MY reputation!\" She burst out laughing. \"Why, I am accused, Godfrey, as\nwell as you. The best detective officer in England declares that I have\nstolen my own Diamond. Ask him what he thinks--and he will tell you that\nI have pledged the Moonstone to pay my private debts!\" She stopped, ran\nacross the room--and fell on her knees at her mother's feet. \"Oh mamma!\nmamma! mamma! I must be mad--mustn't I?--not to own the truth NOW?\" She\nwas too vehement to notice her mother's condition--she was on her feet\nagain, and back with Mr. Godfrey, in an instant. \"I won't let you--I\nwon't let any innocent man--be accused and disgraced through my fault.\nIf you won't take me before the magistrate, draw out a declaration of\nyour innocence on paper, and I will sign it. Do as I tell you, Godfrey,\nor I'll write it to the newspapers I'll go out, and cry it in the\nstreets!\"\n\nWe will not say this was the language of remorse--we will say it was the\nlanguage of hysterics. Indulgent Mr. Godfrey pacified her by taking\na sheet of paper, and drawing out the declaration. She signed it in a\nfeverish hurry. \"Show it everywhere--don't think of ME,\" she said, as\nshe gave it to him. \"I am afraid, Godfrey, I have not done you justice,\nhitherto, in my thoughts. You are more unselfish--you are a better man\nthan I believed you to be. Come here when you can, and I will try and\nrepair the wrong I have done you.\"\n\nShe gave him her hand. Alas, for our fallen nature! Alas, for Mr.\nGodfrey! He not only forgot himself so far as to kiss her hand--he\nadopted a gentleness of tone in answering her which, in such a case,\nwas little better than a compromise with sin. \"I will come, dearest,\" he\nsaid, \"on condition that we don't speak of this hateful subject again.\"\nNever had I seen and heard our Christian Hero to less advantage than on\nthis occasion.\n\nBefore another word could be said by anybody, a thundering knock at the\nstreet door startled us all. I looked through the window, and saw the\nWorld, the Flesh, and the Devil waiting before the house--as typified\nin a carriage and horses, a powdered footman, and three of the most\naudaciously dressed women I ever beheld in my life.\n\nRachel started, and composed herself. She crossed the room to her\nmother.\n\n\"They have come to take me to the flower-show,\" she said. \"One word,\nmamma, before I go. I have not distressed you, have I?\"\n\n(Is the bluntness of moral feeling which could ask such a question as\nthat, after what had just happened, to be pitied or condemned? I like to\nlean towards mercy. Let us pity it.)\n\nThe drops had produced their effect. My poor aunt's complexion was like\nitself again. \"No, no, my dear,\" she said. \"Go with our friends, and\nenjoy yourself.\"\n\nHer daughter stooped, and kissed her. I had left the window, and was\nnear the door, when Rachel approached it to go out. Another change had\ncome over her--she was in tears. I looked with interest at the momentary\nsoftening of that obdurate heart. I felt inclined to say a few earnest\nwords. Alas! my well-meant sympathy only gave offence. \"What do you\nmean by pitying me?\" she asked in a bitter whisper, as she passed to\nthe door. \"Don't you see how happy I am? I'm going to the flower-show,\nClack; and I've got the prettiest bonnet in London.\" She completed the\nhollow mockery of that address by blowing me a kiss--and so left the\nroom.\n\nI wish I could describe in words the compassion I felt for this\nmiserable and misguided girl. But I am almost as poorly provided with\nwords as with money. Permit me to say--my heart bled for her.\n\nReturning to my aunt's chair, I observed dear Mr. Godfrey searching for\nsomething softly, here and there, in different parts of the room. Before\nI could offer to assist him he had found what he wanted. He came back to\nmy aunt and me, with his declaration of innocence in one hand, and with\na box of matches in the other.\n\n\"Dear aunt, a little conspiracy!\" he said. \"Dear Miss Clack, a pious\nfraud which even your high moral rectitude will excuse! Will you leave\nRachel to suppose that I accept the generous self-sacrifice which has\nsigned this paper? And will you kindly bear witness that I destroy it\nin your presence, before I leave the house?\" He kindled a match, and,\nlighting the paper, laid it to burn in a plate on the table. \"Any\ntrifling inconvenience that I may suffer is as nothing,\" he remarked,\n\"compared with the importance of preserving that pure name from the\ncontaminating contact of the world. There! We have reduced it to a\nlittle harmless heap of ashes; and our dear impulsive Rachel will never\nknow what we have done! How do you feel? My precious friends, how do you\nfeel? For my poor part, I am as light-hearted as a boy!\"\n\nHe beamed on us with his beautiful smile; he held out a hand to my aunt,\nand a hand to me. I was too deeply affected by his noble conduct\nto speak. I closed my eyes; I put his hand, in a kind of spiritual\nself-forgetfulness, to my lips. He murmured a soft remonstrance. Oh the\necstasy, the pure, unearthly ecstasy of that moment! I sat--I hardly\nknow on what--quite lost in my own exalted feelings. When I opened\nmy eyes again, it was like descending from heaven to earth. There was\nnobody but my aunt in the room. He had gone.\n\nI should like to stop here--I should like to close my narrative with\nthe record of Mr. Godfrey's noble conduct. Unhappily there is more, much\nmore, which the unrelenting pecuniary pressure of Mr. Blake's cheque\nobliges me to tell. The painful disclosures which were to reveal\nthemselves in my presence, during that Tuesday's visit to Montagu\nSquare, were not at an end yet.\n\nFinding myself alone with Lady Verinder, I turned naturally to the\nsubject of her health; touching delicately on the strange anxiety which\nshe had shown to conceal her indisposition, and the remedy applied to\nit, from the observation of her daughter.\n\nMy aunt's reply greatly surprised me.\n\n\"Drusilla,\" she said (if I have not already mentioned that my Christian\nname is Drusilla, permit me to mention it now), \"you are touching quite\ninnocently, I know--on a very distressing subject.\"\n\nI rose immediately. Delicacy left me but one alternative--the\nalternative, after first making my apologies, of taking my leave. Lady\nVerinder stopped me, and insisted on my sitting down again.\n\n\"You have surprised a secret,\" she said, \"which I had confided to my\nsister Mrs. Ablewhite, and to my lawyer Mr. Bruff, and to no one else.\nI can trust in their discretion; and I am sure, when I tell you the\ncircumstances, I can trust in yours. Have you any pressing engagement,\nDrusilla? or is your time your own this afternoon?\"\n\nIt is needless to say that my time was entirely at my aunt's disposal.\n\n\"Keep me company then,\" she said, \"for another hour. I have something to\ntell you which I believe you will be sorry to hear. And I shall have a\nservice to ask of you afterwards, if you don't object to assist me.\"\n\nIt is again needless to say that, so far from objecting, I was all\neagerness to assist her.\n\n\"You can wait here,\" she went on, \"till Mr. Bruff comes at five. And you\ncan be one of the witnesses, Drusilla, when I sign my Will.\"\n\nHer Will! I thought of the drops which I had seen in her work-box. I\nthought of the bluish tinge which I had noticed in her complexion. A\nlight which was not of this world--a light shining prophetically from\nan unmade grave--dawned on my mind. My aunt's secret was a secret no\nlonger.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nConsideration for poor Lady Verinder forbade me even to hint that I had\nguessed the melancholy truth, before she opened her lips. I waited\nher pleasure in silence; and, having privately arranged to say a few\nsustaining words at the first convenient opportunity, felt prepared for\nany duty that could claim me, no matter how painful it might be.\n\n\"I have been seriously ill, Drusilla, for some time past,\" my aunt\nbegan. \"And, strange to say, without knowing it myself.\"\n\nI thought of the thousands and thousands of perishing human creatures\nwho were all at that moment spiritually ill, without knowing it\nthemselves. And I greatly feared that my poor aunt might be one of the\nnumber. \"Yes, dear,\" I said, sadly. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"I brought Rachel to London, as you know, for medical advice,\" she went\non. \"I thought it right to consult two doctors.\"\n\nTwo doctors! And, oh me (in Rachel's state), not one clergyman! \"Yes,\ndear?\" I said once more. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"One of the two medical men,\" proceeded my aunt, \"was a stranger to me.\nThe other had been an old friend of my husband's, and had always felt\na sincere interest in me for my husband's sake. After prescribing for\nRachel, he said he wished to speak to me privately in another room.\nI expected, of course, to receive some special directions for the\nmanagement of my daughter's health. To my surprise, he took me gravely\nby the hand, and said, 'I have been looking at you, Lady Verinder, with\na professional as well as a personal interest. You are, I am afraid, far\nmore urgently in need of medical advice than your daughter.' He put some\nquestions to me, which I was at first inclined to treat lightly enough,\nuntil I observed that my answers distressed him. It ended in his making\nan appointment to come and see me, accompanied by a medical friend, on\nthe next day, at an hour when Rachel would not be at home. The result\nof that visit--most kindly and gently conveyed to me--satisfied both the\nphysicians that there had been precious time lost, which could never be\nregained, and that my case had now passed beyond the reach of their art.\nFor more than two years I have been suffering under an insidious form of\nheart disease, which, without any symptoms to alarm me, has, by little\nand little, fatally broken me down. I may live for some months, or I may\ndie before another day has passed over my head--the doctors cannot, and\ndare not, speak more positively than this. It would be vain to say, my\ndear, that I have not had some miserable moments since my real situation\nhas been made known to me. But I am more resigned than I was, and I am\ndoing my best to set my worldly affairs in order. My one great anxiety\nis that Rachel should be kept in ignorance of the truth. If she knew\nit, she would at once attribute my broken health to anxiety about the\nDiamond, and would reproach herself bitterly, poor child, for what is in\nno sense her fault. Both the doctors agree that the mischief began\ntwo, if not three years since. I am sure you will keep my secret,\nDrusilla--for I am sure I see sincere sorrow and sympathy for me in your\nface.\"\n\nSorrow and sympathy! Oh, what Pagan emotions to expect from a Christian\nEnglishwoman anchored firmly on her faith!\n\nLittle did my poor aunt imagine what a gush of devout thankfulness\nthrilled through me as she approached the close of her melancholy story.\nHere was a career of usefulness opened before me! Here was a beloved\nrelative and perishing fellow-creature, on the eve of the great change,\nutterly unprepared; and led, providentially led, to reveal her situation\nto Me! How can I describe the joy with which I now remembered that the\nprecious clerical friends on whom I could rely, were to be counted, not\nby ones or twos, but by tens and twenties. I took my aunt in my arms--my\noverflowing tenderness was not to be satisfied, now, with anything less\nthan an embrace. \"Oh!\" I said to her, fervently, \"the indescribable\ninterest with which you inspire me! Oh! the good I mean to do you, dear,\nbefore we part!\" After another word or two of earnest prefatory warning,\nI gave her her choice of three precious friends, all plying the work\nof mercy from morning to night in her own neighbourhood; all equally\ninexhaustible in exhortation; all affectionately ready to exercise their\ngifts at a word from me. Alas! the result was far from encouraging. Poor\nLady Verinder looked puzzled and frightened, and met everything I could\nsay to her with the purely worldly objection that she was not strong\nenough to face strangers. I yielded--for the moment only, of course. My\nlarge experience (as Reader and Visitor, under not less, first and\nlast, than fourteen beloved clerical friends) informed me that this was\nanother case for preparation by books. I possessed a little library of\nworks, all suitable to the present emergency, all calculated to arouse,\nconvince, prepare, enlighten, and fortify my aunt. \"You will read, dear,\nwon't you?\" I said, in my most winning way. \"You will read, if I bring\nyou my own precious books? Turned down at all the right places, aunt.\nAnd marked in pencil where you are to stop and ask yourself, 'Does this\napply to me?'\" Even that simple appeal--so absolutely heathenising is\nthe influence of the world--appeared to startle my aunt. She said, \"I\nwill do what I can, Drusilla, to please you,\" with a look of surprise,\nwhich was at once instructive and terrible to see. Not a moment was to\nbe lost. The clock on the mantel-piece informed me that I had just\ntime to hurry home; to provide myself with a first series of selected\nreadings (say a dozen only); and to return in time to meet the lawyer,\nand witness Lady Verinder's Will. Promising faithfully to be back by\nfive o'clock, I left the house on my errand of mercy.\n\nWhen no interests but my own are involved, I am humbly content to get\nfrom place to place by the omnibus. Permit me to give an idea of my\ndevotion to my aunt's interests by recording that, on this occasion, I\ncommitted the prodigality of taking a cab.\n\nI drove home, selected and marked my first series of readings, and drove\nback to Montagu Square, with a dozen works in a carpet-bag, the like of\nwhich, I firmly believe, are not to be found in the literature of any\nother country in Europe. I paid the cabman exactly his fare. He received\nit with an oath; upon which I instantly gave him a tract. If I had\npresented a pistol at his head, this abandoned wretch could hardly have\nexhibited greater consternation. He jumped up on his box, and, with\nprofane exclamations of dismay, drove off furiously. Quite useless, I\nam happy to say! I sowed the good seed, in spite of him, by throwing a\nsecond tract in at the window of the cab.\n\nThe servant who answered the door--not the person with the cap-ribbons,\nto my great relief, but the foot-man--informed me that the doctor had\ncalled, and was still shut up with Lady Verinder. Mr. Bruff, the lawyer,\nhad arrived a minute since and was waiting in the library. I was shown\ninto the library to wait too.\n\nMr. Bruff looked surprised to see me. He is the family solicitor, and\nwe had met more than once, on previous occasions, under Lady Verinder's\nroof. A man, I grieve to say, grown old and grizzled in the service of\nthe world. A man who, in his hours of business, was the chosen prophet\nof Law and Mammon; and who, in his hours of leisure, was equally capable\nof reading a novel and of tearing up a tract.\n\n\"Have you come to stay here, Miss Clack?\" he asked, with a look at my\ncarpet-bag.\n\nTo reveal the contents of my precious bag to such a person as this would\nhave been simply to invite an outburst of profanity. I lowered myself to\nhis own level, and mentioned my business in the house.\n\n\"My aunt has informed me that she is about to sign her Will,\"\nI answered. \"She has been so good as to ask me to be one of the\nwitnesses.\"\n\n\"Aye? aye? Well, Miss Clack, you will do. You are over twenty-one, and\nyou have not the slightest pecuniary interest in Lady Verinder's Will.\"\n\nNot the slightest pecuniary interest in Lady Verinder's Will. Oh, how\nthankful I felt when I heard that! If my aunt, possessed of thousands,\nhad remembered poor Me, to whom five pounds is an object--if my name had\nappeared in the Will, with a little comforting legacy attached to it--my\nenemies might have doubted the motive which had loaded me with the\nchoicest treasures of my library, and had drawn upon my failing\nresources for the prodigal expenses of a cab. Not the cruellest scoffer\nof them all could doubt now. Much better as it was! Oh, surely, surely,\nmuch better as it was!\n\nI was aroused from these consoling reflections by the voice of Mr.\nBruff. My meditative silence appeared to weigh upon the spirits of this\nworldling, and to force him, as it were, into talking to me against his\nown will.\n\n\"Well, Miss Clack, what's the last news in the charitable circles? How\nis your friend Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, after the mauling he got from the\nrogues in Northumberland Street? Egad! they're telling a pretty story\nabout that charitable gentleman at my club!\"\n\nI had passed over the manner in which this person had remarked that I\nwas more than twenty-one, and that I had no pecuniary interest in my\naunt's Will. But the tone in which he alluded to dear Mr. Godfrey was\ntoo much for my forbearance. Feeling bound, after what had passed in my\npresence that afternoon, to assert the innocence of my admirable friend,\nwhenever I found it called in question--I own to having also felt bound\nto include in the accomplishment of this righteous purpose, a stinging\ncastigation in the case of Mr. Bruff.\n\n\"I live very much out of the world,\" I said; \"and I don't possess the\nadvantage, sir, of belonging to a club. But I happen to know the story\nto which you allude; and I also know that a viler falsehood than that\nstory never was told.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, Miss Clack--you believe in your friend. Natural enough. Mr.\nGodfrey Ablewhite, won't find the world in general quite so easy to\nconvince as a committee of charitable ladies. Appearances are dead\nagainst him. He was in the house when the Diamond was lost. And he was\nthe first person in the house to go to London afterwards. Those are ugly\ncircumstances, ma'am, viewed by the light of later events.\"\n\nI ought, I know, to have set him right before he went any farther. I\nought to have told him that he was speaking in ignorance of a testimony\nto Mr. Godfrey's innocence, offered by the only person who was\nundeniably competent to speak from a positive knowledge of the\nsubject. Alas! the temptation to lead the lawyer artfully on to his\nown discomfiture was too much for me. I asked what he meant by \"later\nevents\"--with an appearance of the utmost innocence.\n\n\"By later events, Miss Clack, I mean events in which the Indians are\nconcerned,\" proceeded Mr. Bruff, getting more and more superior to poor\nMe, the longer he went on. \"What do the Indians do, the moment they are\nlet out of the prison at Frizinghall? They go straight to London, and\nfix on Mr. Luker. What follows? Mr. Luker feels alarmed for the safety\nof 'a valuable of great price,' which he has got in the house. He lodges\nit privately (under a general description) in his bankers' strong-room.\nWonderfully clever of him: but the Indians are just as clever on their\nside. They have their suspicions that the 'valuable of great price' is\nbeing shifted from one place to another; and they hit on a singularly\nbold and complete way of clearing those suspicions up. Whom do they\nseize and search? Not Mr. Luker only--which would be intelligible\nenough--but Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite as well. Why? Mr. Ablewhite's\nexplanation is, that they acted on blind suspicion, after seeing him\naccidentally speaking to Mr. Luker. Absurd! Half-a-dozen other people\nspoke to Mr. Luker that morning. Why were they not followed home too,\nand decoyed into the trap? No! no! The plain inference is, that Mr.\nAblewhite had his private interest in the 'valuable' as well as Mr.\nLuker, and that the Indians were so uncertain as to which of the two\nhad the disposal of it, that there was no alternative but to search them\nboth. Public opinion says that, Miss Clack. And public opinion, on this\noccasion, is not easily refuted.\"\n\nHe said those last words, looking so wonderfully wise in his own worldly\nconceit, that I really (to my shame be it spoken) could not resist\nleading him a little farther still, before I overwhelmed him with the\ntruth.\n\n\"I don't presume to argue with a clever lawyer like you,\" I said. \"But\nis it quite fair, sir, to Mr. Ablewhite to pass over the opinion of the\nfamous London police officer who investigated this case? Not the shadow\nof a suspicion rested upon anybody but Miss Verinder, in the mind of\nSergeant Cuff.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to tell me, Miss Clack, that you agree with the Sergeant?\"\n\n\"I judge nobody, sir, and I offer no opinion.\"\n\n\"And I commit both those enormities, ma'am. I judge the Sergeant to\nhave been utterly wrong; and I offer the opinion that, if he had known\nRachel's character as I know it, he would have suspected everybody in\nthe house but HER. I admit that she has her faults--she is secret, and\nself-willed; odd and wild, and unlike other girls of her age. But true\nas steel, and high-minded and generous to a fault. If the plainest\nevidence in the world pointed one way, and if nothing but Rachel's word\nof honour pointed the other, I would take her word before the evidence,\nlawyer as I am! Strong language, Miss Clack; but I mean it.\"\n\n\"Would you object to illustrate your meaning, Mr. Bruff, so that I\nmay be sure I understand it? Suppose you found Miss Verinder quite\nunaccountably interested in what has happened to Mr. Ablewhite and Mr.\nLuker? Suppose she asked the strangest questions about this dreadful\nscandal, and displayed the most ungovernable agitation when she found\nout the turn it was taking?\"\n\n\"Suppose anything you please, Miss Clack, it wouldn't shake my belief in\nRachel Verinder by a hair's-breadth.\"\n\n\"She is so absolutely to be relied on as that?\"\n\n\"So absolutely to be relied on as that.\"\n\n\"Then permit me to inform you, Mr. Bruff, that Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was\nin this house not two hours since, and that his entire innocence of all\nconcern in the disappearance of the Moonstone was proclaimed by Miss\nVerinder herself, in the strongest language I ever heard used by a young\nlady in my life.\"\n\nI enjoyed the triumph--the unholy triumph, I fear I must admit--of\nseeing Mr. Bruff utterly confounded and overthrown by a few plain words\nfrom Me. He started to his feet, and stared at me in silence. I kept my\nseat, undisturbed, and related the whole scene as it had occurred.\n\"And what do you say about Mr. Ablewhite now?\" I asked, with the utmost\npossible gentleness, as soon as I had done.\n\n\"If Rachel has testified to his innocence, Miss Clack, I don't scruple\nto say that I believe in his innocence as firmly as you do: I have been\nmisled by appearances, like the rest of the world; and I will make the\nbest atonement I can, by publicly contradicting the scandal which has\nassailed your friend wherever I meet with it. In the meantime, allow me\nto congratulate you on the masterly manner in which you have opened the\nfull fire of your batteries on me at the moment when I least expected\nit. You would have done great things in my profession, ma'am, if you had\nhappened to be a man.\"\n\nWith those words he turned away from me, and began walking irritably up\nand down the room.\n\nI could see plainly that the new light I had thrown on the subject had\ngreatly surprised and disturbed him. Certain expressions dropped from\nhis lips, as he became more and more absorbed in his own thoughts, which\nsuggested to my mind the abominable view that he had hitherto taken of\nthe mystery of the lost Moonstone. He had not scrupled to suspect dear\nMr. Godfrey of the infamy of stealing the Diamond, and to attribute\nRachel's conduct to a generous resolution to conceal the crime. On Miss\nVerinder's own authority--a perfectly unassailable authority, as you\nare aware, in the estimation of Mr. Bruff--that explanation of the\ncircumstances was now shown to be utterly wrong. The perplexity into\nwhich I had plunged this high legal authority was so overwhelming that\nhe was quite unable to conceal it from notice. \"What a case!\" I heard\nhim say to himself, stopping at the window in his walk, and drumming on\nthe glass with his fingers. \"It not only defies explanation, it's even\nbeyond conjecture.\"\n\nThere was nothing in these words which made any reply at all needful,\non my part--and yet, I answered them! It seems hardly credible that I\nshould not have been able to let Mr. Bruff alone, even now. It seems\nalmost beyond mere mortal perversity that I should have discovered, in\nwhat he had just said, a new opportunity of making myself personally\ndisagreeable to him. But--ah, my friends! nothing is beyond mortal\nperversity; and anything is credible when our fallen natures get the\nbetter of us!\n\n\"Pardon me for intruding on your reflections,\" I said to the\nunsuspecting Mr. Bruff. \"But surely there is a conjecture to make which\nhas not occurred to us yet.\"\n\n\"Maybe, Miss Clack. I own I don't know what it is.\"\n\n\"Before I was so fortunate, sir, as to convince you of Mr. Ablewhite's\ninnocence, you mentioned it as one of the reasons for suspecting him,\nthat he was in the house at the time when the Diamond was lost. Permit\nme to remind you that Mr. Franklin Blake was also in the house at the\ntime when the Diamond was lost.\"\n\nThe old worldling left the window, took a chair exactly opposite to mine,\nand looked at me steadily, with a hard and vicious smile.\n\n\"You are not so good a lawyer, Miss Clack,\" he remarked in a meditative\nmanner, \"as I supposed. You don't know how to let well alone.\"\n\n\"I am afraid I fail to follow you, Mr. Bruff,\" I said, modestly.\n\n\"It won't do, Miss Clack--it really won't do a second time. Franklin\nBlake is a prime favourite of mine, as you are well aware. But that\ndoesn't matter. I'll adopt your view, on this occasion, before you have\ntime to turn round on me. You're quite right, ma'am. I have suspected\nMr. Ablewhite, on grounds which abstractedly justify suspecting Mr.\nBlake too. Very good--let's suspect them together. It's quite in his\ncharacter, we will say, to be capable of stealing the Moonstone. The\nonly question is, whether it was his interest to do so.\"\n\n\"Mr. Franklin Blake's debts,\" I remarked, \"are matters of family\nnotoriety.\"\n\n\"And Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's debts have not arrived at that stage of\ndevelopment yet. Quite true. But there happen to be two difficulties in\nthe way of your theory, Miss Clack. I manage Franklin Blake's affairs,\nand I beg to inform you that the vast majority of his creditors (knowing\nhis father to be a rich man) are quite content to charge interest\non their debts, and to wait for their money. There is the first\ndifficulty--which is tough enough. You will find the second tougher\nstill. I have it on the authority of Lady Verinder herself, that her\ndaughter was ready to marry Franklin Blake, before that infernal Indian\nDiamond disappeared from the house. She had drawn him on and put him off\nagain, with the coquetry of a young girl. But she had confessed to her\nmother that she loved cousin Franklin, and her mother had trusted\ncousin Franklin with the secret. So there he was, Miss Clack, with his\ncreditors content to wait, and with the certain prospect before him of\nmarrying an heiress. By all means consider him a scoundrel; but tell me,\nif you please, why he should steal the Moonstone?\"\n\n\"The human heart is unsearchable,\" I said gently. \"Who is to fathom it?\"\n\n\"In other words, ma'am--though he hadn't the shadow of a reason for\ntaking the Diamond--he might have taken it, nevertheless, through\nnatural depravity. Very well. Say he did. Why the devil----\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon, Mr. Bruff. If I hear the devil referred to in that\nmanner, I must leave the room.\"\n\n\"I beg YOUR pardon, Miss Clack--I'll be more careful in my choice\nof language for the future. All I meant to ask was this. Why--even\nsupposing he did take the Diamond--should Franklin Blake make himself\nthe most prominent person in the house in trying to recover it? You may\ntell me he cunningly did that to divert suspicion from himself. I answer\nthat he had no need to divert suspicion--because nobody suspected him.\nHe first steals the Moonstone (without the slightest reason) through\nnatural depravity; and he then acts a part, in relation to the loss of\nthe jewel, which there is not the slightest necessity to act, and which\nleads to his mortally offending the young lady who would otherwise have\nmarried him. That is the monstrous proposition which you are driven to\nassert, if you attempt to associate the disappearance of the Moonstone\nwith Franklin Blake. No, no, Miss Clack! After what has passed here\nto-day, between us two, the dead-lock, in this case, is complete.\nRachel's own innocence is (as her mother knows, and as I know) beyond\na doubt. Mr. Ablewhite's innocence is equally certain--or Rachel would\nnever have testified to it. And Franklin Blake's innocence, as you have\njust seen, unanswerably asserts itself. On the one hand, we are morally\ncertain of all these things. And, on the other hand, we are equally sure\nthat somebody has brought the Moonstone to London, and that Mr. Luker,\nor his banker, is in private possession of it at this moment. What is\nthe use of my experience, what is the use of any person's experience,\nin such a case as that? It baffles me; it baffles you, it baffles\neverybody.\"\n\nNo--not everybody. It had not baffled Sergeant Cuff. I was about to\nmention this, with all possible mildness, and with every necessary\nprotest against being supposed to cast a slur upon Rachel--when the\nservant came in to say that the doctor had gone, and that my aunt was\nwaiting to receive us.\n\nThis stopped the discussion. Mr. Bruff collected his papers, looking a\nlittle exhausted by the demands which our conversation had made on him.\nI took up my bag-full of precious publications, feeling as if I\ncould have gone on talking for hours. We proceeded in silence to Lady\nVerinder's room.\n\nPermit me to add here, before my narrative advances to other events,\nthat I have not described what passed between the lawyer and me,\nwithout having a definite object in view. I am ordered to include in my\ncontribution to the shocking story of the Moonstone a plain disclosure,\nnot only of the turn which suspicion took, but even of the names of the\npersons on whom suspicion rested, at the time when the Indian Diamond\nwas believed to be in London. A report of my conversation in the library\nwith Mr. Bruff appeared to me to be exactly what was wanted to answer\nthis purpose--while, at the same time, it possessed the great moral\nadvantage of rendering a sacrifice of sinful self-esteem essentially\nnecessary on my part. I have been obliged to acknowledge that my fallen\nnature got the better of me. In making that humiliating confession, I\nget the better of my fallen nature. The moral balance is restored; the\nspiritual atmosphere feels clear once more. Dear friends, we may go on\nagain.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nThe signing of the Will was a much shorter matter than I had\nanticipated. It was hurried over, to my thinking, in indecent haste.\nSamuel, the footman, was sent for to act as second witness--and the pen\nwas put at once into my aunt's hand. I felt strongly urged to say a\nfew appropriate words on this solemn occasion. But Mr. Bruff's manner\nconvinced me that it was wisest to check the impulse while he was in the\nroom. In less than two minutes it was all over--and Samuel (unbenefited\nby what I might have said) had gone downstairs again.\n\nMr. Bruff folded up the Will, and then looked my way; apparently\nwondering whether I did or did not mean to leave him alone with my aunt.\nI had my mission of mercy to fulfil, and my bag of precious publications\nready on my lap. He might as well have expected to move St. Paul's\nCathedral by looking at it, as to move Me. There was one merit about him\n(due no doubt to his worldly training) which I have no wish to deny.\nHe was quick at seeing things. I appeared to produce almost the same\nimpression on him which I had produced on the cabman. HE too uttered\na profane expression, and withdrew in a violent hurry, and left me\nmistress of the field.\n\nAs soon as we were alone, my aunt reclined on the sofa, and then\nalluded, with some appearance of confusion, to the subject of her Will.\n\n\"I hope you won't think yourself neglected, Drusilla,\" she said. \"I mean\nto GIVE you your little legacy, my dear, with my own hand.\"\n\nHere was a golden opportunity! I seized it on the spot. In other words,\nI instantly opened my bag, and took out the top publication. It proved\nto be an early edition--only the twenty-fifth--of the famous anonymous\nwork (believed to be by precious Miss Bellows), entitled THE SERPENT AT\nHOME. The design of the book--with which the worldly reader may not be\nacquainted--is to show how the Evil One lies in wait for us in all the\nmost apparently innocent actions of our daily lives. The chapters best\nadapted to female perusal are \"Satan in the Hair Brush;\" \"Satan behind\nthe Looking Glass;\" \"Satan under the Tea Table;\" \"Satan out of the\nWindow\"--and many others.\n\n\"Give your attention, dear aunt, to this precious book--and you will\ngive me all I ask.\" With those words, I handed it to her open, at a\nmarked passage--one continuous burst of burning eloquence! Subject:\nSatan among the Sofa Cushions.\n\nPoor Lady Verinder (reclining thoughtlessly on her own sofa cushions)\nglanced at the book, and handed it back to me looking more confused than\never.\n\n\"I'm afraid, Drusilla,\" she said, \"I must wait till I am a little\nbetter, before I can read that. The doctor----\"\n\nThe moment she mentioned the doctor's name, I knew what was coming.\nOver and over again in my past experience among my perishing\nfellow-creatures, the members of the notoriously infidel profession\nof Medicine had stepped between me and my mission of mercy--on\nthe miserable pretence that the patient wanted quiet, and that the\ndisturbing influence of all others which they most dreaded, was the\ninfluence of Miss Clack and her Books. Precisely the same blinded\nmaterialism (working treacherously behind my back) now sought to rob me\nof the only right of property that my poverty could claim--my right of\nspiritual property in my perishing aunt.\n\n\"The doctor tells me,\" my poor misguided relative went on, \"that I am\nnot so well to-day. He forbids me to see any strangers; and he orders\nme, if I read at all, only to read the lightest and the most amusing\nbooks. 'Do nothing, Lady Verinder, to weary your head, or to quicken\nyour pulse'--those were his last words, Drusilla, when he left me\nto-day.\"\n\nThere was no help for it but to yield again--for the moment only, as\nbefore. Any open assertion of the infinitely superior importance of such\na ministry as mine, compared with the ministry of the medical man, would\nonly have provoked the doctor to practise on the human weakness of his\npatient, and to threaten to throw up the case. Happily, there are more\nways than one of sowing the good seed, and few persons are better versed\nin those ways than myself.\n\n\"You might feel stronger, dear, in an hour or two,\" I said. \"Or you\nmight wake, to-morrow morning, with a sense of something wanting, and\neven this unpretending volume might be able to supply it. You will let\nme leave the book, aunt? The doctor can hardly object to that!\"\n\nI slipped it under the sofa cushions, half in, and half out, close by\nher handkerchief, and her smelling-bottle. Every time her hand searched\nfor either of these, it would touch the book; and, sooner or later\n(who knows?) the book might touch HER. After making this arrangement, I\nthought it wise to withdraw. \"Let me leave you to repose, dear aunt; I\nwill call again to-morrow.\" I looked accidentally towards the window as\nI said that. It was full of flowers, in boxes and pots. Lady Verinder\nwas extravagantly fond of these perishable treasures, and had a habit of\nrising every now and then, and going to look at them and smell them. A\nnew idea flashed across my mind. \"Oh! may I take a flower?\" I said--and\ngot to the window unsuspected, in that way. Instead of taking away a\nflower, I added one, in the shape of another book from my bag, which\nI left, to surprise my aunt, among the geraniums and roses. The happy\nthought followed, \"Why not do the same for her, poor dear, in every\nother room that she enters?\" I immediately said good-bye; and, crossing\nthe hall, slipped into the library. Samuel, coming up to let me out,\nand supposing I had gone, went down-stairs again. On the library table\nI noticed two of the \"amusing books\" which the infidel doctor had\nrecommended. I instantly covered them from sight with two of my own\nprecious publications. In the breakfast-room I found my aunt's favourite\ncanary singing in his cage. She was always in the habit of feeding\nthe bird herself. Some groundsel was strewed on a table which stood\nimmediately under the cage. I put a book among the groundsel. In the\ndrawing-room I found more cheering opportunities of emptying my bag. My\naunt's favourite musical pieces were on the piano. I slipped in two more\nbooks among the music. I disposed of another in the back drawing-room,\nunder some unfinished embroidery, which I knew to be of Lady Verinder's\nworking. A third little room opened out of the back drawing-room, from\nwhich it was shut off by curtains instead of a door. My aunt's plain\nold-fashioned fan was on the chimney-piece. I opened my ninth book at a\nvery special passage, and put the fan in as a marker, to keep the place.\nThe question then came, whether I should go higher still, and try the\nbed-room floor--at the risk, undoubtedly, of being insulted, if the\nperson with the cap-ribbons happened to be in the upper regions of the\nhouse, and to find me out. But oh, what of that? It is a poor Christian\nthat is afraid of being insulted. I went upstairs, prepared to bear\nanything. All was silent and solitary--it was the servants' tea-time,\nI suppose. My aunt's room was in front. The miniature of my late dear\nuncle, Sir John, hung on the wall opposite the bed. It seemed to smile\nat me; it seemed to say, \"Drusilla! deposit a book.\" There were tables\non either side of my aunt's bed. She was a bad sleeper, and wanted, or\nthought she wanted, many things at night. I put a book near the matches\non one side, and a book under the box of chocolate drops on the other.\nWhether she wanted a light, or whether she wanted a drop, there was a\nprecious publication to meet her eye, or to meet her hand, and to say\nwith silent eloquence, in either case, \"Come, try me! try me!\" But one\nbook was now left at the bottom of my bag, and but one apartment was\nstill unexplored--the bath-room, which opened out of the bed-room. I\npeeped in; and the holy inner voice that never deceives, whispered to\nme, \"You have met her, Drusilla, everywhere else; meet her at the bath,\nand the work is done.\" I observed a dressing-gown thrown across a chair.\nIt had a pocket in it, and in that pocket I put my last book. Can words\nexpress my exquisite sense of duty done, when I had slipped out of the\nhouse, unsuspected by any of them, and when I found myself in the street\nwith my empty bag under my arm? Oh, my worldly friends, pursuing the\nphantom, Pleasure, through the guilty mazes of Dissipation, how easy it\nis to be happy, if you will only be good!\n\nWhen I folded up my things that night--when I reflected on the true\nriches which I had scattered with such a lavish hand, from top to bottom\nof the house of my wealthy aunt--I declare I felt as free from all\nanxiety as if I had been a child again. I was so light-hearted that I\nsang a verse of the Evening Hymn. I was so light-hearted that I fell\nasleep before I could sing another. Quite like a child again! quite like\na child again!\n\nSo I passed that blissful night. On rising the next morning, how young I\nfelt! I might add, how young I looked, if I were capable of dwelling on\nthe concerns of my own perishable body. But I am not capable--and I add\nnothing.\n\nTowards luncheon time--not for the sake of the creature-comforts, but\nfor the certainty of finding dear aunt--I put on my bonnet to go to\nMontagu Square. Just as I was ready, the maid at the lodgings in which I\nthen lived looked in at the door, and said, \"Lady Verinder's servant, to\nsee Miss Clack.\"\n\nI occupied the parlour-floor, at that period of my residence in London.\nThe front parlour was my sitting-room. Very small, very low in the\nceiling, very poorly furnished--but, oh, so neat! I looked into the\npassage to see which of Lady Verinder's servants had asked for me. It\nwas the young footman, Samuel--a civil fresh-coloured person, with a\nteachable look and a very obliging manner. I had always felt a spiritual\ninterest in Samuel, and a wish to try him with a few serious words. On\nthis occasion, I invited him into my sitting-room.\n\nHe came in, with a large parcel under his arm. When he put the parcel\ndown, it appeared to frighten him. \"My lady's love, Miss; and I was to\nsay that you would find a letter inside.\" Having given that message, the\nfresh-coloured young footman surprised me by looking as if he would have\nliked to run away.\n\nI detained him to make a few kind inquiries. Could I see my aunt, if I\ncalled in Montagu Square? No; she had gone out for a drive. Miss Rachel\nhad gone with her, and Mr. Ablewhite had taken a seat in the carriage,\ntoo. Knowing how sadly dear Mr. Godfrey's charitable work was in arrear,\nI thought it odd that he should be going out driving, like an idle man.\nI stopped Samuel at the door, and made a few more kind inquiries. Miss\nRachel was going to a ball that night, and Mr. Ablewhite had arranged to\ncome to coffee, and go with her. There was a morning concert advertised\nfor to-morrow, and Samuel was ordered to take places for a large party,\nincluding a place for Mr. Ablewhite. \"All the tickets may be gone,\nMiss,\" said this innocent youth, \"if I don't run and get them at once!\"\nHe ran as he said the words--and I found myself alone again, with some\nanxious thoughts to occupy me.\n\nWe had a special meeting of the Mothers'-Small-Clothes-Conversion\nSociety that night, summoned expressly with a view to obtaining\nMr. Godfrey's advice and assistance. Instead of sustaining\nour sisterhood, under an overwhelming flow of Trousers which\nquite prostrated our little community, he had arranged to take\ncoffee in Montagu Square, and to goto a ball afterwards!\nThe afternoon of the next day had been selected for the Festival of the\nBritish-Ladies'-Servants'-Sunday-Sweetheart-Supervision Society. Instead\nof being present, the life and soul of that struggling Institution, he\nhad engaged to make one of a party of worldlings at a morning concert!\nI asked myself what did it mean? Alas! it meant that our Christian Hero\nwas to reveal himself to me in a new character, and to become associated\nin my mind with one of the most awful backslidings of modern times.\n\nTo return, however, to the history of the passing day. On finding myself\nalone in my room, I naturally turned my attention to the parcel which\nappeared to have so strangely intimidated the fresh-coloured young\nfootman. Had my aunt sent me my promised legacy? and had it taken the\nform of cast-off clothes, or worn-out silver spoons, or unfashionable\njewellery, or anything of that sort? Prepared to accept all, and to\nresent nothing, I opened the parcel--and what met my view? The twelve\nprecious publications which I had scattered through the house, on the\nprevious day; all returned to me by the doctor's orders! Well might the\nyouthful Samuel shrink when he brought his parcel into my room! Well\nmight he run when he had performed his miserable errand! As to my\naunt's letter, it simply amounted, poor soul, to this--that she dare not\ndisobey her medical man.\n\nWhat was to be done now? With my training and my principles, I never had\na moment's doubt.\n\nOnce self-supported by conscience, once embarked on a career of manifest\nusefulness, the true Christian never yields. Neither public nor private\ninfluences produce the slightest effect on us, when we have once got our\nmission. Taxation may be the consequence of a mission; riots may be the\nconsequence of a mission; wars may be the consequence of a mission: we\ngo on with our work, irrespective of every human consideration which\nmoves the world outside us. We are above reason; we are beyond ridicule;\nwe see with nobody's eyes, we hear with nobody's ears, we feel with\nnobody's hearts, but our own. Glorious, glorious privilege! And how is\nit earned? Ah, my friends, you may spare yourselves the useless inquiry!\nWe are the only people who can earn it--for we are the only people who\nare always right.\n\nIn the case of my misguided aunt, the form which pious perseverance was\nnext to take revealed itself to me plainly enough.\n\nPreparation by clerical friends had failed, owing to Lady Verinder's\nown reluctance. Preparation by books had failed, owing to the doctor's\ninfidel obstinacy. So be it! What was the next thing to try? The next\nthing to try was--Preparation by Little Notes. In other words, the books\nthemselves having been sent back, select extracts from the books, copied\nby different hands, and all addressed as letters to my aunt, were, some\nto be sent by post, and some to be distributed about the house on the\nplan I had adopted on the previous day. As letters they would excite no\nsuspicion; as letters they would be opened--and, once opened, might be\nread. Some of them I wrote myself. \"Dear aunt, may I ask your attention\nto a few lines?\" &c. \"Dear aunt, I was reading last night, and I chanced\non the following passage,\" &c. Other letters were written for me by my\nvalued fellow-workers, the sisterhood at the Mothers'-Small-Clothes.\n\"Dear madam, pardon the interest taken in you by a true, though humble,\nfriend.\" \"Dear madam, may a serious person surprise you by saying a\nfew cheering words?\" Using these and other similar forms of courteous\nappeal, we reintroduced all my precious passages under a form which not\neven the doctor's watchful materialism could suspect. Before the shades\nof evening had closed around us, I had a dozen awakening letters for\nmy aunt, instead of a dozen awakening books. Six I made immediate\narrangements for sending through the post, and six I kept in my pocket\nfor personal distribution in the house the next day.\n\nSoon after two o'clock I was again on the field of pious conflict,\naddressing more kind inquiries to Samuel at Lady Verinder's door.\n\nMy aunt had had a bad night. She was again in the room in which I had\nwitnessed her Will, resting on the sofa, and trying to get a little\nsleep.\n\nI said I would wait in the library, on the chance of seeing her. In the\nfervour of my zeal to distribute the letters, it never occurred to me to\ninquire about Rachel. The house was quiet, and it was past the hour at\nwhich the musical performance began. I took it for granted that she and\nher party of pleasure-seekers (Mr. Godfrey, alas! included) were all at\nthe concert, and eagerly devoted myself to my good work, while time and\nopportunity were still at my own disposal.\n\nMy aunt's correspondence of the morning--including the six awakening\nletters which I had posted overnight--was lying unopened on the library\ntable. She had evidently not felt herself equal to dealing with a large\nmass of letters--and she might be daunted by the number of them, if she\nentered the library later in the day. I put one of my second set of\nsix letters on the chimney-piece by itself; leaving it to attract her\ncuriosity, by means of its solitary position, apart from the rest. A\nsecond letter I put purposely on the floor in the breakfast-room. The\nfirst servant who went in after me would conclude that my aunt had\ndropped it, and would be specially careful to restore it to her. The\nfield thus sown on the basement story, I ran lightly upstairs to scatter\nmy mercies next over the drawing-room floor.\n\nJust as I entered the front room, I heard a double knock at the\nstreet-door--a soft, fluttering, considerate little knock. Before I\ncould think of slipping back to the library (in which I was supposed\nto be waiting), the active young footman was in the hall, answering the\ndoor. It mattered little, as I thought. In my aunt's state of health,\nvisitors in general were not admitted. To my horror and amazement, the\nperformer of the soft little knock proved to be an exception to\ngeneral rules. Samuel's voice below me (after apparently answering some\nquestions which I did not hear) said, unmistakably, \"Upstairs, if\nyou please, sir.\" The next moment I heard footsteps--a man's\nfootsteps--approaching the drawing-room floor. Who could this favoured\nmale visitor possibly be? Almost as soon as I asked myself the question,\nthe answer occurred to me. Who COULD it be but the doctor?\n\nIn the case of any other visitor, I should have allowed myself to be\ndiscovered in the drawing-room. There would have been nothing out of the\ncommon in my having got tired of the library, and having gone upstairs\nfor a change. But my own self-respect stood in the way of my meeting the\nperson who had insulted me by sending me back my books. I slipped into\nthe little third room, which I have mentioned as communicating with\nthe back drawing-room, and dropped the curtains which closed the open\ndoorway. If I only waited there for a minute or two, the usual result\nin such cases would take place. That is to say, the doctor would be\nconducted to his patient's room.\n\nI waited a minute or two, and more than a minute or two. I heard the\nvisitor walking restlessly backwards and forwards. I also heard him\ntalking to himself. I even thought I recognised the voice. Had I made\na mistake? Was it not the doctor, but somebody else? Mr. Bruff, for\ninstance? No! an unerring instinct told me it was not Mr. Bruff. Whoever\nhe was, he was still talking to himself. I parted the heavy curtains the\nleast little morsel in the world, and listened.\n\nThe words I heard were, \"I'll do it to-day!\" And the voice that spoke\nthem was Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nMy hand dropped from the curtain. But don't suppose--oh, don't\nsuppose--that the dreadful embarrassment of my situation was the\nuppermost idea in my mind! So fervent still was the sisterly interest I\nfelt in Mr. Godfrey, that I never stopped to ask myself why he was\nnot at the concert. No! I thought only of the words--the startling\nwords--which had just fallen from his lips. He would do it to-day. He\nhad said, in a tone of terrible resolution, he would do it to-day. What,\noh what, would he do? Something even more deplorably unworthy of him\nthan what he had done already? Would he apostatise from the faith? Would\nhe abandon us at the Mothers'-Small-Clothes? Had we seen the last of\nhis angelic smile in the committee-room? Had we heard the last of his\nunrivalled eloquence at Exeter Hall? I was so wrought up by the bare\nidea of such awful eventualities as these in connection with such a man,\nthat I believe I should have rushed from my place of concealment, and\nimplored him in the name of all the Ladies' Committees in London to\nexplain himself--when I suddenly heard another voice in the room.\nIt penetrated through the curtains; it was loud, it was bold, it was\nwanting in every female charm. The voice of Rachel Verinder.\n\n\"Why have you come up here, Godfrey?\" she asked. \"Why didn't you go into\nthe library?\"\n\nHe laughed softly, and answered, \"Miss Clack is in the library.\"\n\n\"Clack in the library!\" She instantly seated herself on the ottoman in\nthe back drawing-room. \"You are quite right, Godfrey. We had much better\nstop here.\"\n\nI had been in a burning fever, a moment since, and in some doubt what\nto do next. I became extremely cold now, and felt no doubt whatever. To\nshow myself, after what I had heard, was impossible. To retreat--except\ninto the fireplace--was equally out of the question. A martyrdom was\nbefore me. In justice to myself, I noiselessly arranged the curtains so\nthat I could both see and hear. And then I met my martyrdom, with the\nspirit of a primitive Christian.\n\n\"Don't sit on the ottoman,\" the young lady proceeded. \"Bring a chair,\nGodfrey. I like people to be opposite to me when I talk to them.\"\n\nHe took the nearest seat. It was a low chair. He was very tall, and\nmany sizes too large for it. I never saw his legs to such disadvantage\nbefore.\n\n\"Well?\" she went on. \"What did you say to them?\"\n\n\"Just what you said, dear Rachel, to me.\"\n\n\"That mamma was not at all well to-day? And that I didn't quite like\nleaving her to go to the concert?\"\n\n\"Those were the words. They were grieved to lose you at the concert, but\nthey quite understood. All sent their love; and all expressed a cheering\nbelief that Lady Verinder's indisposition would soon pass away.\"\n\n\"YOU don't think it's serious, do you, Godfrey?\"\n\n\"Far from it! In a few days, I feel quite sure, all will be well again.\"\n\n\"I think so, too. I was a little frightened at first, but I think so\ntoo. It was very kind to go and make my excuses for me to people who are\nalmost strangers to you. But why not have gone with them to the concert?\nIt seems very hard that you should miss the music too.\"\n\n\"Don't say that, Rachel! If you only knew how much happier I am--here,\nwith you!\"\n\nHe clasped his hands, and looked at her. In the position which he\noccupied, when he did that, he turned my way. Can words describe how\nI sickened when I noticed exactly the same pathetic expression on his\nface, which had charmed me when he was pleading for destitute millions\nof his fellow-creatures on the platform at Exeter Hall!\n\n\"It's hard to get over one's bad habits, Godfrey. But do try to get over\nthe habit of paying compliments--do, to please me.\"\n\n\"I never paid you a compliment, Rachel, in my life. Successful love\nmay sometimes use the language of flattery, I admit. But hopeless love,\ndearest, always speaks the truth.\"\n\nHe drew his chair close, and took her hand, when he said \"hopeless\nlove.\" There was a momentary silence. He, who thrilled everybody, had\ndoubtless thrilled HER. I thought I now understood the words which had\ndropped from him when he was alone in the drawing-room, \"I'll do it\nto-day.\" Alas! the most rigid propriety could hardly have failed to\ndiscover that he was doing it now.\n\n\"Have you forgotten what we agreed on, Godfrey, when you spoke to me in\nthe country? We agreed that we were to be cousins, and nothing more.\"\n\n\"I break the agreement, Rachel, every time I see you.\"\n\n\"Then don't see me.\"\n\n\"Quite useless! I break the agreement every time I think of you. Oh,\nRachel! how kindly you told me, only the other day, that my place in\nyour estimation was a higher place than it had ever been yet! Am I mad\nto build the hopes I do on those dear words? Am I mad to dream of some\nfuture day when your heart may soften to me? Don't tell me so, if I\nam! Leave me my delusion, dearest! I must have THAT to cherish, and to\ncomfort me, if I have nothing else!\"\n\nHis voice trembled, and he put his white handkerchief to his eyes.\nExeter Hall again! Nothing wanting to complete the parallel but the\naudience, the cheers, and the glass of water.\n\nEven her obdurate nature was touched. I saw her lean a little nearer to\nhim. I heard a new tone of interest in her next words.\n\n\"Are you really sure, Godfrey, that you are so fond of me as that?\"\n\n\"Sure! You know what I was, Rachel. Let me tell you what I am. I have\nlost every interest in life, but my interest in you. A transformation\nhas come over me which I can't account for, myself. Would you believe\nit? My charitable business is an unendurable nuisance to me; and when I\nsee a Ladies' Committee now, I wish myself at the uttermost ends of the\nearth!\"\n\nIf the annals of apostasy offer anything comparable to such a\ndeclaration as that, I can only say that the case in point is\nnot producible from the stores of my reading. I thought of the\nMothers'-Small-Clothes. I thought of the Sunday-Sweetheart-Supervision.\nI thought of the other Societies, too numerous to mention, all built\nup on this man as on a tower of strength. I thought of the struggling\nFemale Boards, who, so to speak, drew the breath of their business-life\nthrough the nostrils of Mr. Godfrey--of that same Mr. Godfrey who had\njust reviled our good work as a \"nuisance\"--and just declared that he\nwished he was at the uttermost ends of the earth when he found himself\nin our company! My young female friends will feel encouraged to\npersevere, when I mention that it tried even My discipline before I\ncould devour my own righteous indignation in silence. At the same time,\nit is only justice to myself to add, that I didn't lose a syllable of\nthe conversation. Rachel was the next to speak.\n\n\"You have made your confession,\" she said. \"I wonder whether it would\ncure you of your unhappy attachment to me, if I made mine?\"\n\nHe started. I confess I started too. He thought, and I thought, that she\nwas about to divulge the mystery of the Moonstone.\n\n\"Would you think, to look at me,\" she went on, \"that I am the\nwretchedest girl living? It's true, Godfrey. What greater wretchedness\ncan there be than to live degraded in your own estimation? That is my\nlife now.\"\n\n\"My dear Rachel! it's impossible you can have any reason to speak of\nyourself in that way!\"\n\n\"How do you know I have no reason?\"\n\n\"Can you ask me the question! I know it, because I know you. Your\nsilence, dearest, has never lowered you in the estimation of your true\nfriends. The disappearance of your precious birthday gift may seem\nstrange; your unexplained connection with that event may seem stranger\nstill.\"\n\n\"Are you speaking of the Moonstone, Godfrey----\"\n\n\"I certainly thought that you referred----\"\n\n\"I referred to nothing of the sort. I can hear of the loss of the\nMoonstone, let who will speak of it, without feeling degraded in my own\nestimation. If the story of the Diamond ever comes to light, it will be\nknown that I accepted a dreadful responsibility; it will be known that I\ninvolved myself in the keeping of a miserable secret--but it will be\nas clear as the sun at noon-day that I did nothing mean! You have\nmisunderstood me, Godfrey. It's my fault for not speaking more plainly.\nCost me what it may, I will be plainer now. Suppose you were not in love\nwith me? Suppose you were in love with some other woman?\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Suppose you discovered that woman to be utterly unworthy of you?\nSuppose you were quite convinced that it was a disgrace to you to waste\nanother thought on her? Suppose the bare idea of ever marrying such a\nperson made your face burn, only with thinking of it.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"And, suppose, in spite of all that--you couldn't tear her from your\nheart? Suppose the feeling she had roused in you (in the time when you\nbelieved in her) was not a feeling to be hidden? Suppose the love this\nwretch had inspired in you? Oh, how can I find words to say it in! How\ncan I make a MAN understand that a feeling which horrifies me at myself,\ncan be a feeling that fascinates me at the same time? It's the breath\nof my life, Godfrey, and it's the poison that kills me--both in one!\nGo away! I must be out of my mind to talk as I am talking now. No! you\nmustn't leave me--you mustn't carry away a wrong impression. I must say\nwhat is to be said in my own defence. Mind this! HE doesn't know--he\nnever will know, what I have told you. I will never see him--I don't\ncare what happens--I will never, never, never see him again! Don't ask\nme his name! Don't ask me any more! Let's change the subject. Are you\ndoctor enough, Godfrey, to tell me why I feel as if I was stifling for\nwant of breath? Is there a form of hysterics that bursts into words\ninstead of tears? I dare say! What does it matter? You will get over any\ntrouble I have caused you, easily enough now. I have dropped to my right\nplace in your estimation, haven't I? Don't notice me! Don't pity me! For\nGod's sake, go away!\"\n\nShe turned round on a sudden, and beat her hands wildly on the back of\nthe ottoman. Her head dropped on the cushions; and she burst out crying.\nBefore I had time to feel shocked, at this, I was horror-struck by an\nentirely unexpected proceeding on the part of Mr. Godfrey. Will it\nbe credited that he fell on his knees at her feet?--on BOTH knees, I\nsolemnly declare! May modesty mention that he put his arms round her\nnext? And may reluctant admiration acknowledge that he electrified her\nwith two words?\n\n\"Noble creature!\"\n\nNo more than that! But he did it with one of the bursts which have made\nhis fame as a public speaker. She sat, either quite thunderstruck, or\nquite fascinated--I don't know which--without even making an effort to\nput his arms back where his arms ought to have been. As for me, my sense\nof propriety was completely bewildered. I was so painfully uncertain\nwhether it was my first duty to close my eyes, or to stop my ears, that\nI did neither. I attribute my being still able to hold the curtain in\nthe right position for looking and listening, entirely to suppressed\nhysterics. In suppressed hysterics, it is admitted, even by the doctors,\nthat one must hold something.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, with all the fascination of his evangelical voice and\nmanner, \"you are a noble creature! A woman who can speak the truth, for\nthe truth's own sake--a woman who will sacrifice her pride, rather than\nsacrifice an honest man who loves her--is the most priceless of all\ntreasures. When such a woman marries, if her husband only wins her\nesteem and regard, he wins enough to ennoble his whole life. You have\nspoken, dearest, of your place in my estimation. Judge what that place\nis--when I implore you on my knees, to let the cure of your poor wounded\nheart be my care. Rachel! will you honour me, will you bless me, by\nbeing my wife?\"\n\nBy this time I should certainly have decided on stopping my ears, if\nRachel had not encouraged me to keep them open, by answering him in the\nfirst sensible words I had ever heard fall from her lips.\n\n\"Godfrey!\" she said, \"you must be mad!\"\n\n\"I never spoke more reasonably, dearest--in your interests, as well\nas in mine. Look for a moment to the future. Is your happiness to be\nsacrificed to a man who has never known how you feel towards him,\nand whom you are resolved never to see again? Is it not your duty to\nyourself to forget this ill-fated attachment? and is forgetfulness to be\nfound in the life you are leading now? You have tried that life, and you\nare wearying of it already. Surround yourself with nobler interests than\nthe wretched interests of the world. A heart that loves and honours you;\na home whose peaceful claims and happy duties win gently on you day by\nday--try the consolation, Rachel, which is to be found THERE! I don't\nask for your love--I will be content with your affection and regard. Let\nthe rest be left, confidently left, to your husband's devotion, and to\nTime that heals even wounds as deep as yours.\"\n\nShe began to yield already. Oh, what a bringing-up she must have had!\nOh, how differently I should have acted in her place!\n\n\"Don't tempt me, Godfrey,\" she said; \"I am wretched enough and reckless\nenough as it is. Don't tempt me to be more wretched and more wreckless\nstill!\"\n\n\"One question, Rachel. Have you any personal objection to me?\"\n\n\"I! I always liked you. After what you have just said to me, I should be\ninsensible indeed if I didn't respect and admire you as well.\"\n\n\"Do you know many wives, my dear Rachel, who respect and admire their\nhusbands? And yet they and their husbands get on very well. How many\nbrides go to the altar with hearts that would bear inspection by the men\nwho take them there? And yet it doesn't end unhappily--somehow or other\nthe nuptial establishment jogs on. The truth is, that women try marriage\nas a Refuge, far more numerously than they are willing to admit; and,\nwhat is more, they find that marriage has justified their confidence\nin it. Look at your own case once again. At your age, and with your\nattractions, is it possible for you to sentence yourself to a single\nlife? Trust my knowledge of the world--nothing is less possible. It\nis merely a question of time. You may marry some other man, some years\nhence. Or you may marry the man, dearest, who is now at your feet, and\nwho prizes your respect and admiration above the love of any other woman\non the face of the earth.\"\n\n\"Gently, Godfrey! you are putting something into my head which I never\nthought of before. You are tempting me with a new prospect, when all my\nother prospects are closed before me. I tell you again, I am miserable\nenough and desperate enough, if you say another word, to marry you on\nyour own terms. Take the warning, and go!\"\n\n\"I won't even rise from my knees, till you have said yes!\"\n\n\"If I say yes you will repent, and I shall repent, when it is too late!\"\n\n\"We shall both bless the day, darling, when I pressed, and when you\nyielded.\"\n\n\"Do you feel as confidently as you speak?\"\n\n\"You shall judge for yourself. I speak from what I have seen in my own\nfamily. Tell me what you think of our household at Frizinghall. Do my\nfather and mother live unhappily together?\"\n\n\"Far from it--so far as I can see.\"\n\n\"When my mother was a girl, Rachel (it is no secret in the family), she\nhad loved as you love--she had given her heart to a man who was unworthy\nof her. She married my father, respecting him, admiring him, but nothing\nmore. Your own eyes have seen the result. Is there no encouragement in\nit for you and for me?\" *\n\n     * See Betteredge's Narrative, chapter viii.\n\n\"You won't hurry me, Godfrey?\"\n\n\"My time shall be yours.\"\n\n\"You won't ask me for more than I can give?\"\n\n\"My angel! I only ask you to give me yourself.\"\n\n\"Take me!\"\n\nIn those two words she accepted him!\n\nHe had another burst--a burst of unholy rapture this time. He drew her\nnearer and nearer to him till her face touched his; and then--No! I\nreally cannot prevail upon myself to carry this shocking disclosure\nany farther. Let me only say, that I tried to close my eyes before it\nhappened, and that I was just one moment too late. I had calculated, you\nsee, on her resisting. She submitted. To every right-feeling person of\nmy own sex, volumes could say no more.\n\nEven my innocence in such matters began to see its way to the end of the\ninterview now. They understood each other so thoroughly by this time,\nthat I fully expected to see them walk off together, arm in arm, to be\nmarried. There appeared, however, judging by Mr. Godfrey's next words,\nto be one more trifling formality which it was necessary to observe.\nHe seated himself--unforbidden this time--on the ottoman by her side.\n\"Shall I speak to your dear mother?\" he asked. \"Or will you?\"\n\nShe declined both alternatives.\n\n\"Let my mother hear nothing from either of us, until she is better. I\nwish it to be kept a secret for the present, Godfrey. Go now, and come\nback this evening. We have been here alone together quite long enough.\"\n\nShe rose, and in rising, looked for the first time towards the little\nroom in which my martyrdom was going on.\n\n\"Who has drawn those curtains?\" she exclaimed.\n\n\"The room is close enough, as it is, without keeping the air out of it\nin that way.\"\n\nShe advanced to the curtains. At the moment when she laid her hand\non them--at the moment when the discovery of me appeared to be quite\ninevitable--the voice of the fresh-coloured young footman, on the\nstairs, suddenly suspended any further proceedings on her side or on\nmine. It was unmistakably the voice of a man in great alarm.\n\n\"Miss Rachel!\" he called out, \"where are you, Miss Rachel?\"\n\nShe sprang back from the curtains, and ran to the door.\n\nThe footman came just inside the room. His ruddy colour was all gone.\nHe said, \"Please to come down-stairs, Miss! My lady has fainted, and we\ncan't bring her to again.\"\n\nIn a moment more I was alone, and free to go down-stairs in my turn,\nquite unobserved.\n\nMr. Godfrey passed me in the hall, hurrying out, to fetch the doctor.\n\"Go in, and help them!\" he said, pointing to the room. I found Rachel on\nher knees by the sofa, with her mother's head on her bosom. One look\nat my aunt's face (knowing what I knew) was enough to warn me of the\ndreadful truth. I kept my thoughts to myself till the doctor came in.\nIt was not long before he arrived. He began by sending Rachel out of the\nroom--and then he told the rest of us that Lady Verinder was no more.\nSerious persons, in search of proofs of hardened scepticism, may be\ninterested in hearing that he showed no signs of remorse when he looked\nat Me.\n\nAt a later hour I peeped into the breakfast-room, and the library. My\naunt had died without opening one of the letters which I had addressed\nto her. I was so shocked at this, that it never occurred to me, until\nsome days afterwards, that she had also died without giving me my little\nlegacy.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\n(1.) \"Miss Clack presents her compliments to Mr. Franklin Blake; and, in\nsending him the fifth chapter of her humble narrative, begs to say that\nshe feels quite unequal to enlarge as she could wish on an event so\nawful, under the circumstances, as Lady Verinder's death. She has,\ntherefore, attached to her own manuscripts, copious Extracts from\nprecious publications in her possession, all bearing on this terrible\nsubject. And may those Extracts (Miss Clack fervently hopes) sound\nas the blast of a trumpet in the ears of her respected kinsman, Mr.\nFranklin Blake.\"\n\n(2.) \"Mr. Franklin Blake presents his compliments to Miss Clack, and\nbegs to thank her for the fifth chapter of her narrative. In returning\nthe extracts sent with it, he will refrain from mentioning any personal\nobjection which he may entertain to this species of literature, and\nwill merely say that the proposed additions to the manuscript are not\nnecessary to the fulfilment of the purpose that he has in view.\"\n\n(3.) \"Miss Clack begs to acknowledge the return of her Extracts. She\naffectionately reminds Mr. Franklin Blake that she is a Christian, and\nthat it is, therefore, quite impossible for him to offend her. Miss\nC. persists in feeling the deepest interest in Mr. Blake, and pledges\nherself, on the first occasion when sickness may lay him low, to offer\nhim the use of her Extracts for the second time. In the meanwhile\nshe would be glad to know, before beginning the final chapters of her\nnarrative, whether she may be permitted to make her humble contribution\ncomplete, by availing herself of the light which later discoveries have\nthrown on the mystery of the Moonstone.\"\n\n(4.) \"Mr. Franklin Blake is sorry to disappoint Miss Clack. He can only\nrepeat the instructions which he had the honour of giving her when\nshe began her narrative. She is requested to limit herself to her own\nindividual experience of persons and events, as recorded in her diary.\nLater discoveries she will be good enough to leave to the pens of those\npersons who can write in the capacity of actual witnesses.\"\n\n(5.) \"Miss Clack is extremely sorry to trouble Mr. Franklin Blake with\nanother letter. Her Extracts have been returned, and the expression of\nher matured views on the subject of the Moonstone has been forbidden.\nMiss Clack is painfully conscious that she ought (in the worldly phrase)\nto feel herself put down. But, no--Miss C. has learnt Perseverance in\nthe School of Adversity. Her object in writing is to know whether Mr.\nBlake (who prohibits everything else) prohibits the appearance of the\npresent correspondence in Miss Clack's narrative? Some explanation of\nthe position in which Mr. Blake's interference has placed her as an\nauthoress, seems due on the ground of common justice. And Miss Clack, on\nher side, is most anxious that her letters should be produced to speak\nfor themselves.\"\n\n(6.) \"Mr. Franklin Blake agrees to Miss Clack's proposal, on the\nunderstanding that she will kindly consider this intimation of his\nconsent as closing the correspondence between them.\"\n\n(7.) \"Miss Clack feels it an act of Christian duty (before the\ncorrespondence closes) to inform Mr. Franklin Blake that his last\nletter--evidently intended to offend her--has not succeeded in\naccomplishing the object of the writer. She affectionately requests Mr.\nBlake to retire to the privacy of his own room, and to consider with\nhimself whether the training which can thus elevate a poor weak woman\nabove the reach of insult, be not worthy of greater admiration than he\nis now disposed to feel for it. On being favoured with an intimation to\nthat effect, Miss C. solemnly pledges herself to send back the complete\nseries of her Extracts to Mr. Franklin Blake.\"\n\n[To this letter no answer was received. Comment is needless.\n\n(Signed) DRUSILLA CLACK.]\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nThe foregoing correspondence will sufficiently explain why no choice\nis left to me but to pass over Lady Verinder's death with the simple\nannouncement of the fact which ends my fifth chapter.\n\nKeeping myself for the future strictly within the limits of my own\npersonal experience, I have next to relate that a month elapsed from the\ntime of my aunt's decease before Rachel Verinder and I met again. That\nmeeting was the occasion of my spending a few days under the same roof\nwith her. In the course of my visit, something happened, relative to\nher marriage-engagement with Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, which is important\nenough to require special notice in these pages. When this last of\nmany painful family circumstances has been disclosed, my task will be\ncompleted; for I shall then have told all that I know, as an actual (and\nmost unwilling) witness of events.\n\nMy aunt's remains were removed from London, and were buried in the\nlittle cemetery attached to the church in her own park. I was invited to\nthe funeral with the rest of the family. But it was impossible (with my\nreligious views) to rouse myself in a few days only from the shock which\nthis death had caused me. I was informed, moreover, that the rector of\nFrizinghall was to read the service. Having myself in past times seen\nthis clerical castaway making one of the players at Lady Verinder's\nwhist-table, I doubt, even if I had been fit to travel, whether I should\nhave felt justified in attending the ceremony.\n\nLady Verinder's death left her daughter under the care of her\nbrother-in-law, Mr. Ablewhite the elder. He was appointed guardian\nby the will, until his niece married, or came of age. Under these\ncircumstances, Mr. Godfrey informed his father, I suppose, of the new\nrelation in which he stood towards Rachel. At any rate, in ten days from\nmy aunt's death, the secret of the marriage-engagement was no secret\nat all within the circle of the family, and the grand question for Mr.\nAblewhite senior--another confirmed castaway!--was how to make himself\nand his authority most agreeable to the wealthy young lady who was going\nto marry his son.\n\nRachel gave him some trouble at the outset, about the choice of a place\nin which she could be prevailed upon to reside. The house in Montagu\nSquare was associated with the calamity of her mother's death. The\nhouse in Yorkshire was associated with the scandalous affair of the\nlost Moonstone. Her guardian's own residence at Frizinghall was open\nto neither of these objections. But Rachel's presence in it, after her\nrecent bereavement, operated as a check on the gaieties of her cousins,\nthe Miss Ablewhites--and she herself requested that her visit might\nbe deferred to a more favourable opportunity. It ended in a proposal,\nemanating from old Mr. Ablewhite, to try a furnished house at Brighton.\nHis wife, an invalid daughter, and Rachel were to inhabit it together,\nand were to expect him to join them later in the season. They would see\nno society but a few old friends, and they would have his son Godfrey,\ntravelling backwards and forwards by the London train, always at their\ndisposal.\n\nI describe this aimless flitting about from one place of residence to\nanother--this insatiate restlessness of body and appalling stagnation\nof soul--merely with the view to arriving at results. The event which\n(under Providence) proved to be the means of bringing Rachel Verinder\nand myself together again, was no other than the hiring of the house at\nBrighton.\n\nMy Aunt Ablewhite is a large, silent, fair-complexioned woman, with one\nnoteworthy point in her character. From the hour of her birth she has\nnever been known to do anything for herself. She has gone through life,\naccepting everybody's help, and adopting everybody's opinions. A\nmore hopeless person, in a spiritual point of view, I have never met\nwith--there is absolutely, in this perplexing case, no obstructive\nmaterial to work upon. Aunt Ablewhite would listen to the Grand Lama of\nThibet exactly as she listens to Me, and would reflect his views quite\nas readily as she reflects mine. She found the furnished house at\nBrighton by stopping at an hotel in London, composing herself on a\nsofa, and sending for her son. She discovered the necessary servants\nby breakfasting in bed one morning (still at the hotel), and giving her\nmaid a holiday on condition that the girl \"would begin enjoying herself\nby fetching Miss Clack.\" I found her placidly fanning herself in her\ndressing-gown at eleven o'clock. \"Drusilla, dear, I want some servants.\nYou are so clever--please get them for me.\" I looked round the untidy\nroom. The church-bells were going for a week-day service; they suggested\na word of affectionate remonstrance on my part. \"Oh, aunt!\" I said\nsadly. \"Is THIS worthy of a Christian Englishwoman? Is the passage from\ntime to eternity to be made in THIS manner?\" My aunt answered, \"I'll put\non my gown, Drusilla, if you will be kind enough to help me.\" What was\nto be said after that? I have done wonders with murderesses--I have\nnever advanced an inch with Aunt Ablewhite. \"Where is the list,\" I\nasked, \"of the servants whom you require?\" My aunt shook her head; she\nhadn't even energy enough to keep the list. \"Rachel has got it, dear,\"\nshe said, \"in the next room.\" I went into the next room, and so saw\nRachel again for the first time since we had parted in Montagu Square.\n\nShe looked pitiably small and thin in her deep mourning. If I attached\nany serious importance to such a perishable trifle as personal\nappearance, I might be inclined to add that hers was one of those\nunfortunate complexions which always suffer when not relieved by a\nborder of white next the skin. But what are our complexions and our\nlooks? Hindrances and pitfalls, dear girls, which beset us on our way\nto higher things! Greatly to my surprise, Rachel rose when I entered the\nroom, and came forward to meet me with outstretched hand.\n\n\"I am glad to see you,\" she said. \"Drusilla, I have been in the habit of\nspeaking very foolishly and very rudely to you, on former occasions. I\nbeg your pardon. I hope you will forgive me.\"\n\nMy face, I suppose, betrayed the astonishment I felt at this. She\ncoloured up for a moment, and then proceeded to explain herself.\n\n\"In my poor mother's lifetime,\" she went on, \"her friends were not\nalways my friends, too. Now I have lost her, my heart turns for comfort\nto the people she liked. She liked you. Try to be friends with me,\nDrusilla, if you can.\"\n\nTo any rightly-constituted mind, the motive thus acknowledged was simply\nshocking. Here in Christian England was a young woman in a state of\nbereavement, with so little idea of where to look for true comfort, that\nshe actually expected to find it among her mother's friends! Here was\na relative of mine, awakened to a sense of her shortcomings towards\nothers, under the influence, not of conviction and duty, but of\nsentiment and impulse! Most deplorable to think of--but, still,\nsuggestive of something hopeful, to a person of my experience in plying\nthe good work. There could be no harm, I thought, in ascertaining\nthe extent of the change which the loss of her mother had wrought in\nRachel's character. I decided, as a useful test, to probe her on the\nsubject of her marriage-engagement to Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.\n\nHaving first met her advances with all possible cordiality, I sat by her\non the sofa, at her own request. We discussed family affairs and future\nplans--always excepting that one future plan which was to end in\nher marriage. Try as I might to turn the conversation that way,\nshe resolutely declined to take the hint. Any open reference to the\nquestion, on my part, would have been premature at this early stage of\nour reconciliation. Besides, I had discovered all I wanted to know. She\nwas no longer the reckless, defiant creature whom I had heard and seen,\non the occasion of my martyrdom in Montagu Square. This was, of itself,\nenough to encourage me to take her future conversion in hand--beginning\nwith a few words of earnest warning directed against the hasty formation\nof the marriage tie, and so getting on to higher things. Looking at her,\nnow, with this new interest--and calling to mind the headlong suddenness\nwith which she had met Mr. Godfrey's matrimonial views--I felt the\nsolemn duty of interfering with a fervour which assured me that I should\nachieve no common results. Rapidity of proceeding was, as I believed,\nof importance in this case. I went back at once to the question of the\nservants wanted for the furnished house.\n\n\"Where is the list, dear?\"\n\nRachel produced it.\n\n\"Cook, kitchen-maid, housemaid, and footman,\" I read. \"My dear Rachel,\nthese servants are only wanted for a term--the term during which your\nguardian has taken the house. We shall have great difficulty in finding\npersons of character and capacity to accept a temporary engagement of\nthat sort, if we try in London. Has the house in Brighton been found\nyet?\"\n\n\"Yes. Godfrey has taken it; and persons in the house wanted him to hire\nthem as servants. He thought they would hardly do for us, and came back\nhaving settled nothing.\"\n\n\"And you have no experience yourself in these matters, Rachel?\"\n\n\"None whatever.\"\n\n\"And Aunt Ablewhite won't exert herself?\"\n\n\"No, poor dear. Don't blame her, Drusilla. I think she is the only\nreally happy woman I have ever met with.\"\n\n\"There are degrees in happiness, darling. We must have a little talk,\nsome day, on that subject. In the meantime I will undertake to meet\nthe difficulty about the servants. Your aunt will write a letter to the\npeople of the house----\"\n\n\"She will sign a letter, if I write it for her, which comes to the same\nthing.\"\n\n\"Quite the same thing. I shall get the letter, and I will go to Brighton\nto-morrow.\"\n\n\"How extremely kind of you! We will join you as soon as you are ready\nfor us. And you will stay, I hope, as my guest. Brighton is so lively;\nyou are sure to enjoy it.\"\n\nIn those words the invitation was given, and the glorious prospect of\ninterference was opened before me.\n\nIt was then the middle of the week. By Saturday afternoon the house was\nready for them. In that short interval I had sifted, not the characters\nonly, but the religious views as well, of all the disengaged servants\nwho applied to me, and had succeeded in making a selection which my\nconscience approved. I also discovered, and called on two serious\nfriends of mine, residents in the town, to whom I knew I could confide\nthe pious object which had brought me to Brighton. One of them--a\nclerical friend--kindly helped me to take sittings for our little party\nin the church in which he himself ministered. The other--a single lady,\nlike myself--placed the resources of her library (composed throughout of\nprecious publications) entirely at my disposal. I borrowed half-a-dozen\nworks, all carefully chosen with a view to Rachel. When these had been\njudiciously distributed in the various rooms she would be likely to\noccupy, I considered that my preparations were complete. Sound doctrine\nin the servants who waited on her; sound doctrine in the minister who\npreached to her; sound doctrine in the books that lay on her table--such\nwas the treble welcome which my zeal had prepared for the motherless\ngirl! A heavenly composure filled my mind, on that Saturday afternoon,\nas I sat at the window waiting the arrival of my relatives. The giddy\nthrong passed and repassed before my eyes. Alas! how many of them felt\nmy exquisite sense of duty done? An awful question. Let us not pursue\nit.\n\nBetween six and seven the travellers arrived. To my indescribable\nsurprise, they were escorted, not by Mr. Godfrey (as I had anticipated),\nbut by the lawyer, Mr. Bruff.\n\n\"How do you do, Miss Clack?\" he said. \"I mean to stay this time.\"\n\nThat reference to the occasion on which I had obliged him to postpone\nhis business to mine, when we were both visiting in Montagu Square,\nsatisfied me that the old worldling had come to Brighton with some\nobject of his own in view. I had prepared quite a little Paradise for my\nbeloved Rachel--and here was the Serpent already!\n\n\"Godfrey was very much vexed, Drusilla, not to be able to come with us,\"\nsaid my Aunt Ablewhite. \"There was something in the way which kept him\nin town. Mr. Bruff volunteered to take his place, and make a holiday\nof it till Monday morning. By-the-by, Mr. Bruff, I'm ordered to take\nexercise, and I don't like it. That,\" added Aunt Ablewhite, pointing out\nof window to an invalid going by in a chair on wheels, drawn by a man,\n\"is my idea of exercise. If it's air you want, you get it in your chair.\nAnd if it's fatigue you want, I am sure it's fatigue enough to look at\nthe man.\"\n\nRachel stood silent, at a window by herself, with her eyes fixed on the\nsea.\n\n\"Tired, love?\" I inquired.\n\n\"No. Only a little out of spirits,\" she answered. \"I have often seen the\nsea, on our Yorkshire coast, with that light on it. And I was thinking,\nDrusilla, of the days that can never come again.\"\n\nMr. Bruff remained to dinner, and stayed through the evening. The more\nI saw of him, the more certain I felt that he had some private end to\nserve in coming to Brighton. I watched him carefully. He maintained the\nsame appearance of ease, and talked the same godless gossip, hour after\nhour, until it was time to take leave. As he shook hands with Rachel,\nI caught his hard and cunning eyes resting on her for a moment with a\npeculiar interest and attention. She was plainly concerned in the object\nthat he had in view. He said nothing out of the common to her or to\nanyone on leaving. He invited himself to luncheon the next day, and then\nhe went away to his hotel.\n\nIt was impossible the next morning to get my Aunt Ablewhite out of her\ndressing-gown in time for church. Her invalid daughter (suffering from\nnothing, in my opinion, but incurable laziness, inherited from her\nmother) announced that she meant to remain in bed for the day. Rachel\nand I went alone together to church. A magnificent sermon was preached\nby my gifted friend on the heathen indifference of the world to the\nsinfulness of little sins. For more than an hour his eloquence (assisted\nby his glorious voice) thundered through the sacred edifice. I said to\nRachel, when we came out, \"Has it found its way to your heart, dear?\"\nAnd she answered, \"No; it has only made my head ache.\" This might have\nbeen discouraging to some people; but, once embarked on a career of\nmanifest usefulness, nothing discourages Me.\n\nWe found Aunt Ablewhite and Mr. Bruff at luncheon. When Rachel declined\neating anything, and gave as a reason for it that she was suffering from\na headache, the lawyer's cunning instantly saw, and seized, the chance\nthat she had given him.\n\n\"There is only one remedy for a headache,\" said this horrible old man.\n\"A walk, Miss Rachel, is the thing to cure you. I am entirely at your\nservice, if you will honour me by accepting my arm.\"\n\n\"With the greatest pleasure. A walk is the very thing I was longing\nfor.\"\n\n\"It's past two,\" I gently suggested. \"And the afternoon service, Rachel,\nbegins at three.\"\n\n\"How can you expect me to go to church again,\" she asked, petulantly,\n\"with such a headache as mine?\"\n\nMr. Bruff officiously opened the door for her. In another minute more\nthey were both out of the house. I don't know when I have felt the\nsolemn duty of interfering so strongly as I felt it at that moment.\nBut what was to be done? Nothing was to be done but to interfere at the\nfirst opportunity, later in the day.\n\nOn my return from the afternoon service I found that they had just got\nback. One look at them told me that the lawyer had said what he wanted\nto say. I had never before seen Rachel so silent and so thoughtful. I\nhad never before seen Mr. Bruff pay her such devoted attention, and look\nat her with such marked respect. He had (or pretended that he had) an\nengagement to dinner that day--and he took an early leave of us all;\nintending to go back to London by the first train the next morning.\n\n\"Are you sure of your own resolution?\" he said to Rachel at the door.\n\n\"Quite sure,\" she answered--and so they parted.\n\nThe moment his back was turned, Rachel withdrew to her own room. She\nnever appeared at dinner. Her maid (the person with the cap-ribbons) was\nsent down-stairs to announce that her headache had returned. I ran up\nto her and made all sorts of sisterly offers through the door. It was\nlocked, and she kept it locked. Plenty of obstructive material to work\non here! I felt greatly cheered and stimulated by her locking the door.\n\nWhen her cup of tea went up to her the next morning, I followed it in.\nI sat by her bedside and said a few earnest words. She listened with\nlanguid civility. I noticed my serious friend's precious publications\nhuddled together on a table in a corner. Had she chanced to look into\nthem?--I asked. Yes--and they had not interested her. Would she allow\nme to read a few passages of the deepest interest, which had probably\nescaped her eye? No, not now--she had other things to think of. She gave\nthese answers, with her attention apparently absorbed in folding and\nrefolding the frilling on her nightgown. It was plainly necessary to\nrouse her by some reference to those worldly interests which she still\nhad at heart.\n\n\"Do you know, love,\" I said, \"I had an odd fancy, yesterday, about Mr.\nBruff? I thought, when I saw you after your walk with him, that he had\nbeen telling you some bad news.\"\n\nHer fingers dropped from the frilling of her nightgown, and her fierce\nblack eyes flashed at me.\n\n\"Quite the contrary!\" she said. \"It was news I was interested in\nhearing--and I am deeply indebted to Mr. Bruff for telling me of it.\"\n\n\"Yes?\" I said, in a tone of gentle interest.\n\nHer fingers went back to the frilling, and she turned her head sullenly\naway from me. I had been met in this manner, in the course of plying the\ngood work, hundreds of times. She merely stimulated me to try again.\nIn my dauntless zeal for her welfare, I ran the great risk, and openly\nalluded to her marriage engagement.\n\n\"News you were interested in hearing?\" I repeated. \"I suppose, my dear\nRachel, that must be news of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite?\"\n\nShe started up in the bed, and turned deadly pale. It was evidently on\nthe tip of her tongue to retort on me with the unbridled insolence\nof former times. She checked herself--laid her head back on the\npillow--considered a minute--and then answered in these remarkable\nwords:\n\n\"I SHALL NEVER MARRY MR. GODFREY ABLEWHITE.\"\n\nIt was my turn to start at that.\n\n\"What can you possibly mean?\" I exclaimed. \"The marriage is considered\nby the whole family as a settled thing!\"\n\n\"Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite is expected here to-day,\" she said doggedly.\n\"Wait till he comes--and you will see.\"\n\n\"But my dear Rachel----\"\n\nShe rang the bell at the head of her bed. The person with the\ncap-ribbons appeared.\n\n\"Penelope! my bath.\"\n\nLet me give her her due. In the state of my feelings at that moment,\nI do sincerely believe that she had hit on the only possible way of\nforcing me to leave the room.\n\nBy the mere worldly mind my position towards Rachel might have been\nviewed as presenting difficulties of no ordinary kind. I had reckoned on\nleading her to higher things by means of a little earnest exhortation on\nthe subject of her marriage. And now, if she was to be believed, no such\nevent as her marriage was to take place at all. But ah, my friends! a\nworking Christian of my experience (with an evangelising prospect before\nher) takes broader views than these. Supposing Rachel really broke off\nthe marriage, on which the Ablewhites, father and son, counted as a\nsettled thing, what would be the result? It could only end, if she held\nfirm, in an exchanging of hard words and bitter accusations on both\nsides. And what would be the effect on Rachel when the stormy interview\nwas over? A salutary moral depression would be the effect. Her pride\nwould be exhausted, her stubbornness would be exhausted, by the\nresolute resistance which it was in her character to make under the\ncircumstances. She would turn for sympathy to the nearest person who had\nsympathy to offer. And I was that nearest person--brimful of comfort,\ncharged to overflowing with seasonable and reviving words. Never had the\nevangelising prospect looked brighter, to my eyes, than it looked now.\n\nShe came down to breakfast, but she ate nothing, and hardly uttered a\nword.\n\nAfter breakfast she wandered listlessly from room to room--then suddenly\nroused herself, and opened the piano. The music she selected to play was\nof the most scandalously profane sort, associated with performances on\nthe stage which it curdles one's blood to think of. It would have been\npremature to interfere with her at such a time as this. I privately\nascertained the hour at which Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was expected, and\nthen I escaped the music by leaving the house.\n\nBeing out alone, I took the opportunity of calling upon my two resident\nfriends. It was an indescribable luxury to find myself indulging in\nearnest conversation with serious persons. Infinitely encouraged and\nrefreshed, I turned my steps back again to the house, in excellent time\nto await the arrival of our expected visitor. I entered the dining-room,\nalways empty at that hour of the day, and found myself face to face with\nMr. Godfrey Ablewhite!\n\nHe made no attempt to fly the place. Quite the contrary. He advanced to\nmeet me with the utmost eagerness.\n\n\"Dear Miss Clack, I have been only waiting to see you! Chance set me\nfree of my London engagements to-day sooner than I had expected, and I\nhave got here, in consequence, earlier than my appointed time.\"\n\nNot the slightest embarrassment encumbered his explanation, though this\nwas his first meeting with me after the scene in Montagu Square. He was\nnot aware, it is true, of my having been a witness of that scene. But\nhe knew, on the other hand, that my attendances at the Mothers'\nSmall-Clothes, and my relations with friends attached to other\ncharities, must have informed me of his shameless neglect of his Ladies\nand of his Poor. And yet there he was before me, in full possession of\nhis charming voice and his irresistible smile!\n\n\"Have you seen Rachel yet?\" I asked.\n\nHe sighed gently, and took me by the hand. I should certainly have\nsnatched my hand away, if the manner in which he gave his answer had not\nparalysed me with astonishment.\n\n\"I have seen Rachel,\" he said with perfect tranquillity. \"You are aware,\ndear friend, that she was engaged to me? Well, she has taken a sudden\nresolution to break the engagement. Reflection has convinced her that\nshe will best consult her welfare and mine by retracting a rash promise,\nand leaving me free to make some happier choice elsewhere. That is the\nonly reason she will give, and the only answer she will make to every\nquestion that I can ask of her.\"\n\n\"What have you done on your side?\" I inquired. \"Have you submitted.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said with the most unruffled composure, \"I have submitted.\"\n\nHis conduct, under the circumstances, was so utterly inconceivable, that\nI stood bewildered with my hand in his. It is a piece of rudeness\nto stare at anybody, and it is an act of indelicacy to stare at a\ngentleman. I committed both those improprieties. And I said, as if in a\ndream, \"What does it mean?\"\n\n\"Permit me to tell you,\" he replied. \"And suppose we sit down?\"\n\nHe led me to a chair. I have an indistinct remembrance that he was very\naffectionate. I don't think he put his arm round my waist to support\nme--but I am not sure. I was quite helpless, and his ways with ladies\nwere very endearing. At any rate, we sat down. I can answer for that, if\nI can answer for nothing more.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\n\"I have lost a beautiful girl, an excellent social position, and a\nhandsome income,\" Mr. Godfrey began; \"and I have submitted to it without\na struggle. What can be the motive for such extraordinary conduct as\nthat? My precious friend, there is no motive.\"\n\n\"No motive?\" I repeated.\n\n\"Let me appeal, my dear Miss Clack, to your experience of children,\" he\nwent on. \"A child pursues a certain course of conduct. You are greatly\nstruck by it, and you attempt to get at the motive. The dear little\nthing is incapable of telling you its motive. You might as well ask the\ngrass why it grows, or the birds why they sing. Well! in this matter, I\nam like the dear little thing--like the grass--like the birds. I don't\nknow why I made a proposal of marriage to Miss Verinder. I don't know\nwhy I have shamefully neglected my dear Ladies. I don't know why I have\napostatised from the Mothers' Small-Clothes. You say to the child, Why\nhave you been naughty? And the little angel puts its finger into its\nmouth, and doesn't know. My case exactly, Miss Clack! I couldn't confess\nit to anybody else. I feel impelled to confess it to YOU!\"\n\nI began to recover myself. A mental problem was involved here. I am\ndeeply interested in mental problems--and I am not, it is thought,\nwithout some skill in solving them.\n\n\"Best of friends, exert your intellect, and help me,\" he proceeded.\n\"Tell me--why does a time come when these matrimonial proceedings of\nmine begin to look like something done in a dream? Why does it suddenly\noccur to me that my true happiness is in helping my dear Ladies, in\ngoing my modest round of useful work, in saying my few earnest words\nwhen called on by my Chairman? What do I want with a position? I have\ngot a position! What do I want with an income? I can pay for my bread\nand cheese, and my nice little lodging, and my two coats a year. What do\nI want with Miss Verinder? She has told me with her own lips (this, dear\nlady, is between ourselves) that she loves another man, and that her\nonly idea in marrying me is to try and put that other man out of her\nhead. What a horrid union is this! Oh, dear me, what a horrid union\nis this! Such are my reflections, Miss Clack, on my way to Brighton. I\napproach Rachel with the feeling of a criminal who is going to receive\nhis sentence. When I find that she has changed her mind too--when I hear\nher propose to break the engagement--I experience (there is no sort of\ndoubt about it) a most overpowering sense of relief. A month ago I was\npressing her rapturously to my bosom. An hour ago, the happiness of\nknowing that I shall never press her again, intoxicates me like strong\nliquor. The thing seems impossible--the thing can't be. And yet there\nare the facts, as I had the honour of stating them when we first sat\ndown together in these two chairs. I have lost a beautiful girl, an\nexcellent social position, and a handsome income; and I have submitted\nto it without a struggle. Can you account for it, dear friend? It's\nquite beyond ME.\"\n\nHis magnificent head sank on his breast, and he gave up his own mental\nproblem in despair.\n\nI was deeply touched. The case (if I may speak as a spiritual physician)\nwas now quite plain to me. It is no uncommon event, in the experience of\nus all, to see the possessors of exalted ability occasionally humbled\nto the level of the most poorly-gifted people about them. The object, no\ndoubt, in the wise economy of Providence, is to remind greatness that\nit is mortal and that the power which has conferred it can also take\nit away. It was now--to my mind--easy to discern one of these salutary\nhumiliations in the deplorable proceedings on dear Mr. Godfrey's part,\nof which I had been the unseen witness. And it was equally easy to\nrecognise the welcome reappearance of his own finer nature in the horror\nwith which he recoiled from the idea of a marriage with Rachel, and in\nthe charming eagerness which he showed to return to his Ladies and his\nPoor.\n\nI put this view before him in a few simple and sisterly words. His joy\nwas beautiful to see. He compared himself, as I went on, to a lost man\nemerging from the darkness into the light. When I answered for a loving\nreception of him at the Mothers' Small-Clothes, the grateful heart of\nour Christian Hero overflowed. He pressed my hands alternately to his\nlips. Overwhelmed by the exquisite triumph of having got him back among\nus, I let him do what he liked with my hands. I closed my eyes. I felt\nmy head, in an ecstasy of spiritual self-forgetfulness, sinking on his\nshoulder. In a moment more I should certainly have swooned away in his\narms, but for an interruption from the outer world, which brought me to\nmyself again. A horrid rattling of knives and forks sounded outside the\ndoor, and the footman came in to lay the table for luncheon.\n\nMr. Godfrey started up, and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.\n\n\"How time flies with YOU!\" he exclaimed. \"I shall barely catch the\ntrain.\"\n\nI ventured on asking why he was in such a hurry to get back to town.\nHis answer reminded me of family difficulties that were still to be\nreconciled, and of family disagreements that were yet to come.\n\n\"I have heard from my father,\" he said. \"Business obliges him to leave\nFrizinghall for London to-day, and he proposes coming on here, either\nthis evening or to-morrow. I must tell him what has happened between\nRachel and me. His heart is set on our marriage--there will be great\ndifficulty, I fear, in reconciling him to the breaking-off of the\nengagement. I must stop him, for all our sakes, from coming here till he\nIS reconciled. Best and dearest of friends, we shall meet again!\"\n\nWith those words he hurried out. In equal haste on my side, I ran\nupstairs to compose myself in my own room before meeting Aunt Ablewhite\nand Rachel at the luncheon-table.\n\nI am well aware--to dwell for a moment yet on the subject of Mr.\nGodfrey--that the all-profaning opinion of the world has charged him\nwith having his own private reasons for releasing Rachel from her\nengagement, at the first opportunity she gave him. It has also reached\nmy ears, that his anxiety to recover his place in my estimation has been\nattributed in certain quarters, to a mercenary eagerness to make his\npeace (through me) with a venerable committee-woman at the Mothers'\nSmall-Clothes, abundantly blessed with the goods of this world, and\na beloved and intimate friend of my own. I only notice these odious\nslanders for the sake of declaring that they never had a moment's\ninfluence on my mind. In obedience to my instructions, I have exhibited\nthe fluctuations in my opinion of our Christian Hero, exactly as I find\nthem recorded in my diary. In justice to myself, let me here add that,\nonce reinstated in his place in my estimation, my gifted friend never\nlost that place again. I write with the tears in my eyes, burning to say\nmore. But no--I am cruelly limited to my actual experience of persons\nand things. In less than a month from the time of which I am now\nwriting, events in the money-market (which diminished even my miserable\nlittle income) forced me into foreign exile, and left me with nothing\nbut a loving remembrance of Mr. Godfrey which the slander of the world\nhas assailed, and assailed in vain.\n\nLet me dry my eyes, and return to my narrative.\n\nI went downstairs to luncheon, naturally anxious to see how Rachel was\naffected by her release from her marriage engagement.\n\nIt appeared to me--but I own I am a poor authority in such matters--that\nthe recovery of her freedom had set her thinking again of that other man\nwhom she loved, and that she was furious with herself for not being able\nto control a revulsion of feeling of which she was secretly ashamed. Who\nwas the man? I had my suspicions--but it was needless to waste time in\nidle speculation. When I had converted her, she would, as a matter of\ncourse, have no concealments from Me. I should hear all about the man;\nI should hear all about the Moonstone. If I had had no higher object in\nstirring her up to a sense of spiritual things, the motive of relieving\nher mind of its guilty secrets would have been enough of itself to\nencourage me to go on.\n\nAunt Ablewhite took her exercise in the afternoon in an invalid chair.\nRachel accompanied her. \"I wish I could drag the chair,\" she broke out,\nrecklessly. \"I wish I could fatigue myself till I was ready to drop.\"\n\nShe was in the same humour in the evening. I discovered in one of my\nfriend's precious publications--the Life, Letters, and Labours of Miss\nJane Ann Stamper, forty-fourth edition--passages which bore with\na marvellous appropriateness on Rachel's present position. Upon my\nproposing to read them, she went to the piano. Conceive how little she\nmust have known of serious people, if she supposed that my patience was\nto be exhausted in that way! I kept Miss Jane Ann Stamper by me, and\nwaited for events with the most unfaltering trust in the future.\n\nOld Mr. Ablewhite never made his appearance that night. But I knew the\nimportance which his worldly greed attached to his son's marriage with\nMiss Verinder--and I felt a positive conviction (do what Mr. Godfrey\nmight to prevent it) that we should see him the next day. With his\ninterference in the matter, the storm on which I had counted would\ncertainly come, and the salutary exhaustion of Rachel's resisting powers\nwould as certainly follow. I am not ignorant that old Mr. Ablewhite has\nthe reputation generally (especially among his inferiors) of being a\nremarkably good-natured man. According to my observation of him, he\ndeserves his reputation as long as he has his own way, and not a moment\nlonger.\n\nThe next day, exactly as I had foreseen, Aunt Ablewhite was as near to\nbeing astonished as her nature would permit, by the sudden appearance\nof her husband. He had barely been a minute in the house, before he was\nfollowed, to MY astonishment this time, by an unexpected complication in\nthe shape of Mr. Bruff.\n\nI never remember feeling the presence of the lawyer to be more unwelcome\nthan I felt it at that moment. He looked ready for anything in the way\nof an obstructive proceeding--capable even of keeping the peace with\nRachel for one of the combatants!\n\n\"This is a pleasant surprise, sir,\" said Mr. Ablewhite, addressing\nhimself with his deceptive cordiality to Mr. Bruff. \"When I left your\noffice yesterday, I didn't expect to have the honour of seeing you at\nBrighton to-day.\"\n\n\"I turned over our conversation in my mind, after you had gone,\" replied\nMr. Bruff. \"And it occurred to me that I might perhaps be of some use\non this occasion. I was just in time to catch the train, and I had no\nopportunity of discovering the carriage in which you were travelling.\"\n\nHaving given that explanation, he seated himself by Rachel. I retired\nmodestly to a corner--with Miss Jane Ann Stamper on my lap, in case of\nemergency. My aunt sat at the window; placidly fanning herself as usual.\nMr. Ablewhite stood up in the middle of the room, with his bald head\nmuch pinker than I had ever seen it yet, and addressed himself in the\nmost affectionate manner to his niece.\n\n\"Rachel, my dear,\" he said, \"I have heard some very extraordinary news\nfrom Godfrey. And I am here to inquire about it. You have a sitting-room\nof your own in this house. Will you honour me by showing me the way to\nit?\"\n\nRachel never moved. Whether she was determined to bring matters to a\ncrisis, or whether she was prompted by some private sign from Mr. Bruff,\nis more than I can tell. She declined doing old Mr. Ablewhite the honour\nof conducting him into her sitting-room.\n\n\"Whatever you wish to say to me,\" she answered, \"can be said here--in\nthe presence of my relatives, and in the presence\" (she looked at Mr.\nBruff) \"of my mother's trusted old friend.\"\n\n\"Just as you please, my dear,\" said the amiable Mr. Ablewhite. He took\na chair. The rest of them looked at his face--as if they expected it,\nafter seventy years of worldly training, to speak the truth. I looked\nat the top of his bald head; having noticed on other occasions that the\ntemper which was really in him had a habit of registering itself THERE.\n\n\"Some weeks ago,\" pursued the old gentleman, \"my son informed me that\nMiss Verinder had done him the honour to engage herself to marry him.\nIs it possible, Rachel, that he can have misinterpreted--or presumed\nupon--what you really said to him?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" she replied. \"I did engage myself to marry him.\"\n\n\"Very frankly answered!\" said Mr. Ablewhite. \"And most satisfactory, my\ndear, so far. In respect to what happened some weeks since, Godfrey has\nmade no mistake. The error is evidently in what he told me yesterday.\nI begin to see it now. You and he have had a lovers' quarrel--and my\nfoolish son has interpreted it seriously. Ah! I should have known better\nthan that at his age.\"\n\nThe fallen nature in Rachel--the mother Eve, so to speak--began to chafe\nat this.\n\n\"Pray let us understand each other, Mr. Ablewhite,\" she said. \"Nothing\nin the least like a quarrel took place yesterday between your son and\nme. If he told you that I proposed breaking off our marriage engagement,\nand that he agreed on his side--he told you the truth.\"\n\nThe self-registering thermometer at the top of Mr. Ablewhite's bald\nhead began to indicate a rise of temper. His face was more amiable than\never--but THERE was the pink at the top of his face, a shade deeper\nalready!\n\n\"Come, come, my dear!\" he said, in his most soothing manner, \"now don't\nbe angry, and don't be hard on poor Godfrey! He has evidently said some\nunfortunate thing. He was always clumsy from a child--but he means well,\nRachel, he means well!\"\n\n\"Mr. Ablewhite, I have either expressed myself very badly, or you are\npurposely mistaking me. Once for all, it is a settled thing between your\nson and myself that we remain, for the rest of our lives, cousins and\nnothing more. Is that plain enough?\"\n\nThe tone in which she said those words made it impossible, even for\nold Mr. Ablewhite, to mistake her any longer. His thermometer went up\nanother degree, and his voice when he next spoke, ceased to be the voice\nwhich is appropriate to a notoriously good-natured man.\n\n\"I am to understand, then,\" he said, \"that your marriage engagement is\nbroken off?\"\n\n\"You are to understand that, Mr. Ablewhite, if you please.\"\n\n\"I am also to take it as a matter of fact that the proposal to withdraw\nfrom the engagement came, in the first instance, from YOU?\"\n\n\"It came, in the first instance, from me. And it met, as I have told\nyou, with your son's consent and approval.\"\n\nThe thermometer went up to the top of the register. I mean, the pink\nchanged suddenly to scarlet.\n\n\"My son is a mean-spirited hound!\" cried this furious old worldling.\n\"In justice to myself as his father--not in justice to HIM--I beg to\nask you, Miss Verinder, what complaint you have to make of Mr. Godfrey\nAblewhite?\"\n\nHere Mr. Bruff interfered for the first time.\n\n\"You are not bound to answer that question,\" he said to Rachel.\n\nOld Mr. Ablewhite fastened on him instantly.\n\n\"Don't forget, sir,\" he said, \"that you are a self-invited guest here.\nYour interference would have come with a better grace if you had waited\nuntil it was asked for.\"\n\nMr. Bruff took no notice. The smooth varnish on HIS wicked old face\nnever cracked. Rachel thanked him for the advice he had given to her,\nand then turned to old Mr. Ablewhite--preserving her composure in a\nmanner which (having regard to her age and her sex) was simply awful to\nsee.\n\n\"Your son put the same question to me which you have just asked,\" she\nsaid. \"I had only one answer for him, and I have only one answer for\nyou. I proposed that we should release each other, because reflection\nhad convinced me that I should best consult his welfare and mine by\nretracting a rash promise, and leaving him free to make his choice\nelsewhere.\"\n\n\"What has my son done?\" persisted Mr. Ablewhite. \"I have a right to know\nthat. What has my son done?\"\n\nShe persisted just as obstinately on her side.\n\n\"You have had the only explanation which I think it necessary to give to\nyou, or to him,\" she answered.\n\n\"In plain English, it's your sovereign will and pleasure, Miss Verinder,\nto jilt my son?\"\n\nRachel was silent for a moment. Sitting close behind her, I heard\nher sigh. Mr. Bruff took her hand, and gave it a little squeeze. She\nrecovered herself, and answered Mr. Ablewhite as boldly as ever.\n\n\"I have exposed myself to worse misconstruction than that,\" she said.\n\"And I have borne it patiently. The time has gone by, when you could\nmortify me by calling me a jilt.\"\n\nShe spoke with a bitterness of tone which satisfied me that the scandal\nof the Moonstone had been in some way recalled to her mind. \"I have no\nmore to say,\" she added, wearily, not addressing the words to anyone\nin particular, and looking away from us all, out of the window that was\nnearest to her.\n\nMr. Ablewhite got upon his feet, and pushed away his chair so violently\nthat it toppled over and fell on the floor.\n\n\"I have something more to say on my side,\" he announced, bringing down\nthe flat of his hand on the table with a bang. \"I have to say that if my\nson doesn't feel this insult, I do!\"\n\nRachel started, and looked at him in sudden surprise.\n\n\"Insult?\" she repeated. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Insult!\" reiterated Mr. Ablewhite. \"I know your motive, Miss Verinder,\nfor breaking your promise to my son! I know it as certainly as if you\nhad confessed it in so many words. Your cursed family pride is insulting\nGodfrey, as it insulted ME when I married your aunt. Her family--her\nbeggarly family--turned their backs on her for marrying an honest man,\nwho had made his own place and won his own fortune. I had no ancestors.\nI wasn't descended from a set of cut-throat scoundrels who lived by\nrobbery and murder. I couldn't point to the time when the Ablewhites\nhadn't a shirt to their backs, and couldn't sign their own names. Ha!\nha! I wasn't good enough for the Herncastles, when I married. And now,\nit comes to the pinch, my son isn't good enough for YOU. I suspected it,\nall along. You have got the Herncastle blood in you, my young lady! I\nsuspected it all along.\"\n\n\"A very unworthy suspicion,\" remarked Mr. Bruff. \"I am astonished that\nyou have the courage to acknowledge it.\"\n\nBefore Mr. Ablewhite could find words to answer in, Rachel spoke in a\ntone of the most exasperating contempt.\n\n\"Surely,\" she said to the lawyer, \"this is beneath notice. If he can\nthink in THAT way, let us leave him to think as he pleases.\"\n\nFrom scarlet, Mr. Ablewhite was now becoming purple. He gasped for\nbreath; he looked backwards and forwards from Rachel to Mr. Bruff in\nsuch a frenzy of rage with both of them that he didn't know which to\nattack first. His wife, who had sat impenetrably fanning herself up to\nthis time, began to be alarmed, and attempted, quite uselessly, to quiet\nhim. I had, throughout this distressing interview, felt more than one\ninward call to interfere with a few earnest words, and had controlled\nmyself under a dread of the possible results, very unworthy of a\nChristian Englishwoman who looks, not to what is meanly prudent, but to\nwhat is morally right. At the point at which matters had now arrived,\nI rose superior to all considerations of mere expediency. If I had\ncontemplated interposing any remonstrance of my own humble devising,\nI might possibly have still hesitated. But the distressing domestic\nemergency which now confronted me, was most marvellously and beautifully\nprovided for in the Correspondence of Miss Jane Ann Stamper--Letter one\nthousand and one, on \"Peace in Families.\" I rose in my modest corner,\nand I opened my precious book.\n\n\"Dear Mr. Ablewhite,\" I said, \"one word!\"\n\nWhen I first attracted the attention of the company by rising, I could\nsee that he was on the point of saying something rude to me. My sisterly\nform of address checked him. He stared at me in heathen astonishment.\n\n\"As an affectionate well-wisher and friend,\" I proceeded, \"and as one\nlong accustomed to arouse, convince, prepare, enlighten, and fortify\nothers, permit me to take the most pardonable of all liberties--the\nliberty of composing your mind.\"\n\nHe began to recover himself; he was on the point of breaking out--he\nWOULD have broken out, with anybody else. But my voice (habitually\ngentle) possesses a high note or so, in emergencies. In this emergency,\nI felt imperatively called upon to have the highest voice of the two.\n\nI held up my precious book before him; I rapped the open page\nimpressively with my forefinger. \"Not my words!\" I exclaimed, in a burst\nof fervent interruption. \"Oh, don't suppose that I claim attention for\nMy humble words! Manna in the wilderness, Mr. Ablewhite! Dew on the\nparched earth! Words of comfort, words of wisdom, words of love--the\nblessed, blessed, blessed words of Miss Jane Ann Stamper!\"\n\nI was stopped there by a momentary impediment of the breath. Before I\ncould recover myself, this monster in human form shouted out furiously,\n\n\"Miss Jane Ann Stamper be----!\"\n\nIt is impossible for me to write the awful word, which is here\nrepresented by a blank. I shrieked as it passed his lips; I flew to my\nlittle bag on the side table; I shook out all my tracts; I seized the\none particular tract on profane swearing, entitled, \"Hush, for Heaven's\nSake!\"; I handed it to him with an expression of agonised entreaty. He\ntore it in two, and threw it back at me across the table. The rest of\nthem rose in alarm, not knowing what might happen next. I instantly sat\ndown again in my corner. There had once been an occasion, under somewhat\nsimilar circumstances, when Miss Jane Ann Stamper had been taken by\nthe two shoulders and turned out of a room. I waited, inspired by HER\nspirit, for a repetition of HER martyrdom.\n\nBut no--it was not to be. His wife was the next person whom he\naddressed. \"Who--who--who,\" he said, stammering with rage, \"who asked\nthis impudent fanatic into the house? Did you?\"\n\nBefore Aunt Ablewhite could say a word, Rachel answered for her.\n\n\"Miss Clack is here,\" she said, \"as my guest.\"\n\nThose words had a singular effect on Mr. Ablewhite. They suddenly\nchanged him from a man in a state of red-hot anger to a man in a state\nof icy-cold contempt. It was plain to everybody that Rachel had said\nsomething--short and plain as her answer had been--which gave him the\nupper hand of her at last.\n\n\"Oh?\" he said. \"Miss Clack is here as YOUR guest--in MY house?\"\n\nIt was Rachel's turn to lose her temper at that. Her colour rose, and\nher eyes brightened fiercely. She turned to the lawyer, and, pointing to\nMr. Ablewhite, asked haughtily, \"What does he mean?\"\n\nMr. Bruff interfered for the third time.\n\n\"You appear to forget,\" he said, addressing Mr. Ablewhite, \"that you\ntook this house as Miss Verinder's guardian, for Miss Verinder's use.\"\n\n\"Not quite so fast,\" interposed Mr. Ablewhite. \"I have a last word to\nsay, which I should have said some time since, if this----\" He looked my\nway, pondering what abominable name he should call me--\"if this Rampant\nSpinster had not interrupted us. I beg to inform you, sir, that, if my\nson is not good enough to be Miss Verinder's husband, I cannot presume\nto consider his father good enough to be Miss Verinder's guardian.\nUnderstand, if you please, that I refuse to accept the position which is\noffered to me by Lady Verinder's will. In your legal phrase, I decline\nto act. This house has necessarily been hired in my name. I take the\nentire responsibility of it on my shoulders. It is my house. I can keep\nit, or let it, just as I please. I have no wish to hurry Miss Verinder.\nOn the contrary, I beg her to remove her guest and her luggage, at her\nown entire convenience.\" He made a low bow, and walked out of the room.\n\nThat was Mr. Ablewhite's revenge on Rachel, for refusing to marry his\nson!\n\nThe instant the door closed, Aunt Ablewhite exhibited a phenomenon which\nsilenced us all. She became endowed with energy enough to cross the\nroom!\n\n\"My dear,\" she said, taking Rachel by the hand, \"I should be ashamed of\nmy husband, if I didn't know that it is his temper which has spoken to\nyou, and not himself. You,\" continued Aunt Ablewhite, turning on me\nin my corner with another endowment of energy, in her looks this time\ninstead of her limbs--\"you are the mischievous person who irritated him.\nI hope I shall never see you or your tracts again.\" She went back to\nRachel and kissed her. \"I beg your pardon, my dear,\" she said, \"in my\nhusband's name. What can I do for you?\"\n\nConsistently perverse in everything--capricious and unreasonable in all\nthe actions of her life--Rachel melted into tears at those commonplace\nwords, and returned her aunt's kiss in silence.\n\n\"If I may be permitted to answer for Miss Verinder,\" said Mr. Bruff,\n\"might I ask you, Mrs. Ablewhite, to send Penelope down with her\nmistress's bonnet and shawl. Leave us ten minutes together,\" he added,\nin a lower tone, \"and you may rely on my setting matters right, to your\nsatisfaction as well as to Rachel's.\"\n\nThe trust of the family in this man was something wonderful to see.\nWithout a word more, on her side, Aunt Ablewhite left the room.\n\n\"Ah!\" said Mr. Bruff, looking after her. \"The Herncastle blood has its\ndrawbacks, I admit. But there IS something in good breeding after all!\"\n\nHaving made that purely worldly remark, he looked hard at my corner,\nas if he expected me to go. My interest in Rachel--an infinitely higher\ninterest than his--riveted me to my chair.\n\nMr. Bruff gave it up, exactly as he had given it up at Aunt Verinder's,\nin Montagu Square. He led Rachel to a chair by the window, and spoke to\nher there.\n\n\"My dear young lady,\" he said, \"Mr. Ablewhite's conduct has naturally\nshocked you, and taken you by surprise. If it was worth while to contest\nthe question with such a man, we might soon show him that he is not to\nhave things all his own way. But it isn't worth while. You were quite\nright in what you said just now; he is beneath our notice.\"\n\nHe stopped, and looked round at my corner. I sat there quite immovable,\nwith my tracts at my elbow and with Miss Jane Ann Stamper on my lap.\n\n\"You know,\" he resumed, turning back again to Rachel, \"that it was part\nof your poor mother's fine nature always to see the best of the people\nabout her, and never the worst. She named her brother-in-law your\nguardian because she believed in him, and because she thought it would\nplease her sister. I had never liked Mr. Ablewhite myself, and I induced\nyour mother to let me insert a clause in the will, empowering her\nexecutors, in certain events, to consult with me about the appointment\nof a new guardian. One of those events has happened to-day; and I find\nmyself in a position to end all these dry business details, I hope\nagreeably, with a message from my wife. Will you honour Mrs. Bruff by\nbecoming her guest? And will you remain under my roof, and be one of\nmy family, until we wise people have laid our heads together, and have\nsettled what is to be done next?\"\n\nAt those words, I rose to interfere. Mr. Bruff had done exactly what\nI had dreaded he would do, when he asked Mrs. Ablewhite for Rachel's\nbonnet and shawl.\n\nBefore I could interpose a word, Rachel had accepted his invitation in\nthe warmest terms. If I suffered the arrangement thus made between\nthem to be carried out--if she once passed the threshold of Mr. Bruff's\ndoor--farewell to the fondest hope of my life, the hope of bringing my\nlost sheep back to the fold! The bare idea of such a calamity as\nthis quite overwhelmed me. I cast the miserable trammels of worldly\ndiscretion to the winds, and spoke with the fervour that filled me, in\nthe words that came first.\n\n\"Stop!\" I said--\"stop! I must be heard. Mr. Bruff! you are not related\nto her, and I am. I invite her--I summon the executors to appoint me\nguardian. Rachel, dearest Rachel, I offer you my modest home; come to\nLondon by the next train, love, and share it with me!\"\n\nMr. Bruff said nothing. Rachel looked at me with a cruel astonishment\nwhich she made no effort to conceal.\n\n\"You are very kind, Drusilla,\" she said. \"I shall hope to visit you\nwhenever I happen to be in London. But I have accepted Mr. Bruff's\ninvitation, and I think it will be best, for the present, if I remain\nunder Mr. Bruff's care.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't say so!\" I pleaded. \"I can't part with you, Rachel--I can't\npart with you!\"\n\nI tried to fold her in my arms. But she drew back. My fervour did not\ncommunicate itself; it only alarmed her.\n\n\"Surely,\" she said, \"this is a very unnecessary display of agitation? I\ndon't understand it.\"\n\n\"No more do I,\" said Mr. Bruff.\n\nTheir hardness--their hideous, worldly hardness--revolted me.\n\n\"Oh, Rachel! Rachel!\" I burst out. \"Haven't you seen yet, that my heart\nyearns to make a Christian of you? Has no inner voice told you that I am\ntrying to do for you, what I was trying to do for your dear mother when\ndeath snatched her out of my hands?\"\n\nRachel advanced a step nearer, and looked at me very strangely.\n\n\"I don't understand your reference to my mother,\" she said. \"Miss Clack,\nwill you have the goodness to explain yourself?\"\n\nBefore I could answer, Mr. Bruff came forward, and offering his arm to\nRachel, tried to lead her out of the room.\n\n\"You had better not pursue the subject, my dear,\" he said. \"And Miss\nClack had better not explain herself.\"\n\nIf I had been a stock or a stone, such an interference as this must\nhave roused me into testifying to the truth. I put Mr. Bruff aside\nindignantly with my own hand, and, in solemn and suitable language, I\nstated the view with which sound doctrine does not scruple to regard the\nawful calamity of dying unprepared.\n\nRachel started back from me--I blush to write--with a scream of horror.\n\n\"Come away!\" she said to Mr. Bruff. \"Come away, for God's sake, before\nthat woman can say any more! Oh, think of my poor mother's harmless,\nuseful, beautiful life! You were at the funeral, Mr. Bruff; you saw\nhow everybody loved her; you saw the poor helpless people crying at her\ngrave over the loss of their best friend. And that wretch stands there,\nand tries to make me doubt that my mother, who was an angel on earth,\nis an angel in heaven now! Don't stop to talk about it! Come away! It\nstifles me to breathe the same air with her! It frightens me to feel\nthat we are in the same room together!\"\n\nDeaf to all remonstrance, she ran to the door.\n\nAt the same moment, her maid entered with her bonnet and shawl. She\nhuddled them on anyhow. \"Pack my things,\" she said, \"and bring them to\nMr. Bruff's.\" I attempted to approach her--I was shocked and grieved,\nbut, it is needless to say, not offended. I only wished to say to her,\n\"May your hard heart be softened! I freely forgive you!\" She pulled down\nher veil, and tore her shawl away from my hand, and, hurrying out, shut\nthe door in my face. I bore the insult with my customary fortitude. I\nremember it now with my customary superiority to all feeling of offence.\n\nMr. Bruff had his parting word of mockery for me, before he too hurried\nout, in his turn.\n\n\"You had better not have explained yourself, Miss Clack,\" he said, and\nbowed, and left the room.\n\nThe person with the cap-ribbons followed.\n\n\"It's easy to see who has set them all by the ears together,\" she said.\n\"I'm only a poor servant--but I declare I'm ashamed of you!\" She too\nwent out, and banged the door after her.\n\nI was left alone in the room. Reviled by them all, deserted by them all,\nI was left alone in the room.\n\nIs there more to be added to this plain statement of facts--to this\ntouching picture of a Christian persecuted by the world? No! my diary\nreminds me that one more of the many chequered chapters in my life ends\nhere. From that day forth, I never saw Rachel Verinder again. She had my\nforgiveness at the time when she insulted me. She has had my prayerful\ngood wishes ever since. And when I die--to complete the return on my\npart of good for evil--she will have the LIFE, LETTERS, AND LABOURS OF\nMISS JANE ANN STAMPER left her as a legacy by my will.\n\n\n\nSECOND NARRATIVE\n\nContributed by MATHEW BRUFF, Solicitor, of Gray's Inn Square\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nMy fair friend, Miss Clack, having laid down the pen, there are two\nreasons for my taking it up next, in my turn.\n\nIn the first place, I am in a position to throw the necessary light on\ncertain points of interest which have thus far been left in the dark.\nMiss Verinder had her own private reason for breaking her marriage\nengagement--and I was at the bottom of it. Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite had his\nown private reason for withdrawing all claim to the hand of his charming\ncousin--and I discovered what it was.\n\nIn the second place, it was my good or ill fortune, I hardly know which,\nto find myself personally involved--at the period of which I am now\nwriting--in the mystery of the Indian Diamond. I had the honour of an\ninterview, at my own office, with an Oriental stranger of distinguished\nmanners, who was no other, unquestionably, than the chief of the three\nIndians. Add to this, that I met with the celebrated traveller, Mr.\nMurthwaite, the day afterwards, and that I held a conversation with him\non the subject of the Moonstone, which has a very important bearing on\nlater events. And there you have the statement of my claims to fill the\nposition which I occupy in these pages.\n\n\n\nThe true story of the broken marriage engagement comes first in point of\ntime, and must therefore take the first place in the present narrative.\nTracing my way back along the chain of events, from one end to the\nother, I find it necessary to open the scene, oddly enough as you will\nthink, at the bedside of my excellent client and friend, the late Sir\nJohn Verinder.\n\nSir John had his share--perhaps rather a large share--of the more\nharmless and amiable of the weaknesses incidental to humanity. Among\nthese, I may mention as applicable to the matter in hand, an invincible\nreluctance--so long as he enjoyed his usual good health--to face the\nresponsibility of making his will. Lady Verinder exerted her influence\nto rouse him to a sense of duty in this matter; and I exerted my\ninfluence. He admitted the justice of our views--but he went no further\nthan that, until he found himself afflicted with the illness which\nultimately brought him to his grave. Then, I was sent for at last, to\ntake my client's instructions on the subject of his will. They proved\nto be the simplest instructions I had ever received in the whole of my\nprofessional career.\n\nSir John was dozing, when I entered the room. He roused himself at the\nsight of me.\n\n\"How do you do, Mr. Bruff?\" he said. \"I sha'n't be very long about this.\nAnd then I'll go to sleep again.\" He looked on with great interest while\nI collected pens, ink, and paper. \"Are you ready?\" he asked. I bowed and\ntook a dip of ink, and waited for my instructions.\n\n\"I leave everything to my wife,\" said Sir John. \"That's all.\" He turned\nround on his pillow, and composed himself to sleep again.\n\nI was obliged to disturb him.\n\n\"Am I to understand,\" I asked, \"that you leave the whole of the\nproperty, of every sort and description, of which you die possessed,\nabsolutely to Lady Verinder?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sir John. \"Only, I put it shorter. Why can't you put it\nshorter, and let me go to sleep again? Everything to my wife. That's my\nWill.\"\n\nHis property was entirely at his own disposal, and was of two kinds.\nProperty in land (I purposely abstain from using technical language),\nand property in money. In the majority of cases, I am afraid I should\nhave felt it my duty to my client to ask him to reconsider his Will. In\nthe case of Sir John, I knew Lady Verinder to be, not only worthy of the\nunreserved trust which her husband had placed in her (all good wives\nare worthy of that)--but to be also capable of properly administering a\ntrust (which, in my experience of the fair sex, not one in a thousand of\nthem is competent to do). In ten minutes, Sir John's Will was drawn, and\nexecuted, and Sir John himself, good man, was finishing his interrupted\nnap.\n\nLady Verinder amply justified the confidence which her husband had\nplaced in her. In the first days of her widowhood, she sent for me, and\nmade her Will. The view she took of her position was so thoroughly sound\nand sensible, that I was relieved of all necessity for advising her. My\nresponsibility began and ended with shaping her instructions into the\nproper legal form. Before Sir John had been a fortnight in his grave,\nthe future of his daughter had been most wisely and most affectionately\nprovided for.\n\nThe Will remained in its fireproof box at my office, through more years\nthan I like to reckon up. It was not till the summer of eighteen hundred\nand forty-eight that I found occasion to look at it again under very\nmelancholy circumstances.\n\nAt the date I have mentioned, the doctors pronounced the sentence on\npoor Lady Verinder, which was literally a sentence of death. I was the\nfirst person whom she informed of her situation; and I found her anxious\nto go over her Will again with me.\n\nIt was impossible to improve the provisions relating to her daughter.\nBut, in the lapse of time, her wishes in regard to certain minor\nlegacies, left to different relatives, had undergone some modification;\nand it became necessary to add three or four Codicils to the original\ndocument. Having done this at once, for fear of accident, I obtained\nher ladyship's permission to embody her recent instructions in a\nsecond Will. My object was to avoid certain inevitable confusions and\nrepetitions which now disfigured the original document, and which, to\nown the truth, grated sadly on my professional sense of the fitness of\nthings.\n\nThe execution of this second Will has been described by Miss Clack, who\nwas so obliging as to witness it. So far as regarded Rachel Verinder's\npecuniary interests, it was, word for word, the exact counterpart of the\nfirst Will. The only changes introduced related to the appointment of a\nguardian, and to certain provisions concerning that appointment, which\nwere made under my advice. On Lady Verinder's death, the Will was placed\nin the hands of my proctor to be \"proved\" (as the phrase is) in the\nusual way.\n\nIn about three weeks from that time--as well as I can remember--the\nfirst warning reached me of something unusual going on under the\nsurface. I happened to be looking in at my friend the proctor's office,\nand I observed that he received me with an appearance of greater\ninterest than usual.\n\n\"I have some news for you,\" he said. \"What do you think I heard at\nDoctors' Commons this morning? Lady Verinder's Will has been asked for,\nand examined, already!\"\n\nThis was news indeed! There was absolutely nothing which could be\ncontested in the Will; and there was nobody I could think of who had\nthe slightest interest in examining it. (I shall perhaps do well if I\nexplain in this place, for the benefit of the few people who don't know\nit already, that the law allows all Wills to be examined at Doctors'\nCommons by anybody who applies, on the payment of a shilling fee.)\n\n\"Did you hear who asked for the Will?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes; the clerk had no hesitation in telling ME. Mr. Smalley, of the\nfirm of Skipp and Smalley, asked for it. The Will has not been copied\nyet into the great Folio Registers. So there was no alternative but to\ndepart from the usual course, and to let him see the original document.\nHe looked it over carefully, and made a note in his pocket-book. Have\nyou any idea of what he wanted with it?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I shall find out,\" I answered, \"before I am a day\nolder.\" With that I went back at once to my own office.\n\nIf any other firm of solicitors had been concerned in this unaccountable\nexamination of my deceased client's Will, I might have found some\ndifficulty in making the necessary discovery. But I had a hold over\nSkipp and Smalley which made my course in this matter a comparatively\neasy one. My common-law clerk (a most competent and excellent man) was a\nbrother of Mr. Smalley's; and, owing to this sort of indirect connection\nwith me, Skipp and Smalley had, for some years past, picked up the\ncrumbs that fell from my table, in the shape of cases brought to my\noffice, which, for various reasons, I did not think it worth while\nto undertake. My professional patronage was, in this way, of some\nimportance to the firm. I intended, if necessary, to remind them of that\npatronage, on the present occasion.\n\nThe moment I got back I spoke to my clerk; and, after telling him what\nhad happened, I sent him to his brother's office, \"with Mr. Bruff's\ncompliments, and he would be glad to know why Messrs. Skipp and Smalley\nhad found it necessary to examine Lady Verinder's will.\"\n\nThis message brought Mr. Smalley back to my office in company with his\nbrother. He acknowledged that he had acted under instructions received\nfrom a client. And then he put it to me, whether it would not be a\nbreach of professional confidence on his part to say more.\n\nWe had a smart discussion upon that. He was right, no doubt; and I\nwas wrong. The truth is, I was angry and suspicious--and I insisted\non knowing more. Worse still, I declined to consider any additional\ninformation offered me, as a secret placed in my keeping: I claimed\nperfect freedom to use my own discretion. Worse even than that, I took\nan unwarrantable advantage of my position. \"Choose, sir,\" I said to Mr.\nSmalley, \"between the risk of losing your client's business and the risk\nof losing Mine.\" Quite indefensible, I admit--an act of tyranny, and\nnothing less. Like other tyrants, I carried my point. Mr. Smalley chose\nhis alternative, without a moment's hesitation.\n\nHe smiled resignedly, and gave up the name of his client:\n\nMr. Godfrey Ablewhite.\n\nThat was enough for me--I wanted to know no more.\n\nHaving reached this point in my narrative, it now becomes necessary\nto place the reader of these lines--so far as Lady Verinder's Will is\nconcerned--on a footing of perfect equality, in respect of information,\nwith myself.\n\nLet me state, then, in the fewest possible words, that Rachel Verinder\nhad nothing but a life-interest in the property. Her mother's excellent\nsense, and my long experience, had combined to relieve her of all\nresponsibility, and to guard her from all danger of becoming the victim\nin the future of some needy and unscrupulous man. Neither she, nor her\nhusband (if she married), could raise sixpence, either on the property\nin land, or on the property in money. They would have the houses in\nLondon and in Yorkshire to live in, and they would have the handsome\nincome--and that was all.\n\nWhen I came to think over what I had discovered, I was sorely perplexed\nwhat to do next.\n\nHardly a week had passed since I had heard (to my surprise and distress)\nof Miss Verinder's proposed marriage. I had the sincerest admiration\nand affection for her; and I had been inexpressibly grieved when I heard\nthat she was about to throw herself away on Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. And\nnow, here was the man--whom I had always believed to be a smooth-tongued\nimpostor--justifying the very worst that I had thought of him, and\nplainly revealing the mercenary object of the marriage, on his side! And\nwhat of that?--you may reply--the thing is done every day. Granted, my\ndear sir. But would you think of it quite as lightly as you do, if the\nthing was done (let us say) with your own sister?\n\nThe first consideration which now naturally occurred to me was this.\nWould Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite hold to his engagement, after what his\nlawyer had discovered for him?\n\nIt depended entirely on his pecuniary position, of which I knew nothing.\nIf that position was not a desperate one, it would be well worth his\nwhile to marry Miss Verinder for her income alone. If, on the other\nhand, he stood in urgent need of realising a large sum by a given\ntime, then Lady Verinder's Will would exactly meet the case, and would\npreserve her daughter from falling into a scoundrel's hands.\n\nIn the latter event, there would be no need for me to distress Miss\nRachel, in the first days of her mourning for her mother, by an\nimmediate revelation of the truth. In the former event, if I remained\nsilent, I should be conniving at a marriage which would make her\nmiserable for life.\n\nMy doubts ended in my calling at the hotel in London, at which I knew\nMrs. Ablewhite and Miss Verinder to be staying. They informed me\nthat they were going to Brighton the next day, and that an unexpected\nobstacle prevented Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite from accompanying them. I at\nonce proposed to take his place. While I was only thinking of Rachel\nVerinder, it was possible to hesitate. When I actually saw her, my mind\nwas made up directly, come what might of it, to tell her the truth.\n\nI found my opportunity, when I was out walking with her, on the day\nafter my arrival.\n\n\"May I speak to you,\" I asked, \"about your marriage engagement?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, indifferently, \"if you have nothing more interesting to\ntalk about.\"\n\n\"Will you forgive an old friend and servant of your family, Miss Rachel,\nif I venture on asking whether your heart is set on this marriage?\"\n\n\"I am marrying in despair, Mr. Bruff--on the chance of dropping into\nsome sort of stagnant happiness which may reconcile me to my life.\"\n\nStrong language! and suggestive of something below the surface, in the\nshape of a romance. But I had my own object in view, and I declined (as\nwe lawyers say) to pursue the question into its side issues.\n\n\"Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite can hardly be of your way of thinking,\" I said.\n\"HIS heart must be set on the marriage at any rate?\"\n\n\"He says so, and I suppose I ought to believe him. He would hardly marry\nme, after what I have owned to him, unless he was fond of me.\"\n\nPoor thing! the bare idea of a man marrying her for his own selfish and\nmercenary ends had never entered her head. The task I had set myself\nbegan to look like a harder task than I had bargained for.\n\n\"It sounds strangely,\" I went on, \"in my old-fashioned ears----\"\n\n\"What sounds strangely?\" she asked.\n\n\"To hear you speak of your future husband as if you were not quite sure\nof the sincerity of his attachment. Are you conscious of any reason in\nyour own mind for doubting him?\"\n\nHer astonishing quickness of perception, detected a change in my voice,\nor my manner, when I put that question, which warned her that I had been\nspeaking all along with some ulterior object in view. She stopped, and\ntaking her arm out of mine, looked me searchingly in the face.\n\n\"Mr. Bruff,\" she said, \"you have something to tell me about Godfrey\nAblewhite. Tell it.\"\n\nI knew her well enough to take her at her word. I told it.\n\nShe put her arm again into mine, and walked on with me slowly. I felt\nher hand tightening its grasp mechanically on my arm, and I saw her\ngetting paler and paler as I went on--but, not a word passed her lips\nwhile I was speaking. When I had done, she still kept silence. Her head\ndrooped a little, and she walked by my side, unconscious of my presence,\nunconscious of everything about her; lost--buried, I might almost\nsay--in her own thoughts.\n\nI made no attempt to disturb her. My experience of her disposition\nwarned me, on this, as on former occasions, to give her time.\n\nThe first instinct of girls in general, on being told of anything which\ninterests them, is to ask a multitude of questions, and then to run off,\nand talk it all over with some favourite friend. Rachel Verinder's first\ninstinct, under similar circumstances, was to shut herself up in her own\nmind, and to think it over by herself. This absolute self-dependence is\na great virtue in a man. In a woman it has a serious drawback of\nmorally separating her from the mass of her sex, and so exposing her\nto misconstruction by the general opinion. I strongly suspect myself of\nthinking as the rest of the world think in this matter--except in the\ncase of Rachel Verinder. The self-dependence in HER character, was one\nof its virtues in my estimation; partly, no doubt, because I sincerely\nadmired and liked her; partly, because the view I took of her connexion\nwith the loss of the Moonstone was based on my own special knowledge of\nher disposition. Badly as appearances might look, in the matter of the\nDiamond--shocking as it undoubtedly was to know that she was associated\nin any way with the mystery of an undiscovered theft--I was satisfied\nnevertheless that she had done nothing unworthy of her, because I was\nalso satisfied that she had not stirred a step in the business, without\nshutting herself up in her own mind, and thinking it over first.\n\nWe had walked on, for nearly a mile I should say before Rachel roused\nherself. She suddenly looked up at me with a faint reflection of her\nsmile of happier times--the most irresistible smile I have ever seen on\na woman's face.\n\n\"I owe much already to your kindness,\" she said. \"And I feel more deeply\nindebted to it now than ever. If you hear any rumours of my marriage\nwhen you get back to London contradict them at once, on my authority.\"\n\n\"Have you resolved to break your engagement?\" I asked.\n\n\"Can you doubt it?\" she returned proudly, \"after what you have told me!\"\n\n\"My dear Miss Rachel, you are very young--and you may find more\ndifficulty in withdrawing from your present position than you\nanticipate. Have you no one--I mean a lady, of course--whom you could\nconsult?\"\n\n\"No one,\" she answered.\n\nIt distressed me, it did indeed distress me, to hear her say that. She\nwas so young and so lonely--and she bore it so well! The impulse to help\nher got the better of any sense of my own unfitness which I might have\nfelt under the circumstances; and I stated such ideas on the subject as\noccurred to me on the spur of the moment, to the best of my ability. I\nhave advised a prodigious number of clients, and have dealt with some\nexceedingly awkward difficulties, in my time. But this was the first\noccasion on which I had ever found myself advising a young lady how to\nobtain her release from a marriage engagement. The suggestion I\noffered amounted briefly to this. I recommended her to tell Mr. Godfrey\nAblewhite--at a private interview, of course--that he had, to her\ncertain knowledge, betrayed the mercenary nature of the motive on\nhis side. She was then to add that their marriage, after what she had\ndiscovered, was a simple impossibility--and she was to put it to him,\nwhether he thought it wisest to secure her silence by falling in with\nher views, or to force her, by opposing them, to make the motive under\nwhich she was acting generally known. If he attempted to defend himself,\nor to deny the facts, she was, in that event, to refer him to ME.\n\nMiss Verinder listened attentively till I had done. She then thanked me\nvery prettily for my advice, but informed me at the same time that it\nwas impossible for her to follow it.\n\n\"May I ask,\" I said, \"what objection you see to following it?\"\n\nShe hesitated--and then met me with a question on her side.\n\n\"Suppose you were asked to express your opinion of Mr. Godfrey\nAblewhite's conduct?\" she began.\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"What would you call it?\"\n\n\"I should call it the conduct of a meanly deceitful man.\"\n\n\"Mr. Bruff! I have believed in that man. I have promised to marry that\nman. How can I tell him he is mean, how can I tell him he has deceived\nme, how can I disgrace him in the eyes of the world after that? I have\ndegraded myself by ever thinking of him as my husband. If I say what you\ntell me to say to him--I am owning that I have degraded myself to his\nface. I can't do that. After what has passed between us, I can't do\nthat! The shame of it would be nothing to HIM. But the shame of it would\nbe unendurable to _me_.\"\n\nHere was another of the marked peculiarities in her character disclosing\nitself to me without reserve. Here was her sensitive horror of the bare\ncontact with anything mean, blinding her to every consideration of what\nshe owed to herself, hurrying her into a false position which might\ncompromise her in the estimation of all her friends! Up to this time,\nI had been a little diffident about the propriety of the advice I had\ngiven to her. But, after what she had just said, I had no sort of doubt\nthat it was the best advice that could have been offered; and I felt no\nsort of hesitation in pressing it on her again.\n\nShe only shook her head, and repeated her objection in other words.\n\n\"He has been intimate enough with me to ask me to be his wife. He has\nstood high enough in my estimation to obtain my consent. I can't tell\nhim to his face that he is the most contemptible of living creatures,\nafter that!\"\n\n\"But, my dear Miss Rachel,\" I remonstrated, \"it's equally impossible for\nyou to tell him that you withdraw from your engagement without giving\nsome reason for it.\"\n\n\"I shall say that I have thought it over, and that I am satisfied it\nwill be best for both of us if we part.\n\n\"No more than that?\"\n\n\"No more.\"\n\n\"Have you thought of what he may say, on his side?\"\n\n\"He may say what he pleases.\"\n\nIt was impossible not to admire her delicacy and her resolution, and it\nwas equally impossible not to feel that she was putting herself in the\nwrong. I entreated her to consider her own position. I reminded her that\nshe would be exposing herself to the most odious misconstruction of her\nmotives. \"You can't brave public opinion,\" I said, \"at the command of\nprivate feeling.\"\n\n\"I can,\" she answered. \"I have done it already.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"You have forgotten the Moonstone, Mr. Bruff. Have I not braved public\nopinion, THERE, with my own private reasons for it?\"\n\nHer answer silenced me for the moment. It set me trying to trace the\nexplanation of her conduct, at the time of the loss of the Moonstone,\nout of the strange avowal which had just escaped her. I might perhaps\nhave done it when I was younger. I certainly couldn't do it now.\n\nI tried a last remonstrance before we returned to the house. She was\njust as immovable as ever. My mind was in a strange conflict of feelings\nabout her when I left her that day. She was obstinate; she was wrong.\nShe was interesting; she was admirable; she was deeply to be pitied. I\nmade her promise to write to me the moment she had any news to send.\nAnd I went back to my business in London, with a mind exceedingly ill at\nease.\n\nOn the evening of my return, before it was possible for me to receive\nmy promised letter, I was surprised by a visit from Mr. Ablewhite the\nelder, and was informed that Mr. Godfrey had got his dismissal--AND HAD\nACCEPTED IT--that very day.\n\nWith the view I already took of the case, the bare fact stated in the\nwords that I have underlined, revealed Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's motive\nfor submission as plainly as if he had acknowledged it himself. He\nneeded a large sum of money; and he needed it by a given time. Rachel's\nincome, which would have helped him to anything else, would not help him\nhere; and Rachel had accordingly released herself, without encountering\na moment's serious opposition on his part. If I am told that this is a\nmere speculation, I ask, in my turn, what other theory will account for\nhis giving up a marriage which would have maintained him in splendour\nfor the rest of his life?\n\nAny exultation I might otherwise have felt at the lucky turn which\nthings had now taken, was effectually checked by what passed at my\ninterview with old Mr. Ablewhite.\n\nHe came, of course, to know whether I could give him any explanation of\nMiss Verinder's extraordinary conduct. It is needless to say that I\nwas quite unable to afford him the information he wanted. The annoyance\nwhich I thus inflicted, following on the irritation produced by a recent\ninterview with his son, threw Mr. Ablewhite off his guard. Both his\nlooks and his language convinced me that Miss Verinder would find him\na merciless man to deal with, when he joined the ladies at Brighton the\nnext day.\n\nI had a restless night, considering what I ought to do next. How my\nreflections ended, and how thoroughly well founded my distrust of Mr.\nAblewhite proved to be, are items of information which (as I am told)\nhave already been put tidily in their proper places, by that\nexemplary person, Miss Clack. I have only to add--in completion of her\nnarrative--that Miss Verinder found the quiet and repose which she sadly\nneeded, poor thing, in my house at Hampstead. She honoured us by making\na long stay. My wife and daughters were charmed with her; and, when the\nexecutors decided on the appointment of a new guardian, I feel sincere\npride and pleasure in recording that my guest and my family parted like\nold friends, on either side.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nThe next thing I have to do, is to present such additional information\nas I possess on the subject of the Moonstone, or, to speak more\ncorrectly, on the subject of the Indian plot to steal the Diamond. The\nlittle that I have to tell is (as I think I have already said) of some\nimportance, nevertheless, in respect of its bearing very remarkably on\nevents which are still to come.\n\nAbout a week or ten days after Miss Verinder had left us, one of my\nclerks entered the private room at my office, with a card in his hand,\nand informed me that a gentleman was below, who wanted to speak to me.\n\nI looked at the card. There was a foreign name written on it, which has\nescaped my memory. It was followed by a line written in English at the\nbottom of the card, which I remember perfectly well:\n\n\"Recommended by Mr. Septimus Luker.\"\n\nThe audacity of a person in Mr. Luker's position presuming to recommend\nanybody to me, took me so completely by surprise, that I sat silent\nfor the moment, wondering whether my own eyes had not deceived me. The\nclerk, observing my bewilderment, favoured me with the result of his own\nobservation of the stranger who was waiting downstairs.\n\n\"He is rather a remarkable-looking man, sir. So dark in the complexion\nthat we all set him down in the office for an Indian, or something of\nthat sort.\"\n\nAssociating the clerk's idea with the line inscribed on the card in my\nhand, I thought it possible that the Moonstone might be at the bottom of\nMr. Luker's recommendation, and of the stranger's visit at my office. To\nthe astonishment of my clerk, I at once decided on granting an interview\nto the gentleman below.\n\nIn justification of the highly unprofessional sacrifice to mere\ncuriosity which I thus made, permit me to remind anybody who may read\nthese lines, that no living person (in England, at any rate) can claim\nto have had such an intimate connexion with the romance of the Indian\nDiamond as mine has been. I was trusted with the secret of Colonel\nHerncastle's plan for escaping assassination. I received the Colonel's\nletters, periodically reporting himself a living man. I drew his Will,\nleaving the Moonstone to Miss Verinder. I persuaded his executor to act,\non the chance that the jewel might prove to be a valuable acquisition to\nthe family. And, lastly, I combated Mr. Franklin Blake's scruples,\nand induced him to be the means of transporting the Diamond to Lady\nVerinder's house. If anyone can claim a prescriptive right of interest\nin the Moonstone, and in everything connected with it, I think it is\nhardly to be denied that I am the man.\n\nThe moment my mysterious client was shown in, I felt an inner conviction\nthat I was in the presence of one of the three Indians--probably of the\nchief. He was carefully dressed in European costume. But his swarthy\ncomplexion, his long lithe figure, and his grave and graceful politeness\nof manner were enough to betray his Oriental origin to any intelligent\neyes that looked at him.\n\nI pointed to a chair, and begged to be informed of the nature of his\nbusiness with me.\n\nAfter first apologising--in an excellent selection of English words--for\nthe liberty which he had taken in disturbing me, the Indian produced a\nsmall parcel the outer covering of which was of cloth of gold. Removing\nthis and a second wrapping of some silken fabric, he placed a little\nbox, or casket, on my table, most beautifully and richly inlaid in\njewels, on an ebony ground.\n\n\"I have come, sir,\" he said, \"to ask you to lend me some money. And I\nleave this as an assurance to you that my debt will be paid back.\"\n\nI pointed to his card. \"And you apply to me,\" I rejoined, \"at Mr.\nLuker's recommendation?\"\n\nThe Indian bowed.\n\n\"May I ask how it is that Mr. Luker himself did not advance the money\nthat you require?\"\n\n\"Mr. Luker informed me, sir, that he had no money to lend.\"\n\n\"And so he recommended you to come to me?\"\n\nThe Indian, in his turn, pointed to the card. \"It is written there,\" he\nsaid.\n\nBriefly answered, and thoroughly to the purpose! If the Moonstone had\nbeen in my possession, this Oriental gentleman would have murdered me,\nI am well aware, without a moment's hesitation. At the same time, and\nbarring that slight drawback, I am bound to testify that he was the\nperfect model of a client. He might not have respected my life. But he\ndid what none of my own countrymen had ever done, in all my experience\nof them--he respected my time.\n\n\"I am sorry,\" I said, \"that you should have had the trouble of coming to\nme. Mr. Luker is quite mistaken in sending you here. I am trusted, like\nother men in my profession, with money to lend. But I never lend it to\nstrangers, and I never lend it on such a security as you have produced.\"\n\nFar from attempting, as other people would have done, to induce me to\nrelax my own rules, the Indian only made me another bow, and wrapped up\nhis box in its two coverings without a word of protest. He rose--this\nadmirable assassin rose to go, the moment I had answered him!\n\n\"Will your condescension towards a stranger, excuse my asking one\nquestion,\" he said, \"before I take my leave?\"\n\nI bowed on my side. Only one question at parting! The average in my\nexperience was fifty.\n\n\"Supposing, sir, it had been possible (and customary) for you to lend me\nthe money,\" he said, \"in what space of time would it have been possible\n(and customary) for me to pay it back?\"\n\n\"According to the usual course pursued in this country,\" I answered,\n\"you would have been entitled to pay the money back (if you liked) in\none year's time from the date at which it was first advanced to you.\"\n\nThe Indian made me a last bow, the lowest of all--and suddenly and\nsoftly walked out of the room.\n\nIt was done in a moment, in a noiseless, supple, cat-like way, which a\nlittle startled me, I own. As soon as I was composed enough to think,\nI arrived at one distinct conclusion in reference to the otherwise\nincomprehensible visitor who had favoured me with a call.\n\nHis face, voice, and manner--while I was in his company--were under such\nperfect control that they set all scrutiny at defiance. But he had given\nme one chance of looking under the smooth outer surface of him, for all\nthat. He had not shown the slightest sign of attempting to fix anything\nthat I had said to him in his mind, until I mentioned the time at which\nit was customary to permit the earliest repayment, on the part of a\ndebtor, of money that had been advanced as a loan. When I gave him that\npiece of information, he looked me straight in the face, while I was\nspeaking, for the first time. The inference I drew from this was--that\nhe had a special purpose in asking me his last question, and a special\ninterest in hearing my answer to it. The more carefully I reflected on\nwhat had passed between us, the more shrewdly I suspected the production\nof the casket, and the application for the loan, of having been mere\nformalities, designed to pave the way for the parting inquiry addressed\nto me.\n\nI had satisfied myself of the correctness of this conclusion--and was\ntrying to get on a step further, and penetrate the Indian's motives\nnext--when a letter was brought to me, which proved to be from no less\na person that Mr. Septimus Luker himself. He asked my pardon in terms of\nsickening servility, and assured me that he could explain matters to\nmy satisfaction, if I would honour him by consenting to a personal\ninterview.\n\nI made another unprofessional sacrifice to mere curiosity. I honoured\nhim by making an appointment at my office, for the next day.\n\nMr. Luker was, in every respect, such an inferior creature to the\nIndian--he was so vulgar, so ugly, so cringing, and so prosy--that he\nis quite unworthy of being reported, at any length, in these pages. The\nsubstance of what he had to tell me may be fairly stated as follows:\n\nThe day before I had received the visit of the Indian, Mr. Luker had\nbeen favoured with a call from that accomplished gentleman. In spite of\nhis European disguise, Mr. Luker had instantly identified his visitor\nwith the chief of the three Indians, who had formerly annoyed him by\nloitering about his house, and who had left him no alternative but to\nconsult a magistrate. From this startling discovery he had rushed to\nthe conclusion (naturally enough I own) that he must certainly be in the\ncompany of one of the three men, who had blindfolded him, gagged him,\nand robbed him of his banker's receipt. The result was that he became\nquite paralysed with terror, and that he firmly believed his last hour\nhad come.\n\nOn his side, the Indian preserved the character of a perfect stranger.\nHe produced the little casket, and made exactly the same application\nwhich he had afterwards made to me. As the speediest way of getting rid\nof him, Mr. Luker had at once declared that he had no money. The Indian\nhad thereupon asked to be informed of the best and safest person to\napply to for the loan he wanted. Mr. Luker had answered that the best\nand safest person, in such cases, was usually a respectable solicitor.\nAsked to name some individual of that character and profession, Mr.\nLuker had mentioned me--for the one simple reason that, in the extremity\nof his terror, mine was the first name which occurred to him. \"The\nperspiration was pouring off me like rain, sir,\" the wretched creature\nconcluded. \"I didn't know what I was talking about. And I hope you'll\nlook over it, Mr. Bruff, sir, in consideration of my having been really\nand truly frightened out of my wits.\"\n\nI excused the fellow graciously enough. It was the readiest way of\nreleasing myself from the sight of him. Before he left me, I detained\nhim to make one inquiry.\n\nHad the Indian said anything noticeable, at the moment of quitting Mr.\nLuker's house?\n\nYes! The Indian had put precisely the same question to Mr. Luker, at\nparting, which he had put to me; receiving of course, the same answer as\nthe answer which I had given him.\n\nWhat did it mean? Mr. Luker's explanation gave me no assistance towards\nsolving the problem. My own unaided ingenuity, consulted next, proved\nquite unequal to grapple with the difficulty. I had a dinner engagement\nthat evening; and I went upstairs, in no very genial frame of mind,\nlittle suspecting that the way to my dressing-room and the way to\ndiscovery, meant, on this particular occasion, one and the same thing.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nThe prominent personage among the guests at the dinner party I found to\nbe Mr. Murthwaite.\n\nOn his appearance in England, after his wanderings, society had been\ngreatly interested in the traveller, as a man who had passed through\nmany dangerous adventures, and who had escaped to tell the tale. He had\nnow announced his intention of returning to the scene of his exploits,\nand of penetrating into regions left still unexplored. This magnificent\nindifference to placing his safety in peril for the second time, revived\nthe flagging interest of the worshippers in the hero. The law of chances\nwas clearly against his escaping on this occasion. It is not every day\nthat we can meet an eminent person at dinner, and feel that there is\na reasonable prospect of the news of his murder being the news that we\nhear of him next.\n\nWhen the gentlemen were left by themselves in the dining-room, I found\nmyself sitting next to Mr. Murthwaite. The guests present being all\nEnglish, it is needless to say that, as soon as the wholesome check\nexercised by the presence of the ladies was removed, the conversation\nturned on politics as a necessary result.\n\nIn respect to this all-absorbing national topic, I happen to be one of\nthe most un-English Englishmen living. As a general rule, political talk\nappears to me to be of all talk the most dreary and the most profitless.\nGlancing at Mr. Murthwaite, when the bottles had made their first round\nof the table, I found that he was apparently of my way of thinking. He\nwas doing it very dexterously--with all possible consideration for\nthe feelings of his host--but it is not the less certain that he\nwas composing himself for a nap. It struck me as an experiment worth\nattempting, to try whether a judicious allusion to the subject of the\nMoonstone would keep him awake, and, if it did, to see what HE thought\nof the last new complication in the Indian conspiracy, as revealed in\nthe prosaic precincts of my office.\n\n\"If I am not mistaken, Mr. Murthwaite,\" I began, \"you were acquainted\nwith the late Lady Verinder, and you took some interest in the strange\nsuccession of events which ended in the loss of the Moonstone?\"\n\nThe eminent traveller did me the honour of waking up in an instant, and\nasking me who I was.\n\nI informed him of my professional connection with the Herncastle family,\nnot forgetting the curious position which I had occupied towards the\nColonel and his Diamond in the bygone time.\n\nMr. Murthwaite shifted round in his chair, so as to put the rest of the\ncompany behind him (Conservatives and Liberals alike), and concentrated\nhis whole attention on plain Mr. Bruff, of Gray's Inn Square.\n\n\"Have you heard anything, lately, of the Indians?\" he asked.\n\n\"I have every reason to believe,\" I answered, \"that one of them had an\ninterview with me, in my office, yesterday.\"\n\nMr. Murthwaite was not an easy man to astonish; but that last answer\nof mine completely staggered him. I described what had happened to Mr.\nLuker, and what had happened to myself, exactly as I have described it\nhere. \"It is clear that the Indian's parting inquiry had an object,\" I\nadded. \"Why should he be so anxious to know the time at which a borrower\nof money is usually privileged to pay the money back?\"\n\n\"Is it possible that you don't see his motive, Mr. Bruff?\"\n\n\"I am ashamed of my stupidity, Mr. Murthwaite--but I certainly don't see\nit.\"\n\nThe great traveller became quite interested in sounding the immense\nvacuity of my dulness to its lowest depths.\n\n\"Let me ask you one question,\" he said. \"In what position does the\nconspiracy to seize the Moonstone now stand?\"\n\n\"I can't say,\" I answered. \"The Indian plot is a mystery to me.\"\n\n\"The Indian plot, Mr. Bruff, can only be a mystery to you, because you\nhave never seriously examined it. Shall we run it over together, from\nthe time when you drew Colonel Herncastle's Will, to the time when\nthe Indian called at your office? In your position, it may be of very\nserious importance to the interests of Miss Verinder, that you should\nbe able to take a clear view of this matter in case of need. Tell me,\nbearing that in mind, whether you will penetrate the Indian's motive for\nyourself? or whether you wish me to save you the trouble of making any\ninquiry into it?\"\n\nIt is needless to say that I thoroughly appreciated the practical\npurpose which I now saw that he had in view, and that the first of the\ntwo alternatives was the alternative I chose.\n\n\"Very good,\" said Mr. Murthwaite. \"We will take the question of the ages\nof the three Indians first. I can testify that they all look much about\nthe same age--and you can decide for yourself, whether the man whom you\nsaw was, or was not, in the prime of life. Not forty, you think? My\nidea too. We will say not forty. Now look back to the time when Colonel\nHerncastle came to England, and when you were concerned in the plan he\nadopted to preserve his life. I don't want you to count the years. I\nwill only say, it is clear that these present Indians, at their age,\nmust be the successors of three other Indians (high caste Brahmins all\nof them, Mr. Bruff, when they left their native country!) who followed\nthe Colonel to these shores. Very well. These present men of ours have\nsucceeded to the men who were here before them. If they had only done\nthat, the matter would not have been worth inquiring into. But they\nhave done more. They have succeeded to the organisation which their\npredecessors established in this country. Don't start! The organisation\nis a very trumpery affair, according to our ideas, I have no doubt. I\nshould reckon it up as including the command of money; the services,\nwhen needed, of that shady sort of Englishman, who lives in the byways\nof foreign life in London; and, lastly, the secret sympathy of such\nfew men of their own country, and (formerly, at least) of their own\nreligion, as happen to be employed in ministering to some of the\nmultitudinous wants of this great city. Nothing very formidable, as you\nsee! But worth notice at starting, because we may find occasion to\nrefer to this modest little Indian organisation as we go on. Having now\ncleared the ground, I am going to ask you a question; and I expect your\nexperience to answer it. What was the event which gave the Indians their\nfirst chance of seizing the Diamond?\"\n\nI understood the allusion to my experience.\n\n\"The first chance they got,\" I replied, \"was clearly offered to them by\nColonel Herncastle's death. They would be aware of his death, I suppose,\nas a matter of course?\"\n\n\"As a matter of course. And his death, as you say, gave them their first\nchance. Up to that time the Moonstone was safe in the strong-room of the\nbank. You drew the Colonel's Will leaving his jewel to his niece; and\nthe Will was proved in the usual way. As a lawyer, you can be at no loss\nto know what course the Indians would take (under English advice) after\nTHAT.\"\n\n\"They would provide themselves with a copy of the Will from Doctors'\nCommons,\" I said.\n\n\"Exactly. One or other of those shady Englishmen to whom I have alluded,\nwould get them the copy you have described. That copy would inform them\nthat the Moonstone was bequeathed to the daughter of Lady Verinder, and\nthat Mr. Blake the elder, or some person appointed by him, was to place\nit in her hands. You will agree with me that the necessary information\nabout persons in the position of Lady Verinder and Mr. Blake, would be\nperfectly easy information to obtain. The one difficulty for the Indians\nwould be to decide whether they should make their attempt on the Diamond\nwhen it was in course of removal from the keeping of the bank, or\nwhether they should wait until it was taken down to Yorkshire to Lady\nVerinder's house. The second way would be manifestly the safest way--and\nthere you have the explanation of the appearance of the Indians at\nFrizinghall, disguised as jugglers, and waiting their time. In London,\nit is needless to say, they had their organisation at their disposal to\nkeep them informed of events. Two men would do it. One to follow anybody\nwho went from Mr. Blake's house to the bank. And one to treat the\nlower men servants with beer, and to hear the news of the house. These\ncommonplace precautions would readily inform them that Mr. Franklin\nBlake had been to the bank, and that Mr. Franklin Blake was the only\nperson in the house who was going to visit Lady Verinder. What actually\nfollowed upon that discovery, you remember, no doubt, quite as correctly\nas I do.\"\n\nI remembered that Franklin Blake had detected one of the spies, in the\nstreet--that he had, in consequence, advanced the time of his arrival in\nYorkshire by some hours--and that (thanks to old Betteredge's excellent\nadvice) he had lodged the Diamond in the bank at Frizinghall, before the\nIndians were so much as prepared to see him in the neighbourhood.\nAll perfectly clear so far. But the Indians being ignorant of the\nprecautions thus taken, how was it that they had made no attempt on Lady\nVerinder's house (in which they must have supposed the Diamond to be)\nthrough the whole of the interval that elapsed before Rachel's birthday?\n\nIn putting this difficulty to Mr. Murthwaite, I thought it right to add\nthat I had heard of the little boy, and the drop of ink, and the rest of\nit, and that any explanation based on the theory of clairvoyance was\nan explanation which would carry no conviction whatever with it, to MY\nmind.\n\n\"Nor to mine either,\" said Mr. Murthwaite. \"The clairvoyance in\nthis case is simply a development of the romantic side of the Indian\ncharacter. It would be refreshment and an encouragement to those\nmen--quite inconceivable, I grant you, to the English mind--to surround\ntheir wearisome and perilous errand in this country with a certain halo\nof the marvellous and the supernatural. Their boy is unquestionably a\nsensitive subject to the mesmeric influence--and, under that influence,\nhe has no doubt reflected what was already in the mind of the person\nmesmerising him. I have tested the theory of clairvoyance--and I have\nnever found the manifestations get beyond that point. The Indians don't\ninvestigate the matter in this way; the Indians look upon their boy as\na Seer of things invisible to their eyes--and, I repeat, in that marvel\nthey find the source of a new interest in the purpose that unites them.\nI only notice this as offering a curious view of human character,\nwhich must be quite new to you. We have nothing whatever to do with\nclairvoyance, or with mesmerism, or with anything else that is hard of\nbelief to a practical man, in the inquiry that we are now pursuing. My\nobject in following the Indian plot, step by step, is to trace results\nback, by rational means, to natural causes. Have I succeeded to your\nsatisfaction so far?\"\n\n\"Not a doubt of it, Mr. Murthwaite! I am waiting, however, with some\nanxiety, to hear the rational explanation of the difficulty which I have\njust had the honour of submitting to you.\"\n\nMr. Murthwaite smiled. \"It's the easiest difficulty to deal with of\nall,\" he said. \"Permit me to begin by admitting your statement of the\ncase as a perfectly correct one. The Indians were undoubtedly not aware\nof what Mr. Franklin Blake had done with the Diamond--for we find them\nmaking their first mistake, on the first night of Mr. Blake's arrival at\nhis aunt's house.\"\n\n\"Their first mistake?\" I repeated.\n\n\"Certainly! The mistake of allowing themselves to be surprised, lurking\nabout the terrace at night, by Gabriel Betteredge. However, they had the\nmerit of seeing for themselves that they had taken a false step--for, as\nyou say, again, with plenty of time at their disposal, they never came\nnear the house for weeks afterwards.\"\n\n\"Why, Mr. Murthwaite? That's what I want to know! Why?\"\n\n\"Because no Indian, Mr. Bruff, ever runs an unnecessary risk. The clause\nyou drew in Colonel Herncastle's Will, informed them (didn't it?) that\nthe Moonstone was to pass absolutely into Miss Verinder's possession on\nher birthday. Very well. Tell me which was the safest course for men in\ntheir position? To make their attempt on the Diamond while it was under\nthe control of Mr. Franklin Blake, who had shown already that he could\nsuspect and outwit them? Or to wait till the Diamond was at the disposal\nof a young girl, who would innocently delight in wearing the magnificent\njewel at every possible opportunity? Perhaps you want a proof that my\ntheory is correct? Take the conduct of the Indians themselves as the\nproof. They appeared at the house, after waiting all those weeks,\non Miss Verinder's birthday; and they were rewarded for the patient\naccuracy of their calculations by seeing the Moonstone in the bosom of\nher dress! When I heard the story of the Colonel and the Diamond, later\nin the evening, I felt so sure about the risk Mr. Franklin Blake had run\n(they would have certainly attacked him, if he had not happened to ride\nback to Lady Verinder's in the company of other people); and I was so\nstrongly convinced of the worse risk still, in store for Miss Verinder,\nthat I recommended following the Colonel's plan, and destroying the\nidentity of the gem by having it cut into separate stones. How its\nextraordinary disappearance that night, made my advice useless, and\nutterly defeated the Hindoo plot--and how all further action on the part\nof the Indians was paralysed the next day by their confinement in prison\nas rogues and vagabonds--you know as well as I do. The first act in\nthe conspiracy closes there. Before we go on to the second, may I\nask whether I have met your difficulty, with an explanation which is\nsatisfactory to the mind of a practical man?\"\n\nIt was impossible to deny that he had met my difficulty fairly; thanks\nto his superior knowledge of the Indian character--and thanks to his\nnot having had hundreds of other Wills to think of since Colonel\nHerncastle's time!\n\n\"So far, so good,\" resumed Mr. Murthwaite. \"The first chance the Indians\nhad of seizing the Diamond was a chance lost, on the day when they were\ncommitted to the prison at Frizinghall. When did the second chance offer\nitself? The second chance offered itself--as I am in a condition to\nprove--while they were still in confinement.\"\n\nHe took out his pocket-book, and opened it at a particular leaf, before\nhe went on.\n\n\"I was staying,\" he resumed, \"with some friends at Frizinghall, at the\ntime. A day or two before the Indians were set free (on a Monday, I\nthink), the governor of the prison came to me with a letter. It had\nbeen left for the Indians by one Mrs. Macann, of whom they had hired the\nlodging in which they lived; and it had been delivered at Mrs. Macann's\ndoor, in ordinary course of post, on the previous morning. The prison\nauthorities had noticed that the postmark was 'Lambeth,' and that the\naddress on the outside, though expressed in correct English, was, in\nform, oddly at variance with the customary method of directing a letter.\nOn opening it, they had found the contents to be written in a foreign\nlanguage, which they rightly guessed at as Hindustani. Their object in\ncoming to me was, of course, to have the letter translated to them.\nI took a copy in my pocket-book of the original, and of my\ntranslation--and there they are at your service.\"\n\nHe handed me the open pocket-book. The address on the letter was the\nfirst thing copied. It was all written in one paragraph, without any\nattempt at punctuation, thus: \"To the three Indian men living with the\nlady called Macann at Frizinghall in Yorkshire.\" The Hindoo characters\nfollowed; and the English translation appeared at the end, expressed in\nthese mysterious words:\n\n\"In the name of the Regent of the Night, whose seat is on the Antelope,\nwhose arms embrace the four corners of the earth.\n\n\"Brothers, turn your faces to the south, and come to me in the street of\nmany noises, which leads down to the muddy river.\n\n\"The reason is this.\n\n\"My own eyes have seen it.\"\n\nThere the letter ended, without either date or signature. I handed it\nback to Mr. Murthwaite, and owned that this curious specimen of Hindoo\ncorrespondence rather puzzled me.\n\n\"I can explain the first sentence to you,\" he said; \"and the conduct\nof the Indians themselves will explain the rest. The god of the moon is\nrepresented, in the Hindoo mythology, as a four-armed deity, seated on\nan antelope; and one of his titles is the regent of the night. Here,\nthen, to begin with, is something which looks suspiciously like an\nindirect reference to the Moonstone. Now, let us see what the Indians\ndid, after the prison authorities had allowed them to receive their\nletter. On the very day when they were set free they went at once to the\nrailway station, and took their places in the first train that\nstarted for London. We all thought it a pity at Frizinghall that their\nproceedings were not privately watched. But, after Lady Verinder had\ndismissed the police-officer, and had stopped all further inquiry\ninto the loss of the Diamond, no one else could presume to stir in the\nmatter. The Indians were free to go to London, and to London they went.\nWhat was the next news we heard of them, Mr. Bruff?\"\n\n\"They were annoying Mr. Luker,\" I answered, \"by loitering about the\nhouse at Lambeth.\"\n\n\"Did you read the report of Mr. Luker's application to the magistrate?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"In the course of his statement he referred, if you remember, to\na foreign workman in his employment, whom he had just dismissed on\nsuspicion of attempted theft, and whom he also distrusted as possibly\nacting in collusion with the Indians who had annoyed him. The inference\nis pretty plain, Mr. Bruff, as to who wrote that letter which puzzled\nyou just now, and as to which of Mr. Luker's Oriental treasures the\nworkman had attempted to steal.\"\n\nThe inference (as I hastened to acknowledge) was too plain to need being\npointed out. I had never doubted that the Moonstone had found its way\ninto Mr. Luker's hands, at the time Mr. Murthwaite alluded to. My only\nquestion had been, How had the Indians discovered the circumstance? This\nquestion (the most difficult to deal with of all, as I had thought) had\nnow received its answer, like the rest. Lawyer as I was, I began to feel\nthat I might trust Mr. Murthwaite to lead me blindfold through the last\nwindings of the labyrinth, along which he had guided me thus far. I paid\nhim the compliment of telling him this, and found my little concession\nvery graciously received.\n\n\"You shall give me a piece of information in your turn before we go\non,\" he said. \"Somebody must have taken the Moonstone from Yorkshire\nto London. And somebody must have raised money on it, or it would never\nhave been in Mr. Luker's possession. Has there been any discovery made\nof who that person was?\"\n\n\"None that I know of.\"\n\n\"There was a story (was there not?) about Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. I am\ntold he is an eminent philanthropist--which is decidedly against him, to\nbegin with.\"\n\nI heartily agreed in this with Mr. Murthwaite. At the same time, I felt\nbound to inform him (without, it is needless to say, mentioning Miss\nVerinder's name) that Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite had been cleared of all\nsuspicion, on evidence which I could answer for as entirely beyond\ndispute.\n\n\"Very well,\" said Mr. Murthwaite, quietly, \"let us leave it to time to\nclear the matter up. In the meanwhile, Mr. Bruff, we must get back again\nto the Indians, on your account. Their journey to London simply ended in\ntheir becoming the victims of another defeat. The loss of their second\nchance of seizing the Diamond is mainly attributable, as I think, to the\ncunning and foresight of Mr. Luker--who doesn't stand at the top of the\nprosperous and ancient profession of usury for nothing! By the prompt\ndismissal of the man in his employment, he deprived the Indians of the\nassistance which their confederate would have rendered them in getting\ninto the house. By the prompt transport of the Moonstone to his\nbanker's, he took the conspirators by surprise before they were prepared\nwith a new plan for robbing him. How the Indians, in this latter case,\nsuspected what he had done, and how they contrived to possess themselves\nof his banker's receipt, are events too recent to need dwelling on. Let\nit be enough to say that they know the Moonstone to be once more out of\ntheir reach; deposited (under the general description of 'a valuable of\ngreat price') in a banker's strong room. Now, Mr. Bruff, what is their\nthird chance of seizing the Diamond? and when will it come?\"\n\nAs the question passed his lips, I penetrated the motive of the Indian's\nvisit to my office at last!\n\n\"I see it!\" I exclaimed. \"The Indians take it for granted, as we do,\nthat the Moonstone has been pledged; and they want to be certainly\ninformed of the earliest period at which the pledge can be\nredeemed--because that will be the earliest period at which the Diamond\ncan be removed from the safe keeping of the bank!\"\n\n\"I told you you would find it out for yourself, Mr. Bruff, if I only\ngave you a fair chance. In a year from the time when the Moonstone was\npledged, the Indians will be on the watch for their third chance. Mr.\nLuker's own lips have told them how long they will have to wait, and\nyour respectable authority has satisfied them that Mr. Luker has spoken\nthe truth. When do we suppose, at a rough guess, that the Diamond found\nits way into the money-lender's hands?\"\n\n\"Towards the end of last June,\" I answered, \"as well as I can reckon\nit.\"\n\n\"And we are now in the year 'forty-eight. Very good. If the unknown\nperson who has pledged the Moonstone can redeem it in a year, the\njewel will be in that person's possession again at the end of June,\n'forty-nine. I shall be thousands of miles from England and English news\nat that date. But it may be worth YOUR while to take a note of it, and\nto arrange to be in London at the time.\"\n\n\"You think something serious will happen?\" I said.\n\n\"I think I shall be safer,\" he answered, \"among the fiercest fanatics of\nCentral Asia than I should be if I crossed the door of the bank with the\nMoonstone in my pocket. The Indians have been defeated twice running,\nMr. Bruff. It's my firm belief that they won't be defeated a third\ntime.\"\n\nThose were the last words he said on the subject. The coffee came in;\nthe guests rose, and dispersed themselves about the room; and we joined\nthe ladies of the dinner-party upstairs.\n\nI made a note of the date, and it may not be amiss if I close my\nnarrative by repeating that note here:\n\nJUNE, 'FORTY-NINE. EXPECT NEWS OF THE INDIANS, TOWARDS THE END OF THE\nMONTH.\n\nAnd that done, I hand the pen, which I have now no further claim to use,\nto the writer who follows me next.\n\n\n\n\nTHIRD NARRATIVE\n\nContributed by FRANKLIN BLAKE\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nIn the spring of the year eighteen hundred and forty-nine I was\nwandering in the East, and had then recently altered the travelling\nplans which I had laid out some months before, and which I had\ncommunicated to my lawyer and my banker in London.\n\nThis change made it necessary for me to send one of my servants to\nobtain my letters and remittances from the English consul in a certain\ncity, which was no longer included as one of my resting-places in my new\ntravelling scheme. The man was to join me again at an appointed place\nand time. An accident, for which he was not responsible, delayed him on\nhis errand. For a week I and my people waited, encamped on the\nborders of a desert. At the end of that time the missing man made his\nappearance, with the money and the letters, at the entrance of my tent.\n\n\"I am afraid I bring you bad news, sir,\" he said, and pointed to one of\nthe letters, which had a mourning border round it, and the address on\nwhich was in the handwriting of Mr. Bruff.\n\nI know nothing, in a case of this kind, so unendurable as suspense. The\nletter with the mourning border was the letter that I opened first.\n\nIt informed me that my father was dead, and that I was heir to his great\nfortune. The wealth which had thus fallen into my hands brought its\nresponsibilities with it, and Mr. Bruff entreated me to lose no time in\nreturning to England.\n\nBy daybreak the next morning, I was on my way back to my own country.\n\nThe picture presented of me, by my old friend Betteredge, at the time of\nmy departure from England, is (as I think) a little overdrawn. He has,\nin his own quaint way, interpreted seriously one of his young mistress's\nmany satirical references to my foreign education; and has persuaded\nhimself that he actually saw those French, German, and Italian sides to\nmy character, which my lively cousin only professed to discover in jest,\nand which never had any real existence, except in our good Betteredge's\nown brain. But, barring this drawback, I am bound to own that he has\nstated no more than the truth in representing me as wounded to the heart\nby Rachel's treatment, and as leaving England in the first keenness of\nsuffering caused by the bitterest disappointment of my life.\n\nI went abroad, resolved--if change and absence could help me--to forget\nher. It is, I am persuaded, no true view of human nature which denies\nthat change and absence DO help a man under these circumstances; they\nforce his attention away from the exclusive contemplation of his own\nsorrow. I never forgot her; but the pang of remembrance lost its worst\nbitterness, little by little, as time, distance, and novelty interposed\nthemselves more and more effectually between Rachel and me.\n\nOn the other hand, it is no less certain that, with the act of turning\nhomeward, the remedy which had gained its ground so steadily, began now,\njust as steadily, to drop back. The nearer I drew to the country\nwhich she inhabited, and to the prospect of seeing her again, the more\nirresistibly her influence began to recover its hold on me. On leaving\nEngland she was the last person in the world whose name I would have\nsuffered to pass my lips. On returning to England, she was the first\nperson I inquired after, when Mr. Bruff and I met again.\n\nI was informed, of course, of all that had happened in my absence;\nin other words, of all that has been related here in continuation of\nBetteredge's narrative--one circumstance only being excepted. Mr. Bruff\ndid not, at that time, feel himself at liberty to inform me of the\nmotives which had privately influenced Rachel and Godfrey Ablewhite in\nrecalling the marriage promise, on either side. I troubled him with no\nembarrassing questions on this delicate subject. It was relief enough to\nme, after the jealous disappointment caused by hearing that she had ever\ncontemplated being Godfrey's wife, to know that reflection had convinced\nher of acting rashly, and that she had effected her own release from her\nmarriage engagement.\n\nHaving heard the story of the past, my next inquiries (still inquiries\nafter Rachel!) advanced naturally to the present time. Under whose care\nhad she been placed after leaving Mr. Bruff's house? and where was she\nliving now?\n\nShe was living under the care of a widowed sister of the late Sir John\nVerinder--one Mrs. Merridew--whom her mother's executors had requested\nto act as guardian, and who had accepted the proposal. They were\nreported to me as getting on together admirably well, and as being now\nestablished, for the season, in Mrs. Merridew's house in Portland Place.\n\nHalf an hour after receiving this information, I was on my way to\nPortland Place--without having had the courage to own it to Mr. Bruff!\n\nThe man who answered the door was not sure whether Miss Verinder was at\nhome or not. I sent him upstairs with my card, as the speediest way\nof setting the question at rest. The man came down again with an\nimpenetrable face, and informed me that Miss Verinder was out.\n\nI might have suspected other people of purposely denying themselves to\nme. But it was impossible to suspect Rachel. I left word that I would\ncall again at six o'clock that evening.\n\nAt six o'clock I was informed for the second time that Miss Verinder was\nnot at home. Had any message been left for me. No message had been left\nfor me. Had Miss Verinder not received my card? The servant begged my\npardon--Miss Verinder HAD received it.\n\nThe inference was too plain to be resisted. Rachel declined to see me.\n\nOn my side, I declined to be treated in this way, without making an\nattempt, at least, to discover a reason for it. I sent up my name to\nMrs. Merridew, and requested her to favour me with a personal interview\nat any hour which it might be most convenient to her to name.\n\nMrs. Merridew made no difficulty about receiving me at once. I was shown\ninto a comfortable little sitting-room, and found myself in the presence\nof a comfortable little elderly lady. She was so good as to feel great\nregret and much surprise, entirely on my account. She was at the same\ntime, however, not in a position to offer me any explanation, or to\npress Rachel on a matter which appeared to relate to a question of\nprivate feeling alone. This was said over and over again, with a polite\npatience that nothing could tire; and this was all I gained by applying\nto Mrs. Merridew.\n\nMy last chance was to write to Rachel. My servant took a letter to her\nthe next day, with strict instructions to wait for an answer.\n\nThe answer came back, literally in one sentence.\n\n\"Miss Verinder begs to decline entering into any correspondence with Mr.\nFranklin Blake.\"\n\nFond as I was of her, I felt indignantly the insult offered to me in\nthat reply. Mr. Bruff came in to speak to me on business, before I had\nrecovered possession of myself. I dismissed the business on the spot,\nand laid the whole case before him. He proved to be as incapable of\nenlightening me as Mrs. Merridew herself. I asked him if any slander had\nbeen spoken of me in Rachel's hearing. Mr. Bruff was not aware of any\nslander of which I was the object. Had she referred to me in any way\nwhile she was staying under Mr. Bruff's roof? Never. Had she not so much\nas asked, during all my long absence, whether I was living or dead? No\nsuch question had ever passed her lips. I took out of my pocket-book the\nletter which poor Lady Verinder had written to me from Frizinghall, on\nthe day when I left her house in Yorkshire. And I pointed Mr. Bruff's\nattention to these two sentences in it:\n\n\"The valuable assistance which you rendered to the inquiry after the\nlost jewel is still an unpardoned offence, in the present dreadful state\nof Rachel's mind. Moving blindfold in this matter, you have added to the\nburden of anxiety which she has had to bear, by innocently threatening\nher secret with discovery through your exertions.\"\n\n\"Is it possible,\" I asked, \"that the feeling towards me which is there\ndescribed, is as bitter as ever against me now?\"\n\nMr. Bruff looked unaffectedly distressed.\n\n\"If you insist on an answer,\" he said, \"I own I can place no other\ninterpretation on her conduct than that.\"\n\nI rang the bell, and directed my servant to pack my portmanteau, and to\nsend out for a railway guide. Mr. Bruff asked, in astonishment, what I\nwas going to do.\n\n\"I am going to Yorkshire,\" I answered, \"by the next train.\"\n\n\"May I ask for what purpose?\"\n\n\"Mr. Bruff, the assistance I innocently rendered to the inquiry after\nthe Diamond was an unpardoned offence, in Rachel's mind, nearly a year\nsince; and it remains an unpardoned offence still. I won't accept that\nposition! I am determined to find out the secret of her silence towards\nher mother, and her enmity towards me. If time, pains, and money can do\nit, I will lay my hand on the thief who took the Moonstone!\"\n\nThe worthy old gentleman attempted to remonstrate--to induce me to\nlisten to reason--to do his duty towards me, in short. I was deaf to\neverything that he could urge. No earthly consideration would, at that\nmoment, have shaken the resolution that was in me.\n\n\"I shall take up the inquiry again,\" I went on, \"at the point where I\ndropped it; and I shall follow it onwards, step by step, till I come to\nthe present time. There are missing links in the evidence, as I left it,\nwhich Gabriel Betteredge can supply, and to Gabriel Betteredge I go!\"\n\nTowards sunset that evening I stood again on the well-remembered\nterrace, and looked once more at the peaceful old country house. The\ngardener was the first person whom I saw in the deserted grounds. He had\nleft Betteredge, an hour since, sunning himself in the customary corner\nof the back yard. I knew it well; and I said I would go and seek him\nmyself.\n\nI walked round by the familiar paths and passages, and looked in at the\nopen gate of the yard.\n\nThere he was--the dear old friend of the happy days that were never to\ncome again--there he was in the old corner, on the old beehive chair,\nwith his pipe in his mouth, and his ROBINSON CRUSOE on his lap, and his\ntwo friends, the dogs, dozing on either side of him! In the position\nin which I stood, my shadow was projected in front of me by the last\nslanting rays of the sun. Either the dogs saw it, or their keen scent\ninformed them of my approach; they started up with a growl. Starting\nin his turn, the old man quieted them by a word, and then shaded his\nfailing eyes with his hand, and looked inquiringly at the figure at the\ngate.\n\nMy own eyes were full of tears. I was obliged to wait a moment before I\ncould trust myself to speak to him.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\n\"Betteredge!\" I said, pointing to the well-remembered book on his knee,\n\"has ROBINSON CRUSOE informed you, this evening, that you might expect\nto see Franklin Blake?\"\n\n\"By the lord Harry, Mr. Franklin!\" cried the old man, \"that's exactly\nwhat ROBINSON CRUSOE has done!\"\n\nHe struggled to his feet with my assistance, and stood for a moment,\nlooking backwards and forwards between ROBINSON CRUSOE and me,\napparently at a loss to discover which of us had surprised him most. The\nverdict ended in favour of the book. Holding it open before him in both\nhands, he surveyed the wonderful volume with a stare of unutterable\nanticipation--as if he expected to see Robinson Crusoe himself walk out\nof the pages, and favour us with a personal interview.\n\n\"Here's the bit, Mr. Franklin!\" he said, as soon as he had recovered\nthe use of his speech. \"As I live by bread, sir, here's the bit I was\nreading, the moment before you came in! Page one hundred and fifty-six\nas follows:--'I stood like one Thunderstruck, or as if I had seen\nan Apparition.' If that isn't as much as to say: 'Expect the sudden\nappearance of Mr. Franklin Blake'--there's no meaning in the English\nlanguage!\" said Betteredge, closing the book with a bang, and getting\none of his hands free at last to take the hand which I offered him.\n\nI had expected him, naturally enough under the circumstances, to\noverwhelm me with questions. But no--the hospitable impulse was the\nuppermost impulse in the old servant's mind, when a member of the family\nappeared (no matter how!) as a visitor at the house.\n\n\"Walk in, Mr. Franklin,\" he said, opening the door behind him, with his\nquaint old-fashioned bow. \"I'll ask what brings you here afterwards--I\nmust make you comfortable first. There have been sad changes, since you\nwent away. The house is shut up, and the servants are gone. Never mind\nthat! I'll cook your dinner; and the gardener's wife will make your\nbed--and if there's a bottle of our famous Latour claret left in the\ncellar, down your throat, Mr. Franklin, that bottle shall go. I bid you\nwelcome, sir! I bid you heartily welcome!\" said the poor old fellow,\nfighting manfully against the gloom of the deserted house, and receiving\nme with the sociable and courteous attention of the bygone time.\n\nIt vexed me to disappoint him. But the house was Rachel's house, now.\nCould I eat in it, or sleep in it, after what had happened in London?\nThe commonest sense of self-respect forbade me--properly forbade me--to\ncross the threshold.\n\nI took Betteredge by the arm, and led him out into the garden. There\nwas no help for it. I was obliged to tell him the truth. Between his\nattachment to Rachel, and his attachment to me, he was sorely puzzled\nand distressed at the turn things had taken. His opinion, when he\nexpressed it, was given in his usual downright manner, and was agreeably\nredolent of the most positive philosophy I know--the philosophy of the\nBetteredge school.\n\n\"Miss Rachel has her faults--I've never denied it,\" he began. \"And\nriding the high horse, now and then, is one of them. She has been trying\nto ride over you--and you have put up with it. Lord, Mr. Franklin, don't\nyou know women by this time better than that? You have heard me talk of\nthe late Mrs. Betteredge?\"\n\nI had heard him talk of the late Mrs. Betteredge pretty\noften--invariably producing her as his one undeniable example of the\ninbred frailty and perversity of the other sex. In that capacity he\nexhibited her now.\n\n\"Very well, Mr. Franklin. Now listen to me. Different women have\ndifferent ways of riding the high horse. The late Mrs. Betteredge took\nher exercise on that favourite female animal whenever I happened to deny\nher anything that she had set her heart on. So sure as I came home from\nmy work on these occasions, so sure was my wife to call to me up the\nkitchen stairs, and to say that, after my brutal treatment of her,\nshe hadn't the heart to cook me my dinner. I put up with it for some\ntime--just as you are putting up with it now from Miss Rachel. At\nlast my patience wore out. I went downstairs, and I took Mrs.\nBetteredge--affectionately, you understand--up in my arms, and carried\nher, holus-bolus, into the best parlour where she received her company.\nI said 'That's the right place for you, my dear,' and so went back to\nthe kitchen. I locked myself in, and took off my coat, and turned up my\nshirt-sleeves, and cooked my own dinner. When it was done, I served it\nup in my best manner, and enjoyed it most heartily. I had my pipe and\nmy drop of grog afterwards; and then I cleared the table, and washed the\ncrockery, and cleaned the knives and forks, and put the things away,\nand swept up the hearth. When things were as bright and clean again, as\nbright and clean could be, I opened the door and let Mrs. Betteredge in.\n'I've had my dinner, my dear,' I said; 'and I hope you will find that I\nhave left the kitchen all that your fondest wishes can desire.' For the\nrest of that woman's life, Mr. Franklin, I never had to cook my dinner\nagain! Moral: You have put up with Miss Rachel in London; don't put up\nwith her in Yorkshire. Come back to the house!\"\n\nQuite unanswerable! I could only assure my good friend that even HIS\npowers of persuasion were, in this case, thrown away on me.\n\n\"It's a lovely evening,\" I said. \"I shall walk to Frizinghall, and stay\nat the hotel, and you must come to-morrow morning and breakfast with me.\nI have something to say to you.\"\n\nBetteredge shook his head gravely.\n\n\"I am heartily sorry for this,\" he said. \"I had hoped, Mr. Franklin, to\nhear that things were all smooth and pleasant again between you and\nMiss Rachel. If you must have your own way, sir,\" he continued, after a\nmoment's reflection, \"there is no need to go to Frizinghall to-night\nfor a bed. It's to be had nearer than that. There's Hotherstone's\nFarm, barely two miles from here. You can hardly object to THAT on Miss\nRachel's account,\" the old man added slily. \"Hotherstone lives, Mr.\nFranklin, on his own freehold.\"\n\nI remembered the place the moment Betteredge mentioned it. The\nfarm-house stood in a sheltered inland valley, on the banks of the\nprettiest stream in that part of Yorkshire: and the farmer had a spare\nbedroom and parlour, which he was accustomed to let to artists, anglers,\nand tourists in general. A more agreeable place of abode, during my stay\nin the neighbourhood, I could not have wished to find.\n\n\"Are the rooms to let?\" I inquired.\n\n\"Mrs. Hotherstone herself, sir, asked for my good word to recommend the\nrooms, yesterday.\"\n\n\"I'll take them, Betteredge, with the greatest pleasure.\"\n\nWe went back to the yard, in which I had left my travelling-bag. After\nputting a stick through the handle, and swinging the bag over his\nshoulder, Betteredge appeared to relapse into the bewilderment which my\nsudden appearance had caused, when I surprised him in the beehive chair.\nHe looked incredulously at the house, and then he wheeled about, and\nlooked more incredulously still at me.\n\n\"I've lived a goodish long time in the world,\" said this best and\ndearest of all old servants--\"but the like of this, I never did expect\nto see. There stands the house, and here stands Mr. Franklin Blake--and,\nDamme, if one of them isn't turning his back on the other, and going to\nsleep in a lodging!\"\n\nHe led the way out, wagging his head and growling ominously. \"There's\nonly one more miracle that CAN happen,\" he said to me, over his\nshoulder. \"The next thing you'll do, Mr. Franklin, will be to pay me\nback that seven-and-sixpence you borrowed of me when you were a boy.\"\n\nThis stroke of sarcasm put him in a better humour with himself and with\nme. We left the house, and passed through the lodge gates. Once clear of\nthe grounds, the duties of hospitality (in Betteredge's code of morals)\nceased, and the privileges of curiosity began.\n\nHe dropped back, so as to let me get on a level with him. \"Fine evening\nfor a walk, Mr. Franklin,\" he said, as if we had just accidentally\nencountered each other at that moment. \"Supposing you had gone to the\nhotel at Frizinghall, sir?\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"I should have had the honour of breakfasting with you, to-morrow\nmorning.\"\n\n\"Come and breakfast with me at Hotherstone's Farm, instead.\"\n\n\"Much obliged to you for your kindness, Mr. Franklin. But it wasn't\nexactly breakfast that I was driving at. I think you mentioned that you\nhad something to say to me? If it's no secret, sir,\" said Betteredge,\nsuddenly abandoning the crooked way, and taking the straight one, \"I'm\nburning to know what's brought you down here, if you please, in this\nsudden way.\"\n\n\"What brought me here before?\" I asked.\n\n\"The Moonstone, Mr. Franklin. But what brings you now, sir?\"\n\n\"The Moonstone again, Betteredge.\"\n\nThe old man suddenly stood still, and looked at me in the grey twilight\nas if he suspected his own ears of deceiving him.\n\n\"If that's a joke, sir,\" he said, \"I'm afraid I'm getting a little dull\nin my old age. I don't take it.\"\n\n\"It's no joke,\" I answered. \"I have come here to take up the inquiry\nwhich was dropped when I left England. I have come here to do what\nnobody has done yet--to find out who took the Diamond.\"\n\n\"Let the Diamond be, Mr. Franklin! Take my advice, and let the Diamond\nbe! That cursed Indian jewel has misguided everybody who has come near\nit. Don't waste your money and your temper--in the fine spring time\nof your life, sir--by meddling with the Moonstone. How can YOU hope to\nsucceed (saving your presence), when Sergeant Cuff himself made a mess\nof it? Sergeant Cuff!\" repeated Betteredge, shaking his forefinger at me\nsternly. \"The greatest policeman in England!\"\n\n\"My mind is made up, my old friend. Even Sergeant Cuff doesn't daunt me.\nBy-the-bye, I may want to speak to him, sooner or later. Have you heard\nanything of him lately?\"\n\n\"The Sergeant won't help you, Mr. Franklin.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"There has been an event, sir, in the police-circles, since you went\naway. The great Cuff has retired from business. He has got a little\ncottage at Dorking; and he's up to his eyes in the growing of roses.\nI have it in his own handwriting, Mr. Franklin. He has grown the white\nmoss rose, without budding it on the dog-rose first. And Mr. Begbie the\ngardener is to go to Dorking, and own that the Sergeant has beaten him\nat last.\"\n\n\"It doesn't much matter,\" I said. \"I must do without Sergeant Cuff's\nhelp. And I must trust to you, at starting.\"\n\nIt is likely enough that I spoke rather carelessly.\n\nAt any rate, Betteredge seemed to be piqued by something in the reply\nwhich I had just made to him. \"You might trust to worse than me, Mr.\nFranklin--I can tell you that,\" he said a little sharply.\n\nThe tone in which he retorted, and a certain disturbance, after he had\nspoken, which I detected in his manner, suggested to me that he was\npossessed of some information which he hesitated to communicate.\n\n\"I expect you to help me,\" I said, \"in picking up the fragments of\nevidence which Sergeant Cuff has left behind him. I know you can do\nthat. Can you do no more?\"\n\n\"What more can you expect from me, sir?\" asked Betteredge, with an\nappearance of the utmost humility.\n\n\"I expect more--from what you said just now.\"\n\n\"Mere boasting, Mr. Franklin,\" returned the old man obstinately. \"Some\npeople are born boasters, and they never get over it to their dying day.\nI'm one of them.\"\n\nThere was only one way to take with him. I appealed to his interest in\nRachel, and his interest in me.\n\n\"Betteredge, would you be glad to hear that Rachel and I were good\nfriends again?\"\n\n\"I have served your family, sir, to mighty little purpose, if you doubt\nit!\"\n\n\"Do you remember how Rachel treated me, before I left England?\"\n\n\"As well as if it was yesterday! My lady herself wrote you a letter\nabout it; and you were so good as to show the letter to me. It said that\nMiss Rachel was mortally offended with you, for the part you had taken\nin trying to recover her jewel. And neither my lady, nor you, nor\nanybody else could guess why.\n\n\"Quite true, Betteredge! And I come back from my travels, and find her\nmortally offended with me still. I knew that the Diamond was at the\nbottom of it, last year, and I know that the Diamond is at the bottom of\nit now. I have tried to speak to her, and she won't see me. I have tried\nto write to her, and she won't answer me. How, in Heaven's name, am I\nto clear the matter up? The chance of searching into the loss of the\nMoonstone, is the one chance of inquiry that Rachel herself has left\nme.\"\n\nThose words evidently put the case before him, as he had not seen it\nyet. He asked a question which satisfied me that I had shaken him.\n\n\"There is no ill-feeling in this, Mr. Franklin, on your side--is there?\"\n\n\"There was some anger,\" I answered, \"when I left London. But that is\nall worn out now. I want to make Rachel come to an understanding with\nme--and I want nothing more.\"\n\n\"You don't feel any fear, sir--supposing you make any discoveries--in\nregard to what you may find out about Miss Rachel?\"\n\nI understood the jealous belief in his young mistress which prompted\nthose words.\n\n\"I am as certain of her as you are,\" I answered. \"The fullest disclosure\nof her secret will reveal nothing that can alter her place in your\nestimation, or in mine.\"\n\nBetteredge's last-left scruples vanished at that.\n\n\"If I am doing wrong to help you, Mr. Franklin,\" he exclaimed, \"all I\ncan say is--I am as innocent of seeing it as the babe unborn! I can put\nyou on the road to discovery, if you can only go on by yourself. You\nremember that poor girl of ours--Rosanna Spearman?\"\n\n\"Of course!\"\n\n\"You always thought she had some sort of confession in regard to this\nmatter of the Moonstone, which she wanted to make to you?\"\n\n\"I certainly couldn't account for her strange conduct in any other way.\"\n\n\"You may set that doubt at rest, Mr. Franklin, whenever you please.\"\n\nIt was my turn to come to a standstill now. I tried vainly, in the\ngathering darkness, to see his face. In the surprise of the moment, I\nasked a little impatiently what he meant.\n\n\"Steady, sir!\" proceeded Betteredge. \"I mean what I say. Rosanna\nSpearman left a sealed letter behind her--a letter addressed to YOU.\"\n\n\"Where is it?\"\n\n\"In the possession of a friend of hers, at Cobb's Hole. You must have\nheard tell, when you were here last, sir, of Limping Lucy--a lame girl\nwith a crutch.\"\n\n\"The fisherman's daughter?\"\n\n\"The same, Mr. Franklin.\"\n\n\"Why wasn't the letter forwarded to me?\"\n\n\"Limping Lucy has a will of her own, sir. She wouldn't give it into any\nhands but yours. And you had left England before I could write to you.\"\n\n\"Let's go back, Betteredge, and get it at once!\"\n\n\"Too late, sir, to-night. They're great savers of candles along our\ncoast; and they go to bed early at Cobb's Hole.\"\n\n\"Nonsense! We might get there in half an hour.\"\n\n\"You might, sir. And when you did get there, you would find the door\nlocked. He pointed to a light, glimmering below us; and, at the same\nmoment, I heard through the stillness of the evening the bubbling of a\nstream. 'There's the Farm, Mr. Franklin! Make yourself comfortable for\nto-night, and come to me to-morrow morning if you'll be so kind?'\"\n\n\"You will go with me to the fisherman's cottage?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Early?\"\n\n\"As early, Mr. Franklin, as you like.\"\n\nWe descended the path that led to the Farm.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nI have only the most indistinct recollection of what happened at\nHotherstone's Farm.\n\nI remember a hearty welcome; a prodigious supper, which would have fed a\nwhole village in the East; a delightfully clean bedroom, with nothing\nin it to regret but that detestable product of the folly of our\nfore-fathers--a feather-bed; a restless night, with much kindling\nof matches, and many lightings of one little candle; and an immense\nsensation of relief when the sun rose, and there was a prospect of\ngetting up.\n\nIt had been arranged over-night with Betteredge, that I was to call for\nhim, on our way to Cobb's Hole, as early as I liked--which, interpreted\nby my impatience to get possession of the letter, meant as early as\nI could. Without waiting for breakfast at the Farm, I took a crust of\nbread in my hand, and set forth, in some doubt whether I should not\nsurprise the excellent Betteredge in his bed. To my great relief he\nproved to be quite as excited about the coming event as I was. I found\nhim ready, and waiting for me, with his stick in his hand.\n\n\"How are you this morning, Betteredge?\"\n\n\"Very poorly, sir.\"\n\n\"Sorry to hear it. What do you complain of?\"\n\n\"I complain of a new disease, Mr. Franklin, of my own inventing. I don't\nwant to alarm you, but you're certain to catch it before the morning is\nout.\"\n\n\"The devil I am!\"\n\n\"Do you feel an uncomfortable heat at the pit of your stomach, sir? and\na nasty thumping at the top of your head? Ah! not yet? It will lay hold\nof you at Cobb's Hole, Mr. Franklin. I call it the detective-fever; and\nI first caught it in the company of Sergeant Cuff.\"\n\n\"Aye! aye! and the cure in this instance is to open Rosanna Spearman's\nletter, I suppose? Come along, and let's get it.\"\n\nEarly as it was, we found the fisherman's wife astir in her kitchen.\nOn my presentation by Betteredge, good Mrs. Yolland performed a social\nceremony, strictly reserved (as I afterwards learnt) for strangers of\ndistinction. She put a bottle of Dutch gin and a couple of clean pipes\non the table, and opened the conversation by saying, \"What news from\nLondon, sir?\"\n\nBefore I could find an answer to this immensely comprehensive question,\nan apparition advanced towards me, out of a dark corner of the kitchen.\nA wan, wild, haggard girl, with remarkably beautiful hair, and with a\nfierce keenness in her eyes, came limping up on a crutch to the table at\nwhich I was sitting, and looked at me as if I was an object of mingled\ninterest and horror, which it quite fascinated her to see.\n\n\"Mr. Betteredge,\" she said, without taking her eyes off me, \"mention his\nname again, if you please.\"\n\n\"This gentleman's name,\" answered Betteredge (with a strong emphasis on\nGENTLEMAN), \"is Mr. Franklin Blake.\"\n\nThe girl turned her back on me, and suddenly left the room. Good Mrs.\nYolland--as I believe--made some apologies for her daughter's odd\nbehaviour, and Betteredge (probably) translated them into polite\nEnglish. I speak of this in complete uncertainty. My attention was\nabsorbed in following the sound of the girl's crutch. Thump-thump,\nup the wooden stairs; thump-thump across the room above our heads;\nthump-thump down the stairs again--and there stood the apparition at the\nopen door, with a letter in its hand, beckoning me out!\n\nI left more apologies in course of delivery behind me, and followed\nthis strange creature--limping on before me, faster and faster--down\nthe slope of the beach. She led me behind some boats, out of sight and\nhearing of the few people in the fishing-village, and then stopped, and\nfaced me for the first time.\n\n\"Stand there,\" she said, \"I want to look at you.\"\n\nThere was no mistaking the expression on her face. I inspired her with\nthe strongest emotions of abhorrence and disgust. Let me not be vain\nenough to say that no woman had ever looked at me in this manner before.\nI will only venture on the more modest assertion that no woman had ever\nlet me perceive it yet. There is a limit to the length of the inspection\nwhich a man can endure, under certain circumstances. I attempted to\ndirect Limping Lucy's attention to some less revolting object than my\nface.\n\n\"I think you have got a letter to give me,\" I began. \"Is it the letter\nthere, in your hand?\"\n\n\"Say that again,\" was the only answer I received.\n\nI repeated the words, like a good child learning its lesson.\n\n\"No,\" said the girl, speaking to herself, but keeping her eyes still\nmercilessly fixed on me. \"I can't find out what she saw in his face. I\ncan't guess what she heard in his voice.\" She suddenly looked away from\nme, and rested her head wearily on the top of her crutch. \"Oh, my poor\ndear!\" she said, in the first soft tones which had fallen from her, in\nmy hearing. \"Oh, my lost darling! what could you see in this man?\" She\nlifted her head again fiercely, and looked at me once more. \"Can you eat\nand drink?\" she asked.\n\nI did my best to preserve my gravity, and answered, \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Can you sleep?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"When you see a poor girl in service, do you feel no remorse?\"\n\n\"Certainly not. Why should I?\"\n\nShe abruptly thrust the letter (as the phrase is) into my face.\n\n\"Take it!\" she exclaimed furiously. \"I never set eyes on you before. God\nAlmighty forbid I should ever set eyes on you again.\"\n\nWith those parting words she limped away from me at the top of her\nspeed. The one interpretation that I could put on her conduct has, no\ndoubt, been anticipated by everybody. I could only suppose that she was\nmad.\n\nHaving reached that inevitable conclusion, I turned to the more\ninteresting object of investigation which was presented to me by Rosanna\nSpearman's letter. The address was written as follows:--\"For Franklin\nBlake, Esq. To be given into his own hands (and not to be trusted to any\none else), by Lucy Yolland.\"\n\nI broke the seal. The envelope contained a letter: and this, in its\nturn, contained a slip of paper. I read the letter first:--\n\n\"Sir,--If you are curious to know the meaning of my behaviour to you,\nwhilst you were staying in the house of my mistress, Lady Verinder, do\nwhat you are told to do in the memorandum enclosed with this--and do it\nwithout any person being present to overlook you. Your humble servant,\n\n\"ROSANNA SPEARMAN.\"\n\nI turned to the slip of paper next. Here is the literal copy of it, word\nfor word:\n\n\"Memorandum:--To go to the Shivering Sand at the turn of the tide. To\nwalk out on the South Spit, until I get the South Spit Beacon, and\nthe flagstaff at the Coast-guard station above Cobb's Hole in a line\ntogether. To lay down on the rocks, a stick, or any straight thing to\nguide my hand, exactly in the line of the beacon and the flagstaff. To\ntake care, in doing this, that one end of the stick shall be at the edge\nof the rocks, on the side of them which overlooks the quicksand. To feel\nalong the stick, among the sea-weed (beginning from the end of the stick\nwhich points towards the beacon), for the Chain. To run my hand along\nthe Chain, when found, until I come to the part of it which stretches\nover the edge of the rocks, down into the quicksand. AND THEN TO PULL\nTHE CHAIN.\"\n\nJust as I had read the last words--underlined in the original--I heard\nthe voice of Betteredge behind me. The inventor of the detective-fever\nhad completely succumbed to that irresistible malady. \"I can't stand it\nany longer, Mr. Franklin. What does her letter say? For mercy's sake,\nsir, tell us, what does her letter say?\"\n\nI handed him the letter, and the memorandum. He read the first\nwithout appearing to be much interested in it. But the second--the\nmemorandum--produced a strong impression on him.\n\n\"The Sergeant said it!\" cried Betteredge. \"From first to last, sir, the\nSergeant said she had got a memorandum of the hiding-place. And here\nit is! Lord save us, Mr. Franklin, here is the secret that puzzled\neverybody, from the great Cuff downwards, ready and waiting, as one may\nsay, to show itself to YOU! It's the ebb now, sir, as anybody may see\nfor themselves. How long will it be till the turn of the tide?\" He\nlooked up, and observed a lad at work, at some little distance from us,\nmending a net. \"Tammie Bright!\" he shouted at the top of his voice.\n\n\"I hear you!\" Tammie shouted back.\n\n\"When's the turn of the tide?\"\n\n\"In an hour's time.\"\n\nWe both looked at our watches.\n\n\"We can go round by the coast, Mr. Franklin,\" said Betteredge; \"and get\nto the quicksand in that way with plenty of time to spare. What do you\nsay, sir?\"\n\n\"Come along!\"\n\nOn our way to the Shivering Sand, I applied to Betteredge to revive\nmy memory of events (as affecting Rosanna Spearman) at the period of\nSergeant Cuff's inquiry. With my old friend's help, I soon had the\nsuccession of circumstances clearly registered in my mind. Rosanna's\njourney to Frizinghall, when the whole household believed her to be ill\nin her own room--Rosanna's mysterious employment of the night-time with\nher door locked, and her candle burning till the morning--Rosanna's\nsuspicious purchase of the japanned tin case, and the two dog's chains\nfrom Mrs. Yolland--the Sergeant's positive conviction that Rosanna had\nhidden something at the Shivering Sand, and the Sergeant's absolute\nignorance as to what that something might be--all these strange results\nof the abortive inquiry into the loss of the Moonstone were clearly\npresent to me again, when we reached the quicksand, and walked out\ntogether on the low ledge of rocks called the South Spit.\n\nWith Betteredge's help, I soon stood in the right position to see the\nBeacon and the Coast-guard flagstaff in a line together. Following\nthe memorandum as our guide, we next laid my stick in the necessary\ndirection, as neatly as we could, on the uneven surface of the rocks.\nAnd then we looked at our watches once more.\n\nIt wanted nearly twenty minutes yet of the turn of the tide. I suggested\nwaiting through this interval on the beach, instead of on the wet and\nslippery surface of the rocks. Having reached the dry sand, I prepared\nto sit down; and, greatly to my surprise, Betteredge prepared to leave\nme.\n\n\"What are you going away for?\" I asked.\n\n\"Look at the letter again, sir, and you will see.\"\n\nA glance at the letter reminded me that I was charged, when I made my\ndiscovery, to make it alone.\n\n\"It's hard enough for me to leave you, at such a time as this,\" said\nBetteredge. \"But she died a dreadful death, poor soul--and I feel a kind\nof call on me, Mr. Franklin, to humour that fancy of hers. Besides,\"\nhe added, confidentially, \"there's nothing in the letter against\nyour letting out the secret afterwards. I'll hang about in the fir\nplantation, and wait till you pick me up. Don't be longer than you can\nhelp, sir. The detective-fever isn't an easy disease to deal with, under\nTHESE circumstances.\"\n\nWith that parting caution, he left me.\n\nThe interval of expectation, short as it was when reckoned by the\nmeasure of time, assumed formidable proportions when reckoned by\nthe measure of suspense. This was one of the occasions on which the\ninvaluable habit of smoking becomes especially precious and consolatory.\nI lit a cigar, and sat down on the slope of the beach.\n\nThe sunlight poured its unclouded beauty on every object that I could\nsee. The exquisite freshness of the air made the mere act of living and\nbreathing a luxury. Even the lonely little bay welcomed the morning\nwith a show of cheerfulness; and the bared wet surface of the quicksand\nitself, glittering with a golden brightness, hid the horror of its false\nbrown face under a passing smile. It was the finest day I had seen since\nmy return to England.\n\nThe turn of the tide came, before my cigar was finished. I saw the\npreliminary heaving of the Sand, and then the awful shiver that crept\nover its surface--as if some spirit of terror lived and moved and\nshuddered in the fathomless deeps beneath. I threw away my cigar, and\nwent back again to the rocks.\n\nMy directions in the memorandum instructed me to feel along the line\ntraced by the stick, beginning with the end which was nearest to the\nbeacon.\n\nI advanced, in this manner, more than half way along the stick, without\nencountering anything but the edges of the rocks. An inch or two further\non, however, my patience was rewarded. In a narrow little fissure, just\nwithin reach of my forefinger, I felt the chain. Attempting, next,\nto follow it, by touch, in the direction of the quicksand, I found my\nprogress stopped by a thick growth of seaweed--which had fastened itself\ninto the fissure, no doubt, in the time that had elapsed since Rosanna\nSpearman had chosen her hiding-place.\n\nIt was equally impossible to pull up the seaweed, or to force my hand\nthrough it. After marking the spot indicated by the end of the stick\nwhich was placed nearest to the quicksand, I determined to pursue\nthe search for the chain on a plan of my own. My idea was to \"sound\"\nimmediately under the rocks, on the chance of recovering the lost trace\nof the chain at the point at which it entered the sand. I took up the\nstick, and knelt down on the brink of the South Spit.\n\nIn this position, my face was within a few feet of the surface of the\nquicksand. The sight of it so near me, still disturbed at intervals by\nits hideous shivering fit, shook my nerves for the moment. A horrible\nfancy that the dead woman might appear on the scene of her suicide, to\nassist my search--an unutterable dread of seeing her rise through the\nheaving surface of the sand, and point to the place--forced itself into\nmy mind, and turned me cold in the warm sunlight. I own I closed my eyes\nat the moment when the point of the stick first entered the quicksand.\n\nThe instant afterwards, before the stick could have been submerged more\nthan a few inches, I was free from the hold of my own superstitious\nterror, and was throbbing with excitement from head to foot. Sounding\nblindfold, at my first attempt--at that first attempt I had sounded\nright! The stick struck the chain.\n\nTaking a firm hold of the roots of the seaweed with my left hand, I\nlaid myself down over the brink, and felt with my right hand under the\noverhanging edges of the rock. My right hand found the chain.\n\nI drew it up without the slightest difficulty. And there was the\njapanned tin case fastened to the end of it.\n\nThe action of the water had so rusted the chain, that it was impossible\nfor me to unfasten it from the hasp which attached it to the case.\nPutting the case between my knees and exerting my utmost strength, I\ncontrived to draw off the cover. Some white substance filled the whole\ninterior when I looked in. I put in my hand, and found it to be linen.\n\nIn drawing out the linen, I also drew out a letter crumpled up with it.\nAfter looking at the direction, and discovering that it bore my name, I\nput the letter in my pocket, and completely removed the linen. It came\nout in a thick roll, moulded, of course, to the shape of the case in\nwhich it had been so long confined, and perfectly preserved from any\ninjury by the sea.\n\nI carried the linen to the dry sand of the beach, and there unrolled and\nsmoothed it out. There was no mistaking it as an article of dress. It\nwas a nightgown.\n\nThe uppermost side, when I spread it out, presented to view innumerable\nfolds and creases, and nothing more. I tried the undermost side,\nnext--and instantly discovered the smear of the paint from the door of\nRachel's boudoir!\n\nMy eyes remained riveted on the stain, and my mind took me back at a\nleap from present to past. The very words of Sergeant Cuff recurred\nto me, as if the man himself was at my side again, pointing to the\nunanswerable inference which he drew from the smear on the door.\n\n\"Find out whether there is any article of dress in this house with the\nstain of paint on it. Find out who that dress belongs to. Find out how\nthe person can account for having been in the room, and smeared the\npaint between midnight and three in the morning. If the person can't\nsatisfy you, you haven't far to look for the hand that took the\nDiamond.\"\n\nOne after another those words travelled over my memory, repeating\nthemselves again and again with a wearisome, mechanical reiteration.\nI was roused from what felt like a trance of many hours--from what was\nreally, no doubt, the pause of a few moments only--by a voice calling\nto me. I looked up, and saw that Betteredge's patience had failed him at\nlast. He was just visible between the sandhills, returning to the beach.\n\nThe old man's appearance recalled me, the moment I perceived it, to my\nsense of present things, and reminded me that the inquiry which I had\npursued thus far still remained incomplete. I had discovered the smear\non the nightgown. To whom did the nightgown belong?\n\nMy first impulse was to consult the letter in my pocket--the letter\nwhich I had found in the case.\n\nAs I raised my hand to take it out, I remembered that there was a\nshorter way to discovery than this. The nightgown itself would reveal\nthe truth, for, in all probability, the nightgown was marked with its\nowner's name.\n\nI took it up from the sand, and looked for the mark.\n\nI found the mark, and read--MY OWN NAME.\n\nThere were the familiar letters which told me that the nightgown\nwas mine. I looked up from them. There was the sun; there were the\nglittering waters of the bay; there was old Betteredge, advancing nearer\nand nearer to me. I looked back again at the letters. My own name.\nPlainly confronting me--my own name.\n\n\"If time, pains, and money can do it, I will lay my hand on the thief\nwho took the Moonstone.\"--I had left London, with those words on my\nlips. I had penetrated the secret which the quicksand had kept from\nevery other living creature. And, on the unanswerable evidence of the\npaint-stain, I had discovered Myself as the Thief.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nI have not a word to say about my own sensations.\n\nMy impression is that the shock inflicted on me completely suspended my\nthinking and feeling power. I certainly could not have known what I was\nabout when Betteredge joined me--for I have it on his authority that I\nlaughed, when he asked what was the matter, and putting the nightgown\ninto his hands, told him to read the riddle for himself.\n\nOf what was said between us on the beach, I have not the faintest\nrecollection. The first place in which I can now see myself again\nplainly is the plantation of firs. Betteredge and I are walking back\ntogether to the house; and Betteredge is telling me that I shall be able\nto face it, and he will be able to face it, when we have had a glass of\ngrog.\n\n\n\nThe scene shifts from the plantation, to Betteredge's little\nsitting-room. My resolution not to enter Rachel's house is forgotten.\nI feel gratefully the coolness and shadiness and quiet of the room.\nI drink the grog (a perfectly new luxury to me, at that time of day),\nwhich my good old friend mixes with icy-cold water from the well. Under\nany other circumstances, the drink would simply stupefy me. As things\nare, it strings up my nerves. I begin to \"face it,\" as Betteredge has\npredicted. And Betteredge, on his side, begins to \"face it,\" too.\n\nThe picture which I am now presenting of myself, will, I suspect,\nbe thought a very strange one, to say the least of it. Placed in a\nsituation which may, I think, be described as entirely without parallel,\nwhat is the first proceeding to which I resort? Do I seclude myself\nfrom all human society? Do I set my mind to analyse the abominable\nimpossibility which, nevertheless, confronts me as an undeniable fact?\nDo I hurry back to London by the first train to consult the highest\nauthorities, and to set a searching inquiry on foot immediately? No.\nI accept the shelter of a house which I had resolved never to degrade\nmyself by entering again; and I sit, tippling spirits and water in the\ncompany of an old servant, at ten o'clock in the morning. Is this the\nconduct that might have been expected from a man placed in my horrible\nposition? I can only answer that the sight of old Betteredge's familiar\nface was an inexpressible comfort to me, and that the drinking of old\nBetteredge's grog helped me, as I believe nothing else would have helped\nme, in the state of complete bodily and mental prostration into which\nI had fallen. I can only offer this excuse for myself; and I can only\nadmire that invariable preservation of dignity, and that strictly\nlogical consistency of conduct which distinguish every man and woman who\nmay read these lines, in every emergency of their lives from the cradle\nto the grave.\n\n\"Now, Mr. Franklin, there's one thing certain, at any rate,\" said\nBetteredge, throwing the nightgown down on the table between us, and\npointing to it as if it was a living creature that could hear him. \"HE'S\na liar, to begin with.\"\n\nThis comforting view of the matter was not the view that presented\nitself to my mind.\n\n\"I am as innocent of all knowledge of having taken the Diamond as you\nare,\" I said. \"But there is the witness against me! The paint on the\nnightgown, and the name on the nightgown are facts.\"\n\nBetteredge lifted my glass, and put it persuasively into my hand.\n\n\"Facts?\" he repeated. \"Take a drop more grog, Mr. Franklin, and you'll\nget over the weakness of believing in facts! Foul play, sir!\" he\ncontinued, dropping his voice confidentially. \"That is how I read the\nriddle. Foul play somewhere--and you and I must find it out. Was there\nnothing else in the tin case, when you put your hand into it?\"\n\nThe question instantly reminded me of the letter in my pocket. I took\nit out, and opened it. It was a letter of many pages, closely written. I\nlooked impatiently for the signature at the end. \"Rosanna Spearman.\"\n\nAs I read the name, a sudden remembrance illuminated my mind, and a\nsudden suspicion rose out of the new light.\n\n\"Stop!\" I exclaimed. \"Rosanna Spearman came to my aunt out of a\nreformatory? Rosanna Spearman had once been a thief?\"\n\n\"There's no denying that, Mr. Franklin. What of it now, if you please?\"\n\n\"What of it now? How do we know she may not have stolen the Diamond\nafter all? How do we know she may not have smeared my nightgown\npurposely with the paint?\"\n\nBetteredge laid his hand on my arm, and stopped me before I could say\nany more.\n\n\"You will be cleared of this, Mr. Franklin, beyond all doubt. But I\nhope you won't be cleared in THAT way. See what the letter says, sir. In\njustice to the girl's memory, see what it says.\"\n\nI felt the earnestness with which he spoke--felt it as a friendly rebuke\nto me. \"You shall form your own judgment on her letter,\" I said. \"I will\nread it out.\"\n\nI began--and read these lines:\n\n\"Sir--I have something to own to you. A confession which means much\nmisery, may sometimes be made in very few words. This confession can be\nmade in three words. I love you.\"\n\nThe letter dropped from my hand. I looked at Betteredge. \"In the name of\nHeaven,\" I said, \"what does it mean?\"\n\nHe seemed to shrink from answering the question.\n\n\"You and Limping Lucy were alone together this morning, sir,\" he said.\n\"Did she say nothing about Rosanna Spearman?\"\n\n\"She never even mentioned Rosanna Spearman's name.\"\n\n\"Please to go back to the letter, Mr. Franklin. I tell you plainly, I\ncan't find it in my heart to distress you, after what you have had to\nbear already. Let her speak for herself, sir. And get on with your grog.\nFor your own sake, get on with your grog.\"\n\nI resumed the reading of the letter.\n\n\"It would be very disgraceful to me to tell you this, if I was a living\nwoman when you read it. I shall be dead and gone, sir, when you find my\nletter. It is that which makes me bold. Not even my grave will be left\nto tell of me. I may own the truth--with the quicksand waiting to hide\nme when the words are written.\n\n\"Besides, you will find your nightgown in my hiding-place, with the\nsmear of the paint on it; and you will want to know how it came to be\nhidden by me? and why I said nothing to you about it in my life-time?\nI have only one reason to give. I did these strange things, because I\nloved you.\n\n\"I won't trouble you with much about myself, or my life, before you came\nto my lady's house. Lady Verinder took me out of a reformatory. I\nhad gone to the reformatory from the prison. I was put in the prison,\nbecause I was a thief. I was a thief, because my mother went on the\nstreets when I was quite a little girl. My mother went on the streets,\nbecause the gentleman who was my father deserted her. There is no need\nto tell such a common story as this, at any length. It is told quite\noften enough in the newspapers.\n\n\"Lady Verinder was very kind to me, and Mr. Betteredge was very kind\nto me. Those two, and the matron at the reformatory, are the only good\npeople I have ever met with in all my life. I might have got on in\nmy place--not happily--but I might have got on, if you had not come\nvisiting. I don't blame you, sir. It's my fault--all my fault.\n\n\"Do you remember when you came out on us from among the sand hills,\nthat morning, looking for Mr. Betteredge? You were like a prince in\na fairy-story. You were like a lover in a dream. You were the most\nadorable human creature I had ever seen. Something that felt like the\nhappy life I had never led yet, leapt up in me at the instant I set eyes\non you. Don't laugh at this if you can help it. Oh, if I could only make\nyou feel how serious it is to ME!\n\n\"I went back to the house, and wrote your name and mine in my work-box,\nand drew a true lovers' knot under them. Then, some devil--no, I ought\nto say some good angel--whispered to me, 'Go and look in the glass.' The\nglass told me--never mind what. I was too foolish to take the warning.\nI went on getting fonder and fonder of you, just as if I was a lady in\nyour own rank of life, and the most beautiful creature your eyes ever\nrested on. I tried--oh, dear, how I tried--to get you to look at me.\nIf you had known how I used to cry at night with the misery and the\nmortification of your never taking any notice of me, you would have\npitied me perhaps, and have given me a look now and then to live on.\n\n\"It would have been no very kind look, perhaps, if you had known how\nI hated Miss Rachel. I believe I found out you were in love with her,\nbefore you knew it yourself. She used to give you roses to wear in your\nbutton-hole. Ah, Mr. Franklin, you wore my roses oftener than either you\nor she thought! The only comfort I had at that time, was putting my rose\nsecretly in your glass of water, in place of hers--and then throwing her\nrose away.\n\n\"If she had been really as pretty as you thought her, I might have borne\nit better. No; I believe I should have been more spiteful against her\nstill. Suppose you put Miss Rachel into a servant's dress, and took her\nornaments off? I don't know what is the use of my writing in this way.\nIt can't be denied that she had a bad figure; she was too thin. But\nwho can tell what the men like? And young ladies may behave in a manner\nwhich would cost a servant her place. It's no business of mine. I can't\nexpect you to read my letter, if I write it in this way. But it does\nstir one up to hear Miss Rachel called pretty, when one knows all the\ntime that it's her dress does it, and her confidence in herself.\n\n\"Try not to lose patience with me, sir. I will get on as fast as I can\nto the time which is sure to interest you--the time when the Diamond was\nlost.\n\n\"But there is one thing which I have got it on my mind to tell you\nfirst.\n\n\"My life was not a very hard life to bear, while I was a thief. It\nwas only when they had taught me at the reformatory to feel my own\ndegradation, and to try for better things, that the days grew long and\nweary. Thoughts of the future forced themselves on me now. I felt\nthe dreadful reproach that honest people--even the kindest of honest\npeople--were to me in themselves. A heart-breaking sensation of\nloneliness kept with me, go where I might, and do what I might, and see\nwhat persons I might. It was my duty, I know, to try and get on with my\nfellow-servants in my new place. Somehow, I couldn't make friends with\nthem. They looked (or I thought they looked) as if they suspected what\nI had been. I don't regret, far from it, having been roused to make the\neffort to be a reformed woman--but, indeed, indeed it was a weary life.\nYou had come across it like a beam of sunshine at first--and then you\ntoo failed me. I was mad enough to love you; and I couldn't even attract\nyour notice. There was great misery--there really was great misery in\nthat.\n\n\"Now I am coming to what I wanted to tell you. In those days of\nbitterness, I went two or three times, when it was my turn to go out,\nto my favourite place--the beach above the Shivering Sand. And I said to\nmyself, 'I think it will end here. When I can bear it no longer, I think\nit will end here.' You will understand, sir, that the place had laid\na kind of spell on me before you came. I had always had a notion that\nsomething would happen to me at the quicksand. But I had never looked\nat it, with the thought of its being the means of my making away with\nmyself, till the time came of which I am now writing. Then I did think\nthat here was a place which would end all my troubles for me in a moment\nor two--and hide me for ever afterwards.\n\n\"This is all I have to say about myself, reckoning from the morning when\nI first saw you, to the morning when the alarm was raised in the house\nthat the Diamond was lost.\n\n\"I was so aggravated by the foolish talk among the women servants, all\nwondering who was to be suspected first; and I was so angry with you\n(knowing no better at that time) for the pains you took in hunting for\nthe jewel, and sending for the police, that I kept as much as\npossible away by myself, until later in the day, when the officer from\nFrizinghall came to the house.\n\n\"Mr. Seegrave began, as you may remember, by setting a guard on the\nwomen's bedrooms; and the women all followed him up-stairs in a rage,\nto know what he meant by the insult he had put on them. I went with\nthe rest, because if I had done anything different from the rest, Mr.\nSeegrave was the sort of man who would have suspected me directly. We\nfound him in Miss Rachel's room. He told us he wouldn't have a lot of\nwomen there; and he pointed to the smear on the painted door, and\nsaid some of our petticoats had done the mischief, and sent us all\ndown-stairs again.\n\n\"After leaving Miss Rachel's room, I stopped a moment on one of the\nlandings, by myself, to see if I had got the paint-stain by any chance\non MY gown. Penelope Betteredge (the only one of the women with whom I\nwas on friendly terms) passed, and noticed what I was about.\n\n\"'You needn't trouble yourself, Rosanna,' she said. 'The paint on Miss\nRachel's door has been dry for hours. If Mr. Seegrave hadn't set a watch\non our bedrooms, I might have told him as much. I don't know what you\nthink--I was never so insulted before in my life!'\n\n\"Penelope was a hot-tempered girl. I quieted her, and brought her back\nto what she had said about the paint on the door having been dry for\nhours.\n\n\"'How do you know that?' I asked.\n\n\"'I was with Miss Rachel, and Mr. Franklin, all yesterday morning,'\nPenelope said, 'mixing the colours, while they finished the door. I\nheard Miss Rachel ask whether the door would be dry that evening, in\ntime for the birthday company to see it. And Mr. Franklin shook his\nhead, and said it wouldn't be dry in less than twelve hours. It was long\npast luncheon-time--it was three o'clock before they had done. What does\nyour arithmetic say, Rosanna? Mine says the door was dry by three this\nmorning.'\n\n\"'Did some of the ladies go up-stairs yesterday evening to see it?' I\nasked. 'I thought I heard Miss Rachel warning them to keep clear of the\ndoor.'\n\n\"'None of the ladies made the smear,' Penelope answered. 'I left Miss\nRachel in bed at twelve last night. And I noticed the door, and there\nwas nothing wrong with it then.'\n\n\"'Oughtn't you to mention this to Mr. Seegrave, Penelope?'\n\n\"'I wouldn't say a word to help Mr. Seegrave for anything that could be\noffered to me!'\n\n\"She went to her work, and I went to mine.\"\n\n\"My work, sir, was to make your bed, and to put your room tidy. It was\nthe happiest hour I had in the whole day. I used to kiss the pillow on\nwhich your head had rested all night. No matter who has done it since,\nyou have never had your clothes folded as nicely as I folded them for\nyou. Of all the little knick-knacks in your dressing-case, there wasn't\none that had so much as a speck on it. You never noticed it, any more\nthan you noticed me. I beg your pardon; I am forgetting myself. I will\nmake haste, and go on again.\n\n\"Well, I went in that morning to do my work in your room. There was your\nnightgown tossed across the bed, just as you had thrown it off. I took\nit up to fold it--and I saw the stain of the paint from Miss Rachel's\ndoor!\n\n\"I was so startled by the discovery that I ran out with the nightgown\nin my hand, and made for the back stairs, and locked myself into my own\nroom, to look at it in a place where nobody could intrude and interrupt\nme.\n\n\"As soon as I got my breath again, I called to mind my talk with\nPenelope, and I said to myself, 'Here's the proof that he was in\nMiss Rachel's sitting-room between twelve last night, and three this\nmorning!'\n\n\"I shall not tell you in plain words what was the first suspicion that\ncrossed my mind, when I had made that discovery. You would only be\nangry--and, if you were angry, you might tear my letter up and read no\nmore of it.\n\n\"Let it be enough, if you please, to say only this. After thinking it\nover to the best of my ability, I made it out that the thing wasn't\nlikely, for a reason that I will tell you. If you had been in Miss\nRachel's sitting-room, at that time of night, with Miss Rachel's\nknowledge (and if you had been foolish enough to forget to take care of\nthe wet door) SHE would have reminded you--SHE would never have let you\ncarry away such a witness against her, as the witness I was looking at\nnow! At the same time, I own I was not completely certain in my own\nmind that I had proved my own suspicion to be wrong. You will not have\nforgotten that I have owned to hating Miss Rachel. Try to think, if you\ncan, that there was a little of that hatred in all this. It ended in my\ndetermining to keep the nightgown, and to wait, and watch, and see what\nuse I might make of it. At that time, please to remember, not the ghost\nof an idea entered my head that you had stolen the Diamond.\"\n\nThere, I broke off in the reading of the letter for the second time.\n\nI had read those portions of the miserable woman's confession which\nrelated to myself, with unaffected surprise, and, I can honestly add,\nwith sincere distress. I had regretted, truly regretted, the aspersion\nwhich I had thoughtlessly cast on her memory, before I had seen a line\nof her letter. But when I had advanced as far as the passage which is\nquoted above, I own I felt my mind growing bitterer and bitterer against\nRosanna Spearman as I went on. \"Read the rest for yourself,\" I said,\nhanding the letter to Betteredge across the table. \"If there is anything\nin it that I must look at, you can tell me as you go on.\"\n\n\"I understand you, Mr. Franklin,\" he answered. \"It's natural, sir, in\nYOU. And, God help us all!\" he added, in a lower tone, \"it's no less\nnatural in HER.\"\n\nI proceed to copy the continuation of the letter from the original, in\nmy own possession:--\n\n\"Having determined to keep the nightgown, and to see what use my love,\nor my revenge (I hardly know which) could turn it to in the future,\nthe next thing to discover was how to keep it without the risk of being\nfound out.\n\n\"There was only one way--to make another nightgown exactly like it,\nbefore Saturday came, and brought the laundry-woman and her inventory to\nthe house.\n\n\"I was afraid to put it off till next day (the Friday); being in doubt\nlest some accident might happen in the interval. I determined to make\nthe new nightgown on that same day (the Thursday), while I could count,\nif I played my cards properly, on having my time to myself. The first\nthing to do (after locking up your nightgown in my drawer) was to go\nback to your bed-room--not so much to put it to rights (Penelope would\nhave done that for me, if I had asked her) as to find out whether you\nhad smeared off any of the paint-stain from your nightgown, on the bed,\nor on any piece of furniture in the room.\n\n\"I examined everything narrowly, and at last, I found a few streaks\nof the paint on the inside of your dressing-gown--not the linen\ndressing-gown you usually wore in that summer season, but a flannel\ndressing-gown which you had with you also. I suppose you felt chilly\nafter walking to and fro in nothing but your nightdress, and put on the\nwarmest thing you could find. At any rate, there were the stains, just\nvisible, on the inside of the dressing-gown. I easily got rid of these\nby scraping away the stuff of the flannel. This done, the only proof\nleft against you was the proof locked up in my drawer.\n\n\"I had just finished your room when I was sent for to be questioned\nby Mr. Seegrave, along with the rest of the servants. Next came the\nexamination of all our boxes. And then followed the most extraordinary\nevent of the day--to ME--since I had found the paint on your nightgown.\nThis event came out of the second questioning of Penelope Betteredge by\nSuperintendent Seegrave.\n\n\"Penelope returned to us quite beside herself with rage at the manner\nin which Mr. Seegrave had treated her. He had hinted, beyond the\npossibility of mistaking him, that he suspected her of being the thief.\nWe were all equally astonished at hearing this, and we all asked, Why?\n\n\"'Because the Diamond was in Miss Rachel's sitting-room,\" Penelope\nanswered. \"And because I was the last person in the sitting-room at\nnight!\"\n\n\"Almost before the words had left her lips, I remembered that another\nperson had been in the sitting-room later than Penelope. That person\nwas yourself. My head whirled round, and my thoughts were in dreadful\nconfusion. In the midst of it all, something in my mind whispered to me\nthat the smear on your nightgown might have a meaning entirely different\nto the meaning which I had given to it up to that time. 'If the last\nperson who was in the room is the person to be suspected,' I thought to\nmyself, 'the thief is not Penelope, but Mr. Franklin Blake!'\n\n\"In the case of any other gentleman, I believe I should have been\nashamed of suspecting him of theft, almost as soon as the suspicion had\npassed through my mind.\n\n\"But the bare thought that YOU had let yourself down to my level, and\nthat I, in possessing myself of your nightgown, had also possessed\nmyself of the means of shielding you from being discovered, and\ndisgraced for life--I say, sir, the bare thought of this seemed to\nopen such a chance before me of winning your good will, that I passed\nblindfold, as one may say, from suspecting to believing. I made up my\nmind, on the spot, that you had shown yourself the busiest of anybody\nin fetching the police, as a blind to deceive us all; and that the hand\nwhich had taken Miss Rachel's jewel could by no possibility be any other\nhand than yours.\n\n\"The excitement of this new discovery of mine must, I think, have turned\nmy head for a while. I felt such a devouring eagerness to see you--to\ntry you with a word or two about the Diamond, and to MAKE you look at\nme, and speak to me, in that way--that I put my hair tidy, and made\nmyself as nice as I could, and went to you boldly in the library where I\nknew you were writing.\n\n\"You had left one of your rings up-stairs, which made as good an excuse\nfor my intrusion as I could have desired. But, oh, sir! if you have ever\nloved, you will understand how it was that all my courage cooled, when\nI walked into the room, and found myself in your presence. And then, you\nlooked up at me so coldly, and you thanked me for finding your ring in\nsuch an indifferent manner, that my knees trembled under me, and I felt\nas if I should drop on the floor at your feet. When you had thanked me,\nyou looked back, if you remember, at your writing. I was so mortified at\nbeing treated in this way, that I plucked up spirit enough to speak. I\nsaid, 'This is a strange thing about the Diamond, sir.' And you looked\nup again, and said, 'Yes, it is!' You spoke civilly (I can't deny that);\nbut still you kept a distance--a cruel distance between us. Believing,\nas I did, that you had got the lost Diamond hidden about you, while you\nwere speaking, your coolness so provoked me that I got bold enough, in\nthe heat of the moment, to give you a hint. I said, 'They will never\nfind the Diamond, sir, will they? No! nor the person who took it--I'll\nanswer for that.' I nodded, and smiled at you, as much as to say, 'I\nknow!' THIS time, you looked up at me with something like interest in\nyour eyes; and I felt that a few more words on your side and mine might\nbring out the truth. Just at that moment, Mr. Betteredge spoilt it all\nby coming to the door. I knew his footstep, and I also knew that it was\nagainst his rules for me to be in the library at that time of day--let\nalone being there along with you. I had only just time to get out of my\nown accord, before he could come in and tell me to go. I was angry and\ndisappointed; but I was not entirely without hope for all that. The ice,\nyou see, was broken between us--and I thought I would take care, on the\nnext occasion, that Mr. Betteredge was out of the way.\n\n\"When I got back to the servants' hall, the bell was going for our\ndinner. Afternoon already! and the materials for making the new\nnightgown were still to be got! There was but one chance of getting\nthem. I shammed ill at dinner; and so secured the whole of the interval\nfrom then till tea-time to my own use.\n\n\"What I was about, while the household believed me to be lying down\nin my own room; and how I spent the night, after shamming ill again at\ntea-time, and having been sent up to bed, there is no need to tell you.\nSergeant Cuff discovered that much, if he discovered nothing more. And\nI can guess how. I was detected (though I kept my veil down) in the\ndraper's shop at Frizinghall. There was a glass in front of me, at the\ncounter where I was buying the longcloth; and--in that glass--I saw one\nof the shopmen point to my shoulder and whisper to another. At night\nagain, when I was secretly at work, locked into my room, I heard the\nbreathing of the women servants who suspected me, outside my door.\n\n\"It didn't matter then; it doesn't matter now. On the Friday morning,\nhours before Sergeant Cuff entered the house, there was the new\nnightgown--to make up your number in place of the nightgown that I had\ngot--made, wrung out, dried, ironed, marked, and folded as the laundry\nwoman folded all the others, safe in your drawer. There was no fear (if\nthe linen in the house was examined) of the newness of the nightgown\nbetraying me. All your underclothing had been renewed, when you came to\nour house--I suppose on your return home from foreign parts.\n\n\"The next thing was the arrival of Sergeant Cuff; and the next great\nsurprise was the announcement of what HE thought about the smear on the\ndoor.\n\n\"I had believed you to be guilty (as I have owned), more because I\nwanted you to be guilty than for any other reason. And now, the Sergeant\nhad come round by a totally different way to the same conclusion\n(respecting the nightgown) as mine! And I had got the dress that was\nthe only proof against you! And not a living creature knew it--yourself\nincluded! I am afraid to tell you how I felt when I called these things\nto mind--you would hate my memory for ever afterwards.\"\n\nAt that place, Betteredge looked up from the letter.\n\n\"Not a glimmer of light so far, Mr. Franklin,\" said the old man, taking\noff his heavy tortoiseshell spectacles, and pushing Rosanna Spearman's\nconfession a little away from him. \"Have you come to any conclusion,\nsir, in your own mind, while I have been reading?\"\n\n\"Finish the letter first, Betteredge; there may be something to\nenlighten us at the end of it. I shall have a word or two to say to you\nafter that.\"\n\n\"Very good, sir. I'll just rest my eyes, and then I'll go on again. In\nthe meantime, Mr. Franklin--I don't want to hurry you--but would you\nmind telling me, in one word, whether you see your way out of this\ndreadful mess yet?\"\n\n\"I see my way back to London,\" I said, \"to consult Mr. Bruff. If he\ncan't help me----\"\n\n\"Yes, sir?\"\n\n\"And if the Sergeant won't leave his retirement at Dorking----\"\n\n\"He won't, Mr. Franklin!\"\n\n\"Then, Betteredge--as far as I can see now--I am at the end of my\nresources. After Mr. Bruff and the Sergeant, I don't know of a living\ncreature who can be of the slightest use to me.\"\n\nAs the words passed my lips, some person outside knocked at the door of\nthe room.\n\nBetteredge looked surprised as well as annoyed by the interruption.\n\n\"Come in,\" he called out, irritably, \"whoever you are!\"\n\nThe door opened, and there entered to us, quietly, the most\nremarkable-looking man that I had ever seen. Judging him by his figure\nand his movements, he was still young. Judging him by his face, and\ncomparing him with Betteredge, he looked the elder of the two. His\ncomplexion was of a gipsy darkness; his fleshless cheeks had fallen into\ndeep hollows, over which the bone projected like a pent-house. His nose\npresented the fine shape and modelling so often found among the ancient\npeople of the East, so seldom visible among the newer races of the\nWest. His forehead rose high and straight from the brow. His marks and\nwrinkles were innumerable. From this strange face, eyes, stranger still,\nof the softest brown--eyes dreamy and mournful, and deeply sunk in\ntheir orbits--looked out at you, and (in my case, at least) took\nyour attention captive at their will. Add to this a quantity of thick\nclosely-curling hair, which, by some freak of Nature, had lost its\ncolour in the most startlingly partial and capricious manner. Over the\ntop of his head it was still of the deep black which was its natural\ncolour. Round the sides of his head--without the slightest gradation\nof grey to break the force of the extraordinary contrast--it had turned\ncompletely white. The line between the two colours preserved no sort\nof regularity. At one place, the white hair ran up into the black; at\nanother, the black hair ran down into the white. I looked at the man\nwith a curiosity which, I am ashamed to say, I found it quite impossible\nto control. His soft brown eyes looked back at me gently; and he met\nmy involuntary rudeness in staring at him, with an apology which I was\nconscious that I had not deserved.\n\n\"I beg your pardon,\" he said. \"I had no idea that Mr. Betteredge was\nengaged.\" He took a slip of paper from his pocket, and handed it to\nBetteredge. \"The list for next week,\" he said. His eyes just rested on\nme again--and he left the room as quietly as he had entered it.\n\n\"Who is that?\" I asked.\n\n\"Mr. Candy's assistant,\" said Betteredge. \"By-the-bye, Mr. Franklin, you\nwill be sorry to hear that the little doctor has never recovered that\nillness he caught, going home from the birthday dinner. He's pretty\nwell in health; but he lost his memory in the fever, and he has never\nrecovered more than the wreck of it since. The work all falls on his\nassistant. Not much of it now, except among the poor. THEY can't help\nthemselves, you know. THEY must put up with the man with the piebald\nhair, and the gipsy complexion--or they would get no doctoring at all.\"\n\n\"You don't seem to like him, Betteredge?\"\n\n\"Nobody likes him, sir.\"\n\n\"Why is he so unpopular?\"\n\n\"Well, Mr. Franklin, his appearance is against him, to begin with.\nAnd then there's a story that Mr. Candy took him with a very doubtful\ncharacter. Nobody knows who he is--and he hasn't a friend in the place.\nHow can you expect one to like him, after that?\"\n\n\"Quite impossible, of course! May I ask what he wanted with you, when he\ngave you that bit of paper?\"\n\n\"Only to bring me the weekly list of the sick people about here,\nsir, who stand in need of a little wine. My lady always had a regular\ndistribution of good sound port and sherry among the infirm poor; and\nMiss Rachel wishes the custom to be kept up. Times have changed! times\nhave changed! I remember when Mr. Candy himself brought the list to my\nmistress. Now it's Mr. Candy's assistant who brings the list to me.\nI'll go on with the letter, if you will allow me, sir,\" said Betteredge,\ndrawing Rosanna Spearman's confession back to him. \"It isn't lively\nreading, I grant you. But, there! it keeps me from getting sour with\nthinking of the past.\" He put on his spectacles, and wagged his head\ngloomily. \"There's a bottom of good sense, Mr. Franklin, in our conduct\nto our mothers, when they first start us on the journey of life. We are\nall of us more or less unwilling to be brought into the world. And we\nare all of us right.\"\n\nMr. Candy's assistant had produced too strong an impression on me to\nbe immediately dismissed from my thoughts. I passed over the last\nunanswerable utterance of the Betteredge philosophy; and returned to the\nsubject of the man with the piebald hair.\n\n\"What is his name?\" I asked.\n\n\"As ugly a name as need be,\" Betteredge answered gruffly. \"Ezra\nJennings.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nHaving told me the name of Mr. Candy's assistant, Betteredge appeared to\nthink that we had wasted enough of our time on an insignificant subject.\nHe resumed the perusal of Rosanna Spearman's letter.\n\nOn my side, I sat at the window, waiting until he had done. Little\nby little, the impression produced on me by Ezra Jennings--it seemed\nperfectly unaccountable, in such a situation as mine, that any human\nbeing should have produced an impression on me at all!--faded from my\nmind. My thoughts flowed back into their former channel. Once more, I\nforced myself to look my own incredible position resolutely in the face.\nOnce more, I reviewed in my own mind the course which I had at last\nsummoned composure enough to plan out for the future.\n\nTo go back to London that day; to put the whole case before Mr. Bruff;\nand, last and most important, to obtain (no matter by what means or at\nwhat sacrifice) a personal interview with Rachel--this was my plan of\naction, so far as I was capable of forming it at the time. There was\nmore than an hour still to spare before the train started. And there was\nthe bare chance that Betteredge might discover something in the unread\nportion of Rosanna Spearman's letter, which it might be useful for me\nto know before I left the house in which the Diamond had been lost. For\nthat chance I was now waiting.\n\nThe letter ended in these terms:\n\n\"You have no need to be angry, Mr. Franklin, even if I did feel some\nlittle triumph at knowing that I held all your prospects in life in\nmy own hands. Anxieties and fears soon came back to me. With the view\nSergeant Cuff took of the loss of the Diamond, he would be sure to\nend in examining our linen and our dresses. There was no place in my\nroom--there was no place in the house--which I could feel satisfied\nwould be safe from him. How to hide the nightgown so that not even the\nSergeant could find it? and how to do that without losing one moment\nof precious time?--these were not easy questions to answer. My\nuncertainties ended in my taking a way that may make you laugh. I\nundressed, and put the nightgown on me. You had worn it--and I had\nanother little moment of pleasure in wearing it after you.\n\n\"The next news that reached us in the servants' hall showed that I had\nnot made sure of the nightgown a moment too soon. Sergeant Cuff wanted\nto see the washing-book.\n\n\"I found it, and took it to him in my lady's sitting-room. The Sergeant\nand I had come across each other more than once in former days. I was\ncertain he would know me again--and I was NOT certain of what he might\ndo when he found me employed as servant in a house in which a valuable\njewel had been lost. In this suspense, I felt it would be a relief to me\nto get the meeting between us over, and to know the worst of it at once.\n\n\"He looked at me as if I was a stranger, when I handed him the\nwashing-book; and he was very specially polite in thanking me for\nbringing it. I thought those were both bad signs. There was no knowing\nwhat he might say of me behind my back; there was no knowing how soon\nI might not find myself taken in custody on suspicion, and searched. It\nwas then time for your return from seeing Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite off by\nthe railway; and I went to your favourite walk in the shrubbery, to try\nfor another chance of speaking to you--the last chance, for all I knew\nto the contrary, that I might have.\n\n\"You never appeared; and, what was worse still, Mr. Betteredge and\nSergeant Cuff passed by the place where I was hiding--and the Sergeant\nsaw me.\n\n\"I had no choice, after that, but to return to my proper place and my\nproper work, before more disasters happened to me. Just as I was going\nto step across the path, you came back from the railway. You were making\nstraight for the shrubbery, when you saw me--I am certain, sir, you saw\nme--and you turned away as if I had got the plague, and went into the\nhouse.*\n\n     * NOTE: by Franklin Blake.--The writer is entirely mistaken,\n     poor creature. I never noticed her. My intention was\n     certainly to have taken a turn in the shrubbery. But,\n     remembering at the same moment that my aunt might wish to\n     see me, after my return from the railway, I altered my mind,\n     and went into the house.\n\n\"I made the best of my way indoors again, returning by the servants'\nentrance. There was nobody in the laundry-room at that time; and I sat\ndown there alone. I have told you already of the thoughts which the\nShivering Sand put into my head. Those thoughts came back to me now. I\nwondered in myself which it would be harder to do, if things went on in\nthis manner--to bear Mr. Franklin Blake's indifference to me, or to jump\ninto the quicksand and end it for ever in that way?\n\n\"It's useless to ask me to account for my own conduct, at this time. I\ntry--and I can't understand it myself.\n\n\"Why didn't I stop you, when you avoided me in that cruel manner? Why\ndidn't I call out, 'Mr. Franklin, I have got something to say to you;\nit concerns yourself, and you must, and shall, hear it?' You were at\nmy mercy--I had got the whip-hand of you, as they say. And better than\nthat, I had the means (if I could only make you trust me) of being\nuseful to you in the future. Of course, I never supposed that you--a\ngentleman--had stolen the Diamond for the mere pleasure of stealing it.\nNo. Penelope had heard Miss Rachel, and I had heard Mr. Betteredge, talk\nabout your extravagance and your debts. It was plain enough to me that\nyou had taken the Diamond to sell it, or pledge it, and so to get the\nmoney of which you stood in need. Well! I could have told you of a man\nin London who would have advanced a good large sum on the jewel, and who\nwould have asked no awkward questions about it either.\n\n\"Why didn't I speak to you! why didn't I speak to you!\n\n\"I wonder whether the risks and difficulties of keeping the nightgown\nwere as much as I could manage, without having other risks and\ndifficulties added to them? This might have been the case with some\nwomen--but how could it be the case with me? In the days when I was\na thief, I had run fifty times greater risks, and found my way out of\ndifficulties to which THIS difficulty was mere child's play. I had been\napprenticed, as you may say, to frauds and deceptions--some of them on\nsuch a grand scale, and managed so cleverly, that they became famous,\nand appeared in the newspapers. Was such a little thing as the keeping\nof the nightgown likely to weigh on my spirits, and to set my heart\nsinking within me, at the time when I ought to have spoken to you? What\nnonsense to ask the question! The thing couldn't be.\n\n\"Where is the use of my dwelling in this way on my own folly? The plain\ntruth is plain enough, surely? Behind your back, I loved you with all\nmy heart and soul. Before your face--there's no denying it--I was\nfrightened of you; frightened of making you angry with me; frightened\nof what you might say to me (though you HAD taken the Diamond) if I\npresumed to tell you that I had found it out. I had gone as near to it\nas I dared when I spoke to you in the library. You had not turned your\nback on me then. You had not started away from me as if I had got the\nplague. I tried to provoke myself into feeling angry with you, and to\nrouse up my courage in that way. No! I couldn't feel anything but the\nmisery and the mortification of it. You're a plain girl; you have got\na crooked shoulder; you're only a housemaid--what do you mean by\nattempting to speak to Me?\" You never uttered a word of that, Mr.\nFranklin; but you said it all to me, nevertheless! Is such madness as\nthis to be accounted for? No. There is nothing to be done but to confess\nit, and let it be.\n\n\"I ask your pardon, once more, for this wandering of my pen. There is no\nfear of its happening again. I am close at the end now.\n\n\"The first person who disturbed me by coming into the empty room was\nPenelope. She had found out my secret long since, and she had done her\nbest to bring me to my senses--and done it kindly too.\n\n\"'Ah!' she said, 'I know why you're sitting here, and fretting, all by\nyourself. The best thing that can happen for your advantage, Rosanna,\nwill be for Mr. Franklin's visit here to come to an end. It's my belief\nthat he won't be long now before he leaves the house.\"\n\n\"In all my thoughts of you I had never thought of your going away. I\ncouldn't speak to Penelope. I could only look at her.\n\n\"'I've just left Miss Rachel,' Penelope went on. 'And a hard matter\nI have had of it to put up with her temper. She says the house is\nunbearable to her with the police in it; and she's determined to speak\nto my lady this evening, and to go to her Aunt Ablewhite to-morrow. If\nshe does that, Mr. Franklin will be the next to find a reason for going\naway, you may depend on it!'\n\n\"I recovered the use of my tongue at that. 'Do you mean to say Mr.\nFranklin will go with her?' I asked.\n\n\"'Only too gladly, if she would let him; but she won't. HE has been made\nto feel her temper; HE is in her black books too--and that after having\ndone all he can to help her, poor fellow! No! no! If they don't make\nit up before to-morrow, you will see Miss Rachel go one way, and Mr.\nFranklin another. Where he may betake himself to I can't say. But he\nwill never stay here, Rosanna, after Miss Rachel has left us.'\n\n\"I managed to master the despair I felt at the prospect of your going\naway. To own the truth, I saw a little glimpse of hope for myself if\nthere was really a serious disagreement between Miss Rachel and you. 'Do\nyou know,' I asked, 'what the quarrel is between them?'\n\n\"'It is all on Miss Rachel's side,' Penelope said. 'And, for anything I\nknow to the contrary, it's all Miss Rachel's temper, and nothing else.\nI am loth to distress you, Rosanna; but don't run away with the notion\nthat Mr. Franklin is ever likely to quarrel with HER. He's a great deal\ntoo fond of her for that!'\n\n\"She had only just spoken those cruel words when there came a call to\nus from Mr. Betteredge. All the indoor servants were to assemble in the\nhall. And then we were to go in, one by one, and be questioned in Mr.\nBetteredge's room by Sergeant Cuff.\n\n\"It came to my turn to go in, after her ladyship's maid and the upper\nhousemaid had been questioned first. Sergeant Cuff's inquiries--though\nhe wrapped them up very cunningly--soon showed me that those two women\n(the bitterest enemies I had in the house) had made their discoveries\noutside my door, on the Tuesday afternoon, and again on the Thursday\nnight. They had told the Sergeant enough to open his eyes to some\npart of the truth. He rightly believed me to have made a new nightgown\nsecretly, but he wrongly believed the paint-stained nightgown to be\nmine. I felt satisfied of another thing, from what he said, which it\npuzzled me to understand. He suspected me, of course, of being concerned\nin the disappearance of the Diamond. But, at the same time, he let me\nsee--purposely, as I thought--that he did not consider me as the person\nchiefly answerable for the loss of the jewel. He appeared to think that\nI had been acting under the direction of somebody else. Who that person\nmight be, I couldn't guess then, and can't guess now.\n\n\"In this uncertainty, one thing was plain--that Sergeant Cuff was\nmiles away from knowing the whole truth. You were safe as long as the\nnightgown was safe--and not a moment longer.\n\n\"I quite despair of making you understand the distress and terror which\npressed upon me now. It was impossible for me to risk wearing your\nnightgown any longer. I might find myself taken off, at a moment's\nnotice, to the police court at Frizinghall, to be charged on suspicion,\nand searched accordingly. While Sergeant Cuff still left me free, I had\nto choose--and at once--between destroying the nightgown, or hiding it\nin some safe place, at some safe distance from the house.\n\n\"If I had only been a little less fond of you, I think I should have\ndestroyed it. But oh! how could I destroy the only thing I had which\nproved that I had saved you from discovery? If we did come to an\nexplanation together, and if you suspected me of having some bad motive,\nand denied it all, how could I win upon you to trust me, unless I had\nthe nightgown to produce? Was it wronging you to believe, as I did and\ndo still, that you might hesitate to let a poor girl like me be the\nsharer of your secret, and your accomplice in the theft which your\nmoney-troubles had tempted you to commit? Think of your cold behaviour\nto me, sir, and you will hardly wonder at my unwillingness to destroy\nthe only claim on your confidence and your gratitude which it was my\nfortune to possess.\n\n\"I determined to hide it; and the place I fixed on was the place I knew\nbest--the Shivering Sand.\n\n\"As soon as the questioning was over, I made the first excuse that came\ninto my head, and got leave to go out for a breath of fresh air. I went\nstraight to Cobb's Hole, to Mr. Yolland's cottage. His wife and daughter\nwere the best friends I had. Don't suppose I trusted them with your\nsecret--I have trusted nobody. All I wanted was to write this letter\nto you, and to have a safe opportunity of taking the nightgown off me.\nSuspected as I was, I could do neither of those things with any sort of\nsecurity, at the house.\n\n\"And now I have nearly got through my long letter, writing it alone in\nLucy Yolland's bedroom. When it is done, I shall go downstairs with the\nnightgown rolled up, and hidden under my cloak. I shall find the means\nI want for keeping it safe and dry in its hiding-place, among the litter\nof old things in Mrs. Yolland's kitchen. And then I shall go to the\nShivering Sand--don't be afraid of my letting my footmarks betray\nme!--and hide the nightgown down in the sand, where no living creature\ncan find it without being first let into the secret by myself.\n\n\"And, when that's done, what then?\n\n\"Then, Mr. Franklin, I shall have two reasons for making another attempt\nto say the words to you which I have not said yet. If you leave the\nhouse, as Penelope believes you will leave it, and if I haven't spoken\nto you before that, I shall lose my opportunity forever. That is one\nreason. Then, again, there is the comforting knowledge--if my speaking\ndoes make you angry--that I have got the nightgown ready to plead my\ncause for me as nothing else can. That is my other reason. If these two\ntogether don't harden my heart against the coldness which has hitherto\nfrozen it up (I mean the coldness of your treatment of me), there will\nbe the end of my efforts--and the end of my life.\n\n\"Yes. If I miss my next opportunity--if you are as cruel as ever, and if\nI feel it again as I have felt it already--good-bye to the world which\nhas grudged me the happiness that it gives to others. Good-bye to life,\nwhich nothing but a little kindness from you can ever make pleasurable\nto me again. Don't blame yourself, sir, if it ends in this way. But\ntry--do try--to feel some forgiving sorrow for me! I shall take care\nthat you find out what I have done for you, when I am past telling you\nof it myself. Will you say something kind of me then--in the same gentle\nway that you have when you speak to Miss Rachel? If you do that, and if\nthere are such things as ghosts, I believe my ghost will hear it, and\ntremble with the pleasure of it.\n\n\"It's time I left off. I am making myself cry. How am I to see my way to\nthe hiding-place if I let these useless tears come and blind me?\n\n\"Besides, why should I look at the gloomy side? Why not believe, while\nI can, that it will end well after all? I may find you in a good humour\nto-night--or, if not, I may succeed better to-morrow morning. I sha'n't\nimprove my plain face by fretting--shall I? Who knows but I may have\nfilled all these weary long pages of paper for nothing? They will\ngo, for safety's sake (never mind now for what other reason) into the\nhiding-place along with the nightgown. It has been hard, hard work\nwriting my letter. Oh! if we only end in understanding each other, how I\nshall enjoy tearing it up!\n\n\"I beg to remain, sir, your true lover and humble servant,\n\n\"ROSANNA SPEARMAN.\"\n\nThe reading of the letter was completed by Betteredge in silence. After\ncarefully putting it back in the envelope, he sat thinking, with his\nhead bowed down, and his eyes on the ground.\n\n\"Betteredge,\" I said, \"is there any hint to guide me at the end of the\nletter?\"\n\nHe looked up slowly, with a heavy sigh.\n\n\"There is nothing to guide you, Mr. Franklin,\" he answered. \"If you\ntake my advice you will keep the letter in the cover till these present\nanxieties of yours have come to an end. It will sorely distress you,\nwhenever you read it. Don't read it now.\"\n\nI put the letter away in my pocket-book.\n\nA glance back at the sixteenth and seventeenth chapters of Betteredge's\nNarrative will show that there really was a reason for my thus sparing\nmyself, at a time when my fortitude had been already cruelly tried.\nTwice over, the unhappy woman had made her last attempt to speak to me.\nAnd twice over, it had been my misfortune (God knows how innocently!)\nto repel the advances she had made to me. On the Friday night,\nas Betteredge truly describes it, she had found me alone at the\nbilliard-table. Her manner and language suggested to me and would have\nsuggested to any man, under the circumstances--that she was about to\nconfess a guilty knowledge of the disappearance of the Diamond. For her\nown sake, I had purposely shown no special interest in what was coming;\nfor her own sake, I had purposely looked at the billiard-balls, instead\nof looking at HER--and what had been the result? I had sent her away\nfrom me, wounded to the heart! On the Saturday again--on the day when\nshe must have foreseen, after what Penelope had told her, that my\ndeparture was close at hand--the same fatality still pursued us. She had\nonce more attempted to meet me in the shrubbery walk, and she had found\nme there in company with Betteredge and Sergeant Cuff. In her hearing,\nthe Sergeant, with his own underhand object in view, had appealed to my\ninterest in Rosanna Spearman. Again for the poor creature's own sake, I\nhad met the police-officer with a flat denial, and had declared--loudly\ndeclared, so that she might hear me too--that I felt \"no interest\nwhatever in Rosanna Spearman.\" At those words, solely designed to warn\nher against attempting to gain my private ear, she had turned away and\nleft the place: cautioned of her danger, as I then believed; self-doomed\nto destruction, as I know now. From that point, I have already traced\nthe succession of events which led me to the astounding discovery at\nthe quicksand. The retrospect is now complete. I may leave the miserable\nstory of Rosanna Spearman--to which, even at this distance of time, I\ncannot revert without a pang of distress--to suggest for itself all\nthat is here purposely left unsaid. I may pass from the suicide at the\nShivering Sand, with its strange and terrible influence on my present\nposition and future prospects, to interests which concern the living\npeople of this narrative, and to events which were already paving my way\nfor the slow and toilsome journey from the darkness to the light.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nI walked to the railway station accompanied, it is needless to say, by\nGabriel Betteredge. I had the letter in my pocket, and the nightgown\nsafely packed in a little bag--both to be submitted, before I slept that\nnight, to the investigation of Mr. Bruff.\n\nWe left the house in silence. For the first time in my experience of\nhim, I found old Betteredge in my company without a word to say to me.\nHaving something to say on my side, I opened the conversation as soon as\nwe were clear of the lodge gates.\n\n\"Before I go to London,\" I began, \"I have two questions to ask you. They\nrelate to myself, and I believe they will rather surprise you.\"\n\n\"If they will put that poor creature's letter out of my head, Mr.\nFranklin, they may do anything else they like with me. Please to begin\nsurprising me, sir, as soon as you can.\"\n\n\"My first question, Betteredge, is this. Was I drunk on the night of\nRachel's Birthday?\"\n\n\"YOU drunk!\" exclaimed the old man. \"Why it's the great defect of your\ncharacter, Mr. Franklin that you only drink with your dinner, and never\ntouch a drop of liquor afterwards!\"\n\n\"But the birthday was a special occasion. I might have abandoned my\nregular habits, on that night of all others.\"\n\nBetteredge considered for a moment.\n\n\"You did go out of your habits, sir,\" he said. \"And I'll tell you how.\nYou looked wretchedly ill--and we persuaded you to have a drop of brandy\nand water to cheer you up a little.\"\n\n\"I am not used to brandy and water. It is quite possible----\"\n\n\"Wait a bit, Mr. Franklin. I knew you were not used, too. I poured you\nout half a wineglass-full of our fifty year old Cognac; and (more shame\nfor me!) I drowned that noble liquor in nigh on a tumbler-full of cold\nwater. A child couldn't have got drunk on it--let alone a grown man!\"\n\nI knew I could depend on his memory, in a matter of this kind. It was\nplainly impossible that I could have been intoxicated. I passed on to\nthe second question.\n\n\"Before I was sent abroad, Betteredge, you saw a great deal of me when I\nwas a boy? Now tell me plainly, do you remember anything strange of me,\nafter I had gone to bed at night? Did you ever discover me walking in my\nsleep?\"\n\nBetteredge stopped, looked at me for a moment, nodded his head, and\nwalked on again.\n\n\"I see your drift now, Mr. Franklin!\" he said \"You're trying to\naccount for how you got the paint on your nightgown, without knowing it\nyourself. It won't do, sir. You're miles away still from getting at the\ntruth. Walk in your sleep? You never did such a thing in your life!\"\n\nHere again, I felt that Betteredge must be right. Neither at home nor\nabroad had my life ever been of the solitary sort. If I had been a\nsleep-walker, there were hundreds on hundreds of people who must have\ndiscovered me, and who, in the interest of my own safety, would have\nwarned me of the habit, and have taken precautions to restrain it.\n\nStill, admitting all this, I clung--with an obstinacy which was surely\nnatural and excusable, under the circumstances--to one or other of\nthe only two explanations that I could see which accounted for the\nunendurable position in which I then stood. Observing that I was not yet\nsatisfied, Betteredge shrewdly adverted to certain later events in the\nhistory of the Moonstone; and scattered both my theories to the wind at\nonce and for ever.\n\n\"Let's try it another way, sir,\" he said. \"Keep your own opinion, and\nsee how far it will take you towards finding out the truth. If we are to\nbelieve the nightgown--which I don't for one--you not only smeared\noff the paint from the door, without knowing it, but you also took the\nDiamond without knowing it. Is that right, so far?\"\n\n\"Quite right. Go on.\"\n\n\"Very good, sir. We'll say you were drunk, or walking in your sleep,\nwhen you took the jewel. That accounts for the night and morning, after\nthe birthday. But how does it account for what has happened since that\ntime? The Diamond has been taken to London, since that time. The Diamond\nhas been pledged to Mr. Luker, since that time. Did you do those two\nthings, without knowing it, too? Were you drunk when I saw you off in\nthe pony-chaise on that Saturday evening? And did you walk in your sleep\nto Mr. Luker's, when the train had brought you to your journey's end?\nExcuse me for saying it, Mr. Franklin, but this business has so upset\nyou, that you're not fit yet to judge for yourself. The sooner you lay\nyour head alongside Mr. Bruff's head, the sooner you will see your way\nout of the dead-lock that has got you now.\"\n\nWe reached the station, with only a minute or two to spare.\n\nI hurriedly gave Betteredge my address in London, so that he might write\nto me, if necessary; promising, on my side, to inform him of any news\nwhich I might have to communicate. This done, and just as I was bidding\nhim farewell, I happened to glance towards the book-and-newspaper stall.\nThere was Mr. Candy's remarkable-looking assistant again, speaking to\nthe keeper of the stall! Our eyes met at the same moment. Ezra Jennings\ntook off his hat to me. I returned the salute, and got into a carriage\njust as the train started. It was a relief to my mind, I suppose, to\ndwell on any subject which appeared to be, personally, of no sort of\nimportance to me. At all events, I began the momentous journey back\nwhich was to take me to Mr. Bruff, wondering--absurdly enough, I\nadmit--that I should have seen the man with the piebald hair twice in\none day!\n\nThe hour at which I arrived in London precluded all hope of my finding\nMr. Bruff at his place of business. I drove from the railway to his\nprivate residence at Hampstead, and disturbed the old lawyer dozing\nalone in his dining-room, with his favourite pug-dog on his lap, and his\nbottle of wine at his elbow.\n\nI shall best describe the effect which my story produced on the mind of\nMr. Bruff by relating his proceedings when he had heard it to the end.\nHe ordered lights, and strong tea, to be taken into his study; and he\nsent a message to the ladies of his family, forbidding them to disturb\nus on any pretence whatever. These preliminaries disposed of, he first\nexamined the nightgown, and then devoted himself to the reading of\nRosanna Spearman's letter.\n\nThe reading completed, Mr. Bruff addressed me for the first time since\nwe had been shut up together in the seclusion of his own room.\n\n\"Franklin Blake,\" said the old gentleman, \"this is a very serious\nmatter, in more respects than one. In my opinion, it concerns Rachel\nquite as nearly as it concerns you. Her extraordinary conduct is no\nmystery NOW. She believes you have stolen the Diamond.\"\n\nI had shrunk from reasoning my own way fairly to that revolting\nconclusion. But it had forced itself on me, nevertheless. My resolution\nto obtain a personal interview with Rachel, rested really and truly on\nthe ground just stated by Mr. Bruff.\n\n\"The first step to take in this investigation,\" the lawyer proceeded,\n\"is to appeal to Rachel. She has been silent all this time, from\nmotives which I (who know her character) can readily understand. It\nis impossible, after what has happened, to submit to that silence any\nlonger. She must be persuaded to tell us, or she must be forced to tell\nus, on what grounds she bases her belief that you took the Moonstone.\nThe chances are, that the whole of this case, serious as it seems now,\nwill tumble to pieces, if we can only break through Rachel's inveterate\nreserve, and prevail upon her to speak out.\"\n\n\"That is a very comforting opinion for _me_,\" I said. \"I own I should like\nto know.\"\n\n\"You would like to know how I can justify it,\" inter-posed Mr. Bruff. \"I\ncan tell you in two minutes. Understand, in the first place, that I\nlook at this matter from a lawyer's point of view. It's a question of\nevidence, with me. Very well. The evidence breaks down, at the outset,\non one important point.\"\n\n\"On what point?\"\n\n\"You shall hear. I admit that the mark of the name proves the nightgown\nto be yours. I admit that the mark of the paint proves the nightgown\nto have made the smear on Rachel's door. But what evidence is there to\nprove that you are the person who wore it, on the night when the Diamond\nwas lost?\"\n\nThe objection struck me, all the more forcibly that it reflected an\nobjection which I had felt myself.\n\n\"As to this,\" pursued the lawyer taking up Rosanna Spearman's\nconfession, \"I can understand that the letter is a distressing one to\nYOU. I can understand that you may hesitate to analyse it from a purely\nimpartial point of view. But I am not in your position. I can bring my\nprofessional experience to bear on this document, just as I should bring\nit to bear on any other. Without alluding to the woman's career as a\nthief, I will merely remark that her letter proves her to have been an\nadept at deception, on her own showing; and I argue from that, that I am\njustified in suspecting her of not having told the whole truth. I won't\nstart any theory, at present, as to what she may or may not have done.\nI will only say that, if Rachel has suspected you ON THE EVIDENCE OF THE\nNIGHTGOWN ONLY, the chances are ninety-nine to a hundred that Rosanna\nSpearman was the person who showed it to her. In that case, there is the\nwoman's letter, confessing that she was jealous of Rachel, confessing\nthat she changed the roses, confessing that she saw a glimpse of hope\nfor herself, in the prospect of a quarrel between Rachel and you. I\ndon't stop to ask who took the Moonstone (as a means to her end,\nRosanna Spearman would have taken fifty Moonstones)--I only say that\nthe disappearance of the jewel gave this reclaimed thief who was in love\nwith you, an opportunity of setting you and Rachel at variance for the\nrest of your lives. She had not decided on destroying herself, THEN,\nremember; and, having the opportunity, I distinctly assert that it was\nin her character, and in her position at the time, to take it. What do\nyou say to that?\"\n\n\"Some such suspicion,\" I answered, \"crossed my own mind, as soon as I\nopened the letter.\"\n\n\"Exactly! And when you had read the letter, you pitied the poor\ncreature, and couldn't find it in your heart to suspect her. Does you\ncredit, my dear sir--does you credit!\"\n\n\"But suppose it turns out that I did wear the nightgown? What then?\"\n\n\"I don't see how the fact can be proved,\" said Mr. Bruff. \"But assuming\nthe proof to be possible, the vindication of your innocence would be\nno easy matter. We won't go into that, now. Let us wait and see whether\nRachel hasn't suspected you on the evidence of the nightgown only.\"\n\n\"Good God, how coolly you talk of Rachel suspecting me!\" I broke out.\n\"What right has she to suspect Me, on any evidence, of being a thief?\"\n\n\"A very sensible question, my dear sir. Rather hotly put--but well worth\nconsidering for all that. What puzzles you, puzzles me too. Search your\nmemory, and tell me this. Did anything happen while you were staying at\nthe house--not, of course, to shake Rachel's belief in your honour--but,\nlet us say, to shake her belief (no matter with how little reason) in\nyour principles generally?\"\n\nI started, in ungovernable agitation, to my feet. The lawyer's question\nreminded me, for the first time since I had left England, that something\nHAD happened.\n\nIn the eighth chapter of Betteredge's Narrative, an allusion will be\nfound to the arrival of a foreigner and a stranger at my aunt's house,\nwho came to see me on business. The nature of his business was this.\n\nI had been foolish enough (being, as usual, straitened for money at the\ntime) to accept a loan from the keeper of a small restaurant in Paris,\nto whom I was well known as a customer. A time was settled between\nus for paying the money back; and when the time came, I found it (as\nthousands of other honest men have found it) impossible to keep my\nengagement. I sent the man a bill. My name was unfortunately too well\nknown on such documents: he failed to negotiate it. His affairs had\nfallen into disorder, in the interval since I had borrowed of him;\nbankruptcy stared him in the face; and a relative of his, a French\nlawyer, came to England to find me, and to insist upon the payment of my\ndebt. He was a man of violent temper; and he took the wrong way with\nme. High words passed on both sides; and my aunt and Rachel were\nunfortunately in the next room, and heard us. Lady Verinder came in,\nand insisted on knowing what was the matter. The Frenchman produced his\ncredentials, and declared me to be responsible for the ruin of a poor\nman, who had trusted in my honour. My aunt instantly paid him the\nmoney, and sent him off. She knew me better of course than to take\nthe Frenchman's view of the transaction. But she was shocked at my\ncarelessness, and justly angry with me for placing myself in a position,\nwhich, but for her interference, might have become a very disgraceful\none. Either her mother told her, or Rachel heard what passed--I can't\nsay which. She took her own romantic, high-flown view of the matter. I\nwas \"heartless\"; I was \"dishonourable\"; I had \"no principle\"; there\nwas \"no knowing what I might do next\"--in short, she said some of the\nseverest things to me which I had ever heard from a young lady's lips.\nThe breach between us lasted for the whole of the next day. The day\nafter, I succeeded in making my peace, and thought no more of it. Had\nRachel reverted to this unlucky accident, at the critical moment when my\nplace in her estimation was again, and far more seriously, assailed?\nMr. Bruff, when I had mentioned the circumstances to him, answered the\nquestion at once in the affirmative.\n\n\"It would have its effect on her mind,\" he said gravely. \"And I wish,\nfor your sake, the thing had not happened. However, we have discovered\nthat there WAS a predisposing influence against you--and there is one\nuncertainty cleared out of our way, at any rate. I see nothing more that\nwe can do now. Our next step in this inquiry must be the step that takes\nus to Rachel.\"\n\nHe rose, and began walking thoughtfully up and down the room. Twice, I\nwas on the point of telling him that I had determined on seeing Rachel\npersonally; and twice, having regard to his age and his character, I\nhesitated to take him by surprise at an unfavourable moment.\n\n\"The grand difficulty is,\" he resumed, \"how to make her show her whole\nmind in this matter, without reserve. Have you any suggestions to\noffer?\"\n\n\"I have made up my mind, Mr. Bruff, to speak to Rachel myself.\"\n\n\"You!\" He suddenly stopped in his walk, and looked at me as if he\nthought I had taken leave of my senses. \"You, of all the people in the\nworld!\" He abruptly checked himself, and took another turn in the room.\n\"Wait a little,\" he said. \"In cases of this extraordinary kind, the rash\nway is sometimes the best way.\" He considered the question for a moment\nor two, under that new light, and ended boldly by a decision in my\nfavour. \"Nothing venture, nothing have,\" the old gentleman resumed. \"You\nhave a chance in your favour which I don't possess--and you shall be the\nfirst to try the experiment.\"\n\n\"A chance in my favour?\" I repeated, in the greatest surprise.\n\nMr. Bruff's face softened, for the first time, into a smile.\n\n\"This is how it stands,\" he said. \"I tell you fairly, I don't trust your\ndiscretion, and I don't trust your temper. But I do trust in Rachel's\nstill preserving, in some remote little corner of her heart, a certain\nperverse weakness for YOU. Touch that--and trust to the consequences for\nthe fullest disclosures that can flow from a woman's lips! The question\nis--how are you to see her?\"\n\n\"She has been a guest of yours at this house,\" I answered. \"May I\nventure to suggest--if nothing was said about me beforehand--that I\nmight see her here?\"\n\n\"Cool!\" said Mr. Bruff. With that one word of comment on the reply that\nI had made to him, he took another turn up and down the room.\n\n\"In plain English,\" he said, \"my house is to be turned into a trap to\ncatch Rachel; with a bait to tempt her, in the shape of an invitation\nfrom my wife and daughters. If you were anybody else but Franklin Blake,\nand if this matter was one atom less serious than it really is, I should\nrefuse point-blank. As things are, I firmly believe Rachel will live\nto thank me for turning traitor to her in my old age. Consider me your\naccomplice. Rachel shall be asked to spend the day here; and you shall\nreceive due notice of it.\"\n\n\"When? To-morrow?\"\n\n\"To-morrow won't give us time enough to get her answer. Say the day\nafter.\"\n\n\"How shall I hear from you?\"\n\n\"Stay at home all the morning and expect me to call on you.\"\n\nI thanked him for the inestimable assistance which he was rendering to\nme, with the gratitude that I really felt; and, declining a hospitable\ninvitation to sleep that night at Hampstead, returned to my lodgings in\nLondon.\n\nOf the day that followed, I have only to say that it was the longest day\nof my life. Innocent as I knew myself to be, certain as I was that the\nabominable imputation which rested on me must sooner or later be cleared\noff, there was nevertheless a sense of self-abasement in my mind which\ninstinctively disinclined me to see any of my friends. We often hear\n(almost invariably, however, from superficial observers) that guilt can\nlook like innocence. I believe it to be infinitely the truer axiom of\nthe two that innocence can look like guilt. I caused myself to be denied\nall day, to every visitor who called; and I only ventured out under\ncover of the night.\n\nThe next morning, Mr. Bruff surprised me at the breakfast-table. He\nhanded me a large key, and announced that he felt ashamed of himself for\nthe first time in his life.\n\n\"Is she coming?\"\n\n\"She is coming to-day, to lunch and spend the afternoon with my wife and\nmy girls.\"\n\n\"Are Mrs. Bruff, and your daughters, in the secret?\"\n\n\"Inevitably. But women, as you may have observed, have no principles. My\nfamily don't feel my pangs of conscience. The end being to bring you\nand Rachel together again, my wife and daughters pass over the means\nemployed to gain it, as composedly as if they were Jesuits.\"\n\n\"I am infinitely obliged to them. What is this key?\"\n\n\"The key of the gate in my back-garden wall. Be there at three this\nafternoon. Let yourself into the garden, and make your way in by the\nconservatory door. Cross the small drawing-room, and open the door\nin front of you which leads into the music-room. There, you will find\nRachel--and find her, alone.\"\n\n\"How can I thank you!\"\n\n\"I will tell you how. Don't blame me for what happens afterwards.\"\n\nWith those words, he went out.\n\nI had many weary hours still to wait through. To while away the time, I\nlooked at my letters. Among them was a letter from Betteredge.\n\nI opened it eagerly. To my surprise and disappointment, it began with\nan apology warning me to expect no news of any importance. In the next\nsentence the everlasting Ezra Jennings appeared again! He had stopped\nBetteredge on the way out of the station, and had asked who I was.\nInformed on this point, he had mentioned having seen me to his master\nMr. Candy. Mr. Candy hearing of this, had himself driven over to\nBetteredge, to express his regret at our having missed each other. He\nhad a reason for wishing particularly to speak to me; and when I was\nnext in the neighbourhood of Frizinghall, he begged I would let him\nknow. Apart from a few characteristic utterances of the Betteredge\nphilosophy, this was the sum and substance of my correspondent's letter.\nThe warm-hearted, faithful old man acknowledged that he had written\n\"mainly for the pleasure of writing to me.\"\n\nI crumpled up the letter in my pocket, and forgot it the moment after,\nin the all-absorbing interest of my coming interview with Rachel.\n\nAs the clock of Hampstead church struck three, I put Mr. Bruff's key\ninto the lock of the door in the wall. When I first stepped into the\ngarden, and while I was securing the door again on the inner side, I\nown to having felt a certain guilty doubtfulness about what might\nhappen next. I looked furtively on either side of me; suspicious of\nthe presence of some unexpected witness in some unknown corner of the\ngarden. Nothing appeared, to justify my apprehensions. The walks\nwere, one and all, solitudes; and the birds and the bees were the only\nwitnesses.\n\nI passed through the garden; entered the conservatory; and crossed the\nsmall drawing-room. As I laid my hand on the door opposite, I heard a\nfew plaintive chords struck on the piano in the room within. She had\noften idled over the instrument in this way, when I was staying at her\nmother's house. I was obliged to wait a little, to steady myself. The\npast and present rose side by side, at that supreme moment--and the\ncontrast shook me.\n\nAfter the lapse of a minute, I roused my manhood, and opened the door.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nAt the moment when I showed myself in the doorway, Rachel rose from the\npiano.\n\nI closed the door behind me. We confronted each other in silence, with\nthe full length of the room between us. The movement she had made in\nrising appeared to be the one exertion of which she was capable. All\nuse of every other faculty, bodily or mental, seemed to be merged in the\nmere act of looking at me.\n\nA fear crossed my mind that I had shown myself too suddenly. I advanced\na few steps towards her. I said gently, \"Rachel!\"\n\nThe sound of my voice brought the life back to her limbs, and the colour\nto her face. She advanced, on her side, still without speaking. Slowly,\nas if acting under some influence independent of her own will, she came\nnearer and nearer to me; the warm dusky colour flushing her cheeks, the\nlight of reviving intelligence brightening every instant in her eyes.\nI forgot the object that had brought me into her presence; I forgot\nthe vile suspicion that rested on my good name; I forgot every\nconsideration, past, present, and future, which I was bound to remember.\nI saw nothing but the woman I loved coming nearer and nearer to me. She\ntrembled; she stood irresolute. I could resist it no longer--I caught\nher in my arms, and covered her face with kisses.\n\nThere was a moment when I thought the kisses were returned; a moment\nwhen it seemed as if she, too might have forgotten. Almost before the\nidea could shape itself in my mind, her first voluntary action made\nme feel that she remembered. With a cry which was like a cry of\nhorror--with a strength which I doubt if I could have resisted if I had\ntried--she thrust me back from her. I saw merciless anger in her eyes;\nI saw merciless contempt on her lips. She looked me over, from head to\nfoot, as she might have looked at a stranger who had insulted her.\n\n\"You coward!\" she said. \"You mean, miserable, heartless coward!\"\n\nThose were her first words! The most unendurable reproach that a woman\ncan address to a man, was the reproach that she picked out to address to\nMe.\n\n\"I remember the time, Rachel,\" I said, \"when you could have told me that\nI had offended you, in a worthier way than that. I beg your pardon.\"\n\nSomething of the bitterness that I felt may have communicated itself\nto my voice. At the first words of my reply, her eyes, which had been\nturned away the moment before, looked back at me unwillingly. She\nanswered in a low tone, with a sullen submission of manner which was\nquite new in my experience of her.\n\n\"Perhaps there is some excuse for me,\" she said. \"After what you have\ndone, is it a manly action, on your part, to find your way to me as\nyou have found it to-day? It seems a cowardly experiment, to try an\nexperiment on my weakness for you. It seems a cowardly surprise, to\nsurprise me into letting you kiss me. But that is only a woman's view. I\nought to have known it couldn't be your view. I should have done better\nif I had controlled myself, and said nothing.\"\n\nThe apology was more unendurable than the insult. The most degraded man\nliving would have felt humiliated by it.\n\n\"If my honour was not in your hands,\" I said, \"I would leave you this\ninstant, and never see you again. You have spoken of what I have done.\nWhat have I done?\"\n\n\"What have you done! YOU ask that question of ME?\"\n\n\"I ask it.\"\n\n\"I have kept your infamy a secret,\" she answered. \"And I have suffered\nthe consequences of concealing it. Have I no claim to be spared the\ninsult of your asking me what you have done? Is ALL sense of gratitude\ndead in you? You were once a gentleman. You were once dear to my mother,\nand dearer still to me----\"\n\nHer voice failed her. She dropped into a chair, and turned her back on\nme, and covered her face with her hands.\n\nI waited a little before I trusted myself to say any more. In that\nmoment of silence, I hardly know which I felt most keenly--the sting\nwhich her contempt had planted in me, or the proud resolution which shut\nme out from all community with her distress.\n\n\"If you will not speak first,\" I said, \"I must. I have come here with\nsomething serious to say to you. Will you do me the common justice of\nlistening while I say it?\"\n\nShe neither moved, nor answered. I made no second appeal to her; I\nnever advanced an inch nearer to her chair. With a pride which was as\nobstinate as her pride, I told her of my discovery at the Shivering\nSand, and of all that had led to it. The narrative, of necessity,\noccupied some little time. From beginning to end, she never looked round\nat me, and she never uttered a word.\n\nI kept my temper. My whole future depended, in all probability, on my\nnot losing possession of myself at that moment. The time had come to\nput Mr. Bruff's theory to the test. In the breathless interest of trying\nthat experiment, I moved round so as to place myself in front of her.\n\n\"I have a question to ask you,\" I said. \"It obliges me to refer again to\na painful subject. Did Rosanna Spearman show you the nightgown. Yes, or\nNo?\"\n\nShe started to her feet; and walked close up to me of her own accord.\nHer eyes looked me searchingly in the face, as if to read something\nthere which they had never read yet.\n\n\"Are you mad?\" she asked.\n\nI still restrained myself. I said quietly, \"Rachel, will you answer my\nquestion?\"\n\nShe went on, without heeding me.\n\n\"Have you some object to gain which I don't understand? Some mean fear\nabout the future, in which I am concerned? They say your father's death\nhas made you a rich man. Have you come here to compensate me for the\nloss of my Diamond? And have you heart enough left to feel ashamed of\nyour errand? Is THAT the secret of your pretence of innocence, and your\nstory about Rosanna Spearman? Is there a motive of shame at the bottom\nof all the falsehood, this time?\"\n\nI stopped her there. I could control myself no longer.\n\n\"You have done me an infamous wrong!\" I broke out hotly. \"You suspect me\nof stealing your Diamond. I have a right to know, and I WILL know, the\nreason why!\"\n\n\"Suspect you!\" she exclaimed, her anger rising with mine. \"YOU VILLAIN,\nI SAW YOU TAKE THE DIAMOND WITH MY OWN EYES!\"\n\nThe revelation which burst upon me in those words, the overthrow which\nthey instantly accomplished of the whole view of the case on which Mr.\nBruff had relied, struck me helpless. Innocent as I was, I stood before\nher in silence. To her eyes, to any eyes, I must have looked like a man\noverwhelmed by the discovery of his own guilt.\n\nShe drew back from the spectacle of my humiliation and of her triumph.\nThe sudden silence that had fallen upon me seemed to frighten her. \"I\nspared you, at the time,\" she said. \"I would have spared you now, if you\nhad not forced me to speak.\" She moved away as if to leave the room--and\nhesitated before she got to the door. \"Why did you come here to\nhumiliate yourself?\" she asked. \"Why did you come here to humiliate\nme?\" She went on a few steps, and paused once more. \"For God's sake, say\nsomething!\" she exclaimed, passionately. \"If you have any mercy left,\ndon't let me degrade myself in this way! Say something--and drive me out\nof the room!\"\n\nI advanced towards her, hardly conscious of what I was doing. I had\npossibly some confused idea of detaining her until she had told me more.\nFrom the moment when I knew that the evidence on which I stood condemned\nin Rachel's mind, was the evidence of her own eyes, nothing--not even my\nconviction of my own innocence--was clear to my mind. I took her by the\nhand; I tried to speak firmly and to the purpose. All I could say was,\n\"Rachel, you once loved me.\"\n\nShe shuddered, and looked away from me. Her hand lay powerless and\ntrembling in mine. \"Let go of it,\" she said faintly.\n\nMy touch seemed to have the same effect on her which the sound of my\nvoice had produced when I first entered the room. After she had said\nthe word which called me a coward, after she had made the avowal which\nbranded me as a thief--while her hand lay in mine I was her master\nstill!\n\nI drew her gently back into the middle of the room. I seated her by the\nside of me. \"Rachel,\" I said, \"I can't explain the contradiction in what\nI am going to tell you. I can only speak the truth as you have spoken\nit. You saw me--with your own eyes, you saw me take the Diamond. Before\nGod who hears us, I declare that I now know I took it for the first\ntime! Do you doubt me still?\"\n\nShe had neither heeded nor heard me. \"Let go of my hand,\" she repeated\nfaintly. That was her only answer. Her head sank on my shoulder; and her\nhand unconsciously closed on mine, at the moment when she asked me to\nrelease it.\n\nI refrained from pressing the question. But there my forbearance\nstopped. My chance of ever holding up my head again among honest men\ndepended on my chance of inducing her to make her disclosure complete.\nThe one hope left for me was the hope that she might have overlooked\nsomething in the chain of evidence--some mere trifle, perhaps, which\nmight nevertheless, under careful investigation, be made the means of\nvindicating my innocence in the end. I own I kept possession of her\nhand. I own I spoke to her with all that I could summon back of the\nsympathy and confidence of the bygone time.\n\n\"I want to ask you something,\" I said. \"I want you to tell me everything\nthat happened, from the time when we wished each other good night, to\nthe time when you saw me take the Diamond.\"\n\nShe lifted her head from my shoulder, and made an effort to release her\nhand. \"Oh, why go back to it!\" she said. \"Why go back to it!\"\n\n\"I will tell you why, Rachel. You are the victim, and I am the victim,\nof some monstrous delusion which has worn the mask of truth. If we look\nat what happened on the night of your birthday together, we may end in\nunderstanding each other yet.\"\n\nHer head dropped back on my shoulder. The tears gathered in her eyes,\nand fell slowly over her cheeks. \"Oh!\" she said, \"have I never had that\nhope? Have I not tried to see it, as you are trying now?\"\n\n\"You have tried by yourself,\" I answered. \"You have not tried with me to\nhelp you.\"\n\nThose words seemed to awaken in her something of the hope which I felt\nmyself when I uttered them. She replied to my questions with more than\ndocility--she exerted her intelligence; she willingly opened her whole\nmind to me.\n\n\"Let us begin,\" I said, \"with what happened after we had wished each\nother good night. Did you go to bed? or did you sit up?\"\n\n\"I went to bed.\"\n\n\"Did you notice the time? Was it late?\"\n\n\"Not very. About twelve o'clock, I think.\"\n\n\"Did you fall asleep?\"\n\n\"No. I couldn't sleep that night.\"\n\n\"You were restless?\"\n\n\"I was thinking of you.\"\n\nThe answer almost unmanned me. Something in the tone, even more than in\nthe words, went straight to my heart. It was only after pausing a little\nfirst that I was able to go on.\n\n\"Had you any light in your room?\" I asked.\n\n\"None--until I got up again, and lit my candle.\"\n\n\"How long was that, after you had gone to bed?\"\n\n\"About an hour after, I think. About one o'clock.\"\n\n\"Did you leave your bedroom?\"\n\n\"I was going to leave it. I had put on my dressing-gown; and I was going\ninto my sitting-room to get a book----\"\n\n\"Had you opened your bedroom door?\"\n\n\"I had just opened it.\"\n\n\"But you had not gone into the sitting-room?\"\n\n\"No--I was stopped from going into it.\"\n\n\"What stopped you?\n\n\"I saw a light, under the door; and I heard footsteps approaching it.\"\n\n\"Were you frightened?\"\n\n\"Not then. I knew my poor mother was a bad sleeper; and I remembered\nthat she had tried hard, that evening, to persuade me to let her take\ncharge of my Diamond. She was unreasonably anxious about it, as I\nthought; and I fancied she was coming to me to see if I was in bed, and\nto speak to me about the Diamond again, if she found that I was up.\"\n\n\"What did you do?\"\n\n\"I blew out my candle, so that she might think I was in bed. I was\nunreasonable, on my side--I was determined to keep my Diamond in the\nplace of my own choosing.\"\n\n\"After blowing out the candle, did you go back to bed?\"\n\n\"I had no time to go back. At the moment when I blew the candle out, the\nsitting-room door opened, and I saw----\"\n\n\"You saw?\"\n\n\"You.\"\n\n\"Dressed as usual?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"In my nightgown?\"\n\n\"In your nightgown--with your bedroom candle in your hand.\"\n\n\"Alone?\"\n\n\"Alone.\"\n\n\"Could you see my face?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Plainly?\"\n\n\"Quite plainly. The candle in your hand showed it to me.\"\n\n\"Were my eyes open?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did you notice anything strange in them? Anything like a fixed, vacant\nexpression?\"\n\n\"Nothing of the sort. Your eyes were bright--brighter than usual. You\nlooked about in the room, as if you knew you were where you ought not to\nbe, and as if you were afraid of being found out.\"\n\n\"Did you observe one thing when I came into the room--did you observe\nhow I walked?\"\n\n\"You walked as you always do. You came in as far as the middle of the\nroom--and then you stopped and looked about you.\"\n\n\"What did you do, on first seeing me?\"\n\n\"I could do nothing. I was petrified. I couldn't speak, I couldn't call\nout, I couldn't even move to shut my door.\"\n\n\"Could I see you, where you stood?\"\n\n\"You might certainly have seen me. But you never looked towards me. It's\nuseless to ask the question. I am sure you never saw me.\"\n\n\"How are you sure?\"\n\n\"Would you have taken the Diamond? would you have acted as you did\nafterwards? would you be here now--if you had seen that I was awake and\nlooking at you? Don't make me talk of that part of it! I want to answer\nyou quietly. Help me to keep as calm as I can. Go on to something else.\"\n\nShe was right--in every way, right. I went on to other things.\n\n\"What did I do, after I had got to the middle of the room, and had\nstopped there?\"\n\n\"You turned away, and went straight to the corner near the window--where\nmy Indian cabinet stands.\"\n\n\"When I was at the cabinet, my back must have been turned towards you.\nHow did you see what I was doing?\"\n\n\"When you moved, I moved.\"\n\n\"So as to see what I was about with my hands?\"\n\n\"There are three glasses in my sitting-room. As you stood there, I saw\nall that you did, reflected in one of them.\"\n\n\"What did you see?\"\n\n\"You put your candle on the top of the cabinet. You opened, and shut,\none drawer after another, until you came to the drawer in which I had\nput my Diamond. You looked at the open drawer for a moment. And then you\nput your hand in, and took the Diamond out.\"\n\n\"How do you know I took the Diamond out?\"\n\n\"I saw your hand go into the drawer. And I saw the gleam of the stone\nbetween your finger and thumb, when you took your hand out.\"\n\n\"Did my hand approach the drawer again--to close it, for instance?\"\n\n\"No. You had the Diamond in your right hand; and you took the candle\nfrom the top of the cabinet with your left hand.\"\n\n\"Did I look about me again, after that?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Did I leave the room immediately?\"\n\n\"No. You stood quite still, for what seemed a long time. I saw your face\nsideways in the glass. You looked like a man thinking, and dissatisfied\nwith his own thoughts.\"\n\n\"What happened next?\"\n\n\"You roused yourself on a sudden, and you went straight out of the\nroom.\"\n\n\"Did I close the door after me?\"\n\n\"No. You passed out quickly into the passage, and left the door open.\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"Then, your light disappeared, and the sound of your steps died away,\nand I was left alone in the dark.\"\n\n\"Did nothing happen--from that time, to the time when the whole house\nknew that the Diamond was lost?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"Are you sure of that? Might you not have been asleep a part of the\ntime?\"\n\n\"I never slept. I never went back to my bed. Nothing happened until\nPenelope came in, at the usual time in the morning.\"\n\nI dropped her hand, and rose, and took a turn in the room. Every\nquestion that I could put had been answered. Every detail that I could\ndesire to know had been placed before me. I had even reverted to the\nidea of sleep-walking, and the idea of intoxication; and, again, the\nworthlessness of the one theory and the other had been proved--on the\nauthority, this time, of the witness who had seen me. What was to be\nsaid next? what was to be done next? There rose the horrible fact of the\nTheft--the one visible, tangible object that confronted me, in the midst\nof the impenetrable darkness which enveloped all besides! Not a glimpse\nof light to guide me, when I had possessed myself of Rosanna Spearman's\nsecret at the Shivering Sand. And not a glimpse of light now, when I had\nappealed to Rachel herself, and had heard the hateful story of the night\nfrom her own lips.\n\nShe was the first, this time, to break the silence.\n\n\"Well?\" she said, \"you have asked, and I have answered. You have made me\nhope something from all this, because you hoped something from it. What\nhave you to say now?\"\n\nThe tone in which she spoke warned me that my influence over her was a\nlost influence once more.\n\n\"We were to look at what happened on my birthday night, together,\" she\nwent on; \"and we were then to understand each other. Have we done that?\"\n\nShe waited pitilessly for my reply. In answering her I committed a\nfatal error--I let the exasperating helplessness of my situation get the\nbetter of my self-control. Rashly and uselessly, I reproached her for\nthe silence which had kept me until that moment in ignorance of the\ntruth.\n\n\"If you had spoken when you ought to have spoken,\" I began; \"if you had\ndone me the common justice to explain yourself----\"\n\nShe broke in on me with a cry of fury. The few words I had said seemed\nto have lashed her on the instant into a frenzy of rage.\n\n\"Explain myself!\" she repeated. \"Oh! is there another man like this in\nthe world? I spare him, when my heart is breaking; I screen him when my\nown character is at stake; and HE--of all human beings, HE--turns on me\nnow, and tells me that I ought to have explained myself! After believing\nin him as I did, after loving him as I did, after thinking of him by\nday, and dreaming of him by night--he wonders I didn't charge him with\nhis disgrace the first time we met: 'My heart's darling, you are a\nThief! My hero whom I love and honour, you have crept into my room under\ncover of the night, and stolen my Diamond!' That is what I ought to have\nsaid. You villain, you mean, mean, mean villain, I would have lost fifty\ndiamonds, rather than see your face lying to me, as I see it lying now!\"\n\nI took up my hat. In mercy to HER--yes! I can honestly say it--in mercy\nto HER, I turned away without a word, and opened the door by which I had\nentered the room.\n\nShe followed, and snatched the door out of my hand; she closed it, and\npointed back to the place that I had left.\n\n\"No!\" she said. \"Not yet! It seems that I owe a justification of my\nconduct to you. You shall stay and hear it. Or you shall stoop to the\nlowest infamy of all, and force your way out.\"\n\nIt wrung my heart to see her; it wrung my heart to hear her. I answered\nby a sign--it was all I could do--that I submitted myself to her will.\n\nThe crimson flush of anger began to fade out of her face, as I went\nback, and took my chair in silence. She waited a little, and steadied\nherself. When she went on, but one sign of feeling was discernible in\nher. She spoke without looking at me. Her hands were fast clasped in her\nlap, and her eyes were fixed on the ground.\n\n\"I ought to have done you the common justice to explain myself,\" she\nsaid, repeating my own words. \"You shall see whether I did try to do\nyou justice, or not. I told you just now that I never slept, and never\nreturned to my bed, after you had left my sitting-room. It's useless to\ntrouble you by dwelling on what I thought--you would not understand my\nthoughts--I will only tell you what I did, when time enough had passed\nto help me to recover myself. I refrained from alarming the house, and\ntelling everybody what had happened--as I ought to have done. In spite\nof what I had seen, I was fond enough of you to believe--no matter\nwhat!--any impossibility, rather than admit it to my own mind that you\nwere deliberately a thief. I thought and thought--and I ended in writing\nto you.\"\n\n\"I never received the letter.\"\n\n\"I know you never received it. Wait a little, and you shall hear why. My\nletter would have told you nothing openly. It would not have ruined you\nfor life, if it had fallen into some other person's hands. It would\nonly have said--in a manner which you yourself could not possibly have\nmistaken--that I had reason to know you were in debt, and that it was\nin my experience and in my mother's experience of you, that you were\nnot very discreet, or very scrupulous about how you got money when you\nwanted it. You would have remembered the visit of the French lawyer, and\nyou would have known what I referred to. If you had read on with some\ninterest after that, you would have come to an offer I had to make to\nyou--the offer, privately (not a word, mind, to be said openly about\nit between us!), of the loan of as large a sum of money as I could\nget.--And I would have got it!\" she exclaimed, her colour beginning\nto rise again, and her eyes looking up at me once more. \"I would have\npledged the Diamond myself, if I could have got the money in no other\nway! In those words I wrote to you. Wait! I did more than that. I\narranged with Penelope to give you the letter when nobody was near. I\nplanned to shut myself into my bedroom, and to have the sitting-room\nleft open and empty all the morning. And I hoped--with all my heart and\nsoul I hoped!--that you would take the opportunity, and put the Diamond\nback secretly in the drawer.\"\n\nI attempted to speak. She lifted her hand impatiently, and stopped me.\nIn the rapid alternations of her temper, her anger was beginning to rise\nagain. She got up from her chair, and approached me.\n\n\"I know what you are going to say,\" she went on. \"You are going to\nremind me again that you never received my letter. I can tell you why. I\ntore it up.\n\n\"For what reason?\" I asked.\n\n\"For the best of reasons. I preferred tearing it up to throwing it away\nupon such a man as you! What was the first news that reached me in the\nmorning? Just as my little plan was complete, what did I hear? I heard\nthat you--you!!!--were the foremost person in the house in fetching the\npolice. You were the active man; you were the leader; you were working\nharder than any of them to recover the jewel! You even carried your\naudacity far enough to ask to speak to ME about the loss of the\nDiamond--the Diamond which you yourself had stolen; the Diamond which\nwas all the time in your own hands! After that proof of your horrible\nfalseness and cunning, I tore up my letter. But even then--even when I\nwas maddened by the searching and questioning of the policeman, whom\nyou had sent in--even then, there was some infatuation in my mind which\nwouldn't let me give you up. I said to myself, 'He has played his vile\nfarce before everybody else in the house. Let me try if he can play it\nbefore me.' Somebody told me you were on the terrace. I went down to\nthe terrace. I forced myself to look at you; I forced myself to speak to\nyou. Have you forgotten what I said?\"\n\nI might have answered that I remembered every word of it. But what\npurpose, at that moment, would the answer have served?\n\nHow could I tell her that what she had said had astonished me, had\ndistressed me, had suggested to me that she was in a state of dangerous\nnervous excitement, had even roused a moment's doubt in my mind whether\nthe loss of the jewel was as much a mystery to her as to the rest of\nus--but had never once given me so much as a glimpse at the truth?\nWithout the shadow of a proof to produce in vindication of my innocence,\nhow could I persuade her that I knew no more than the veriest stranger\ncould have known of what was really in her thoughts when she spoke to me\non the terrace?\n\n\"It may suit your convenience to forget; it suits my convenience to\nremember,\" she went on. \"I know what I said--for I considered it with\nmyself, before I said it. I gave you one opportunity after another\nof owning the truth. I left nothing unsaid that I COULD say--short of\nactually telling you that I knew you had committed the theft. And\nall the return you made, was to look at me with your vile pretence of\nastonishment, and your false face of innocence--just as you have looked\nat me to-day; just as you are looking at me now! I left you, that\nmorning, knowing you at last for what you were--for what you are--as\nbase a wretch as ever walked the earth!\"\n\n\"If you had spoken out at the time, you might have left me, Rachel,\nknowing that you had cruelly wronged an innocent man.\"\n\n\"If I had spoken out before other people,\" she retorted, with another\nburst of indignation, \"you would have been disgraced for life! If I had\nspoken out to no ears but yours, you would have denied it, as you are\ndenying it now! Do you think I should have believed you? Would a man\nhesitate at a lie, who had done what I saw YOU do--who had behaved about\nit afterwards, as I saw YOU behave? I tell you again, I shrank from the\nhorror of hearing you lie, after the horror of seeing you thieve. You\ntalk as if this was a misunderstanding which a few words might have set\nright! Well! the misunderstanding is at an end. Is the thing set right?\nNo! the thing is just where it was. I don't believe you NOW! I don't\nbelieve you found the nightgown, I don't believe in Rosanna Spearman's\nletter, I don't believe a word you have said. You stole it--I saw you!\nYou affected to help the police--I saw you! You pledged the Diamond to\nthe money-lender in London--I am sure of it! You cast the suspicion of\nyour disgrace (thanks to my base silence!) on an innocent man! You fled\nto the Continent with your plunder the next morning! After all that\nvileness, there was but one thing more you COULD do. You could come here\nwith a last falsehood on your lips--you could come here, and tell me\nthat I have wronged you!\"\n\nIf I had stayed a moment more, I know not what words might have escaped\nme which I should have remembered with vain repentance and regret. I\npassed by her, and opened the door for the second time. For the second\ntime--with the frantic perversity of a roused woman--she caught me by\nthe arm, and barred my way out.\n\n\"Let me go, Rachel\" I said. \"It will be better for both of us. Let me\ngo.\"\n\nThe hysterical passion swelled in her bosom--her quickened convulsive\nbreathing almost beat on my face, as she held me back at the door.\n\n\"Why did you come here?\" she persisted, desperately. \"I ask you\nagain--why did you come here? Are you afraid I shall expose you? Now you\nare a rich man, now you have got a place in the world, now you may marry\nthe best lady in the land--are you afraid I shall say the words which I\nhave never said yet to anybody but you? I can't say the words! I can't\nexpose you! I am worse, if worse can be, than you are yourself.\" Sobs\nand tears burst from her. She struggled with them fiercely; she held\nme more and more firmly. \"I can't tear you out of my heart,\" she said,\n\"even now! You may trust in the shameful, shameful weakness which can\nonly struggle against you in this way!\" She suddenly let go of me--she\nthrew up her hands, and wrung them frantically in the air. \"Any other\nwoman living would shrink from the disgrace of touching him!\" she\nexclaimed. \"Oh, God! I despise myself even more heartily than I despise\nHIM!\"\n\nThe tears were forcing their way into my eyes in spite of me--the horror\nof it was to be endured no longer.\n\n\"You shall know that you have wronged me, yet,\" I said. \"Or you shall\nnever see me again!\"\n\nWith those words, I left her. She started up from the chair on which she\nhad dropped the moment before: she started up--the noble creature!--and\nfollowed me across the outer room, with a last merciful word at parting.\n\n\"Franklin!\" she said, \"I forgive you! Oh, Franklin, Franklin! we shall\nnever meet again. Say you forgive ME!\"\n\nI turned, so as to let my face show her that I was past speaking--I\nturned, and waved my hand, and saw her dimly, as in a vision, through\nthe tears that had conquered me at last.\n\nThe next moment, the worst bitterness of it was over. I was out in the\ngarden again. I saw her, and heard her, no more.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\nLate that evening, I was surprised at my lodgings by a visit from Mr.\nBruff.\n\nThere was a noticeable change in the lawyer's manner. It had lost its\nusual confidence and spirit. He shook hands with me, for the first time\nin his life, in silence.\n\n\"Are you going back to Hampstead?\" I asked, by way of saying something.\n\n\"I have just left Hampstead,\" he answered. \"I know, Mr. Franklin, that\nyou have got at the truth at last. But, I tell you plainly, if I could\nhave foreseen the price that was to be paid for it, I should have\npreferred leaving you in the dark.\"\n\n\"You have seen Rachel?\"\n\n\"I have come here after taking her back to Portland Place; it was\nimpossible to let her return in the carriage by herself. I can hardly\nhold you responsible--considering that you saw her in my house and by my\npermission--for the shock that this unlucky interview has inflicted on\nher. All I can do is to provide against a repetition of the mischief.\nShe is young--she has a resolute spirit--she will get over this, with\ntime and rest to help her. I want to be assured that you will do nothing\nto hinder her recovery. May I depend on your making no second attempt to\nsee her--except with my sanction and approval?\"\n\n\"After what she has suffered, and after what I have suffered,\" I said,\n\"you may rely on me.\"\n\n\"I have your promise?\"\n\n\"You have my promise.\"\n\nMr. Bruff looked relieved. He put down his hat, and drew his chair\nnearer to mine.\n\n\"That's settled!\" he said. \"Now, about the future--your future, I mean.\nTo my mind, the result of the extraordinary turn which the matter has\nnow taken is briefly this. In the first place, we are sure that Rachel\nhas told you the whole truth, as plainly as words can tell it. In the\nsecond place--though we know that there must be some dreadful mistake\nsomewhere--we can hardly blame her for believing you to be guilty, on\nthe evidence of her own senses; backed, as that evidence has been, by\ncircumstances which appear, on the face of them, to tell dead against\nyou.\"\n\nThere I interposed. \"I don't blame Rachel,\" I said. \"I only regret that\nshe could not prevail on herself to speak more plainly to me at the\ntime.\"\n\n\"You might as well regret that Rachel is not somebody else,\" rejoined\nMr. Bruff. \"And even then, I doubt if a girl of any delicacy, whose\nheart had been set on marrying you, could have brought herself to charge\nyou to your face with being a thief. Anyhow, it was not in Rachel's\nnature to do it. In a very different matter to this matter of\nyours--which placed her, however, in a position not altogether unlike\nher position towards you--I happen to know that she was influenced by\na similar motive to the motive which actuated her conduct in your case.\nBesides, as she told me herself, on our way to town this evening, if\nshe had spoken plainly, she would no more have believed your denial then\nthan she believes it now. What answer can you make to that? There is no\nanswer to be made to it. Come, come, Mr. Franklin! my view of the case\nhas been proved to be all wrong, I admit--but, as things are now, my\nadvice may be worth having for all that. I tell you plainly, we shall be\nwasting our time, and cudgelling our brains to no purpose, if we attempt\nto try back, and unravel this frightful complication from the beginning.\nLet us close our minds resolutely to all that happened last year at Lady\nVerinder's country house; and let us look to what we CAN discover in the\nfuture, instead of to what we can NOT discover in the past.\"\n\n\"Surely you forget,\" I said, \"that the whole thing is essentially a\nmatter of the past--so far as I am concerned?\"\n\n\"Answer me this,\" retorted Mr. Bruff. \"Is the Moonstone at the bottom of\nall the mischief--or is it not?\"\n\n\"It is--of course.\"\n\n\"Very good. What do we believe was done with the Moonstone, when it was\ntaken to London?\"\n\n\"It was pledged to Mr. Luker.\"\n\n\"We know that you are not the person who pledged it. Do we know who\ndid?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Where do we believe the Moonstone to be now?\"\n\n\"Deposited in the keeping of Mr. Luker's bankers.\"\n\n\"Exactly. Now observe. We are already in the month of June. Towards\nthe end of the month (I can't be particular to a day) a year will have\nelapsed from the time when we believe the jewel to have been pledged.\nThere is a chance--to say the least--that the person who pawned it, may\nbe prepared to redeem it when the year's time has expired. If he\nredeems it, Mr. Luker must himself--according to the terms of his own\narrangement--take the Diamond out of his banker's hands. Under these\ncircumstances, I propose setting a watch at the bank, as the present\nmonth draws to an end, and discovering who the person is to whom Mr.\nLuker restores the Moonstone. Do you see it now?\"\n\nI admitted (a little unwillingly) that the idea was a new one, at any\nrate.\n\n\"It's Mr. Murthwaite's idea quite as much as mine,\" said Mr. Bruff. \"It\nmight have never entered my head, but for a conversation we had together\nsome time since. If Mr. Murthwaite is right, the Indians are likely to\nbe on the lookout at the bank, towards the end of the month too--and\nsomething serious may come of it. What comes of it doesn't matter to\nyou and me except as it may help us to lay our hands on the mysterious\nSomebody who pawned the Diamond. That person, you may rely on it, is\nresponsible (I don't pretend to know how) for the position in which\nyou stand at this moment; and that person alone can set you right in\nRachel's estimation.\"\n\n\"I can't deny,\" I said, \"that the plan you propose meets the difficulty\nin a way that is very daring, and very ingenious, and very new. But----\"\n\n\"But you have an objection to make?\"\n\n\"Yes. My objection is, that your proposal obliges us to wait.\"\n\n\"Granted. As I reckon the time, it requires you to wait about a\nfortnight--more or less. Is that so very long?\"\n\n\"It's a life-time, Mr. Bruff, in such a situation as mine. My existence\nwill be simply unendurable to me, unless I do something towards clearing\nmy character at once.\"\n\n\"Well, well, I understand that. Have you thought yet of what you can\ndo?\"\n\n\"I have thought of consulting Sergeant Cuff.\"\n\n\"He has retired from the police. It's useless to expect the Sergeant to\nhelp you.\"\n\n\"I know where to find him; and I can but try.\"\n\n\"Try,\" said Mr. Bruff, after a moment's consideration. \"The case has\nassumed such an extraordinary aspect since Sergeant Cuff's time, that\nyou may revive his interest in the inquiry. Try, and let me hear\nthe result. In the meanwhile,\" he continued, rising, \"if you make no\ndiscoveries between this, and the end of the month, am I free to try, on\nmy side, what can be done by keeping a lookout at the bank?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" I answered--\"unless I relieve you of all necessity for\ntrying the experiment in the interval.\"\n\nMr. Bruff smiled, and took up his hat.\n\n\"Tell Sergeant Cuff,\" he rejoined, \"that I say the discovery of the\ntruth depends on the discovery of the person who pawned the Diamond. And\nlet me hear what the Sergeant's experience says to that.\"\n\nSo we parted.\n\nEarly the next morning, I set forth for the little town of Dorking--the\nplace of Sergeant Cuff's retirement, as indicated to me by Betteredge.\n\nInquiring at the hotel, I received the necessary directions for finding\nthe Sergeant's cottage. It was approached by a quiet bye-road, a little\nway out of the town, and it stood snugly in the middle of its own plot\nof garden ground, protected by a good brick wall at the back and the\nsides, and by a high quickset hedge in front. The gate, ornamented\nat the upper part by smartly-painted trellis-work, was locked. After\nringing at the bell, I peered through the trellis-work, and saw the\ngreat Cuff's favourite flower everywhere; blooming in his garden,\nclustering over his door, looking in at his windows. Far from the crimes\nand the mysteries of the great city, the illustrious thief-taker was\nplacidly living out the last Sybarite years of his life, smothered in\nroses!\n\nA decent elderly woman opened the gate to me, and at once annihilated\nall the hopes I had built on securing the assistance of Sergeant Cuff.\nHe had started, only the day before, on a journey to Ireland.\n\n\"Has he gone there on business?\" I asked.\n\nThe woman smiled. \"He has only one business now, sir,\" she said;\n\"and that's roses. Some great man's gardener in Ireland has found out\nsomething new in the growing of roses--and Mr. Cuff's away to inquire\ninto it.\"\n\n\"Do you know when he will be back?\"\n\n\"It's quite uncertain, sir. Mr. Cuff said he should come back directly,\nor be away some time, just according as he found the new discovery worth\nnothing, or worth looking into. If you have any message to leave for\nhim, I'll take care, sir, that he gets it.\"\n\nI gave her my card, having first written on it in pencil: \"I have\nsomething to say about the Moonstone. Let me hear from you as soon\nas you get back.\" That done, there was nothing left but to submit to\ncircumstances, and return to London.\n\nIn the irritable condition of my mind, at the time of which I am now\nwriting, the abortive result of my journey to the Sergeant's cottage\nsimply aggravated the restless impulse in me to be doing something. On\nthe day of my return from Dorking, I determined that the next morning\nshould find me bent on a new effort at forcing my way, through all\nobstacles, from the darkness to the light.\n\nWhat form was my next experiment to take?\n\nIf the excellent Betteredge had been present while I was considering\nthat question, and if he had been let into the secret of my thoughts, he\nwould, no doubt, have declared that the German side of me was, on this\noccasion, my uppermost side. To speak seriously, it is perhaps possible\nthat my German training was in some degree responsible for the labyrinth\nof useless speculations in which I now involved myself. For the greater\npart of the night, I sat smoking, and building up theories, one more\nprofoundly improbable than another. When I did get to sleep, my\nwaking fancies pursued me in dreams. I rose the next morning, with\nObjective-Subjective and Subjective-Objective inextricably entangled\ntogether in my mind; and I began the day which was to witness my next\neffort at practical action of some kind, by doubting whether I had any\nsort of right (on purely philosophical grounds) to consider any sort of\nthing (the Diamond included) as existing at all.\n\nHow long I might have remained lost in the mist of my own metaphysics,\nif I had been left to extricate myself, it is impossible for me to say.\nAs the event proved, accident came to my rescue, and happily delivered\nme. I happened to wear, that morning, the same coat which I had worn on\nthe day of my interview with Rachel. Searching for something else in one\nof the pockets, I came upon a crumpled piece of paper, and, taking it\nout, found Betteredge's forgotten letter in my hand.\n\nIt seemed hard on my good old friend to leave him without a reply. I\nwent to my writing-table, and read his letter again.\n\nA letter which has nothing of the slightest importance in it, is\nnot always an easy letter to answer. Betteredge's present effort at\ncorresponding with me came within this category. Mr. Candy's assistant,\notherwise Ezra Jennings, had told his master that he had seen me; and\nMr. Candy, in his turn, wanted to see me and say something to me, when\nI was next in the neighbourhood of Frizinghall. What was to be said in\nanswer to that, which would be worth the paper it was written on? I sat\nidly drawing likenesses from memory of Mr. Candy's remarkable-looking\nassistant, on the sheet of paper which I had vowed to dedicate\nto Betteredge--until it suddenly occurred to me that here was the\nirrepressible Ezra Jennings getting in my way again! I threw a dozen\nportraits, at least, of the man with the piebald hair (the hair in every\ncase, remarkably like), into the waste-paper basket--and then and\nthere, wrote my answer to Betteredge. It was a perfectly commonplace\nletter--but it had one excellent effect on me. The effort of writing\na few sentences, in plain English, completely cleared my mind of the\ncloudy nonsense which had filled it since the previous day.\n\nDevoting myself once more to the elucidation of the impenetrable\npuzzle which my own position presented to me, I now tried to meet the\ndifficulty by investigating it from a plainly practical point of view.\nThe events of the memorable night being still unintelligible to me,\nI looked a little farther back, and searched my memory of the earlier\nhours of the birthday for any incident which might prove of some\nassistance to me in finding the clue.\n\nHad anything happened while Rachel and I were finishing the painted\ndoor? or, later, when I rode over to Frizinghall? or afterwards, when I\nwent back with Godfrey Ablewhite and his sisters? or, later again,\nwhen I put the Moonstone into Rachel's hands? or, later still, when the\ncompany came, and we all assembled round the dinner-table? My memory\ndisposed of that string of questions readily enough, until I came to the\nlast. Looking back at the social event of the birthday dinner, I found\nmyself brought to a standstill at the outset of the inquiry. I was not\neven capable of accurately remembering the number of the guests who had\nsat at the same table with me.\n\nTo feel myself completely at fault here, and to conclude, thereupon,\nthat the incidents of the dinner might especially repay the trouble of\ninvestigating them, formed parts of the same mental process, in my case.\nI believe other people, in a similar situation, would have reasoned as\nI did. When the pursuit of our own interests causes us to become objects\nof inquiry to ourselves, we are naturally suspicious of what we don't\nknow. Once in possession of the names of the persons who had been\npresent at the dinner, I resolved--as a means of enriching the deficient\nresources of my own memory--to appeal to the memory of the rest of the\nguests; to write down all that they could recollect of the social events\nof the birthday; and to test the result, thus obtained, by the light of\nwhat had happened afterwards, when the company had left the house.\n\nThis last and newest of my many contemplated experiments in the art\nof inquiry--which Betteredge would probably have attributed to the\nclear-headed, or French, side of me being uppermost for the moment--may\nfairly claim record here, on its own merits. Unlikely as it may seem, I\nhad now actually groped my way to the root of the matter at last. All I\nwanted was a hint to guide me in the right direction at starting. Before\nanother day had passed over my head, that hint was given me by one of\nthe company who had been present at the birthday feast!\n\nWith the plan of proceeding which I now had in view, it was first\nnecessary to possess the complete list of the guests. This I could\neasily obtain from Gabriel Betteredge. I determined to go back to\nYorkshire on that day, and to begin my contemplated investigation the\nnext morning.\n\nIt was just too late to start by the train which left London before\nnoon. There was no alternative but to wait, nearly three hours, for the\ndeparture of the next train. Was there anything I could do in London,\nwhich might usefully occupy this interval of time?\n\nMy thoughts went back again obstinately to the birthday dinner.\n\nThough I had forgotten the numbers, and, in many cases, the names of the\nguests, I remembered readily enough that by far the larger proportion\nof them came from Frizinghall, or from its neighbourhood. But the larger\nproportion was not all. Some few of us were not regular residents in\nthe country. I myself was one of the few. Mr. Murthwaite was another.\nGodfrey Ablewhite was a third. Mr. Bruff--no: I called to mind that\nbusiness had prevented Mr. Bruff from making one of the party. Had any\nladies been present, whose usual residence was in London? I could only\nremember Miss Clack as coming within this latter category. However, here\nwere three of the guests, at any rate, whom it was clearly advisable for\nme to see before I left town. I drove off at once to Mr. Bruff's office;\nnot knowing the addresses of the persons of whom I was in search, and\nthinking it probable that he might put me in the way of finding them.\n\nMr. Bruff proved to be too busy to give me more than a minute of his\nvaluable time. In that minute, however, he contrived to dispose--in the\nmost discouraging manner--of all the questions I had to put to him.\n\nIn the first place, he considered my newly-discovered method of finding\na clue to the mystery as something too purely fanciful to be seriously\ndiscussed. In the second, third, and fourth places, Mr. Murthwaite was\nnow on his way back to the scene of his past adventures; Miss Clack had\nsuffered losses, and had settled, from motives of economy, in France;\nMr. Godfrey Ablewhite might, or might not, be discoverable somewhere in\nLondon. Suppose I inquired at his club? And suppose I excused Mr. Bruff,\nif he went back to his business and wished me good morning?\n\nThe field of inquiry in London, being now so narrowed as only to include\nthe one necessity of discovering Godfrey's address, I took the lawyer's\nhint, and drove to his club.\n\nIn the hall, I met with one of the members, who was an old friend of my\ncousin's, and who was also an acquaintance of my own. This gentleman,\nafter enlightening me on the subject of Godfrey's address, told me\nof two recent events in his life, which were of some importance in\nthemselves, and which had not previously reached my ears.\n\nIt appeared that Godfrey, far from being discouraged by Rachel's\nwithdrawal from her engagement to him had made matrimonial advances soon\nafterwards to another young lady, reputed to be a great heiress. His\nsuit had prospered, and his marriage had been considered as a settled\nand certain thing. But, here again, the engagement had been suddenly\nand unexpectedly broken off--owing, it was said, on this occasion, to\na serious difference of opinion between the bridegroom and the lady's\nfather, on the question of settlements.\n\nAs some compensation for this second matrimonial disaster, Godfrey had\nsoon afterwards found himself the object of fond pecuniary remembrance,\non the part of one of his many admirers. A rich old lady--highly\nrespected at the Mothers' Small-Clothes-Conversion-Society, and a\ngreat friend of Miss Clack's (to whom she left nothing but a mourning\nring)--had bequeathed to the admirable and meritorious Godfrey a legacy\nof five thousand pounds. After receiving this handsome addition to his\nown modest pecuniary resources, he had been heard to say that he felt\nthe necessity of getting a little respite from his charitable labours,\nand that his doctor prescribed \"a run on the Continent, as likely to\nbe productive of much future benefit to his health.\" If I wanted to see\nhim, it would be advisable to lose no time in paying my contemplated\nvisit.\n\nI went, then and there, to pay my visit.\n\nThe same fatality which had made me just one day too late in calling on\nSergeant Cuff, made me again one day too late in calling on Godfrey. He\nhad left London, on the previous morning, by the tidal train, for Dover.\nHe was to cross to Ostend; and his servant believed he was going on to\nBrussels. The time of his return was rather uncertain; but I might be\nsure he would be away at least three months.\n\nI went back to my lodgings a little depressed in spirits. Three of\nthe guests at the birthday dinner--and those three all exceptionally\nintelligent people--were out of my reach, at the very time when it was\nmost important to be able to communicate with them. My last hopes now\nrested on Betteredge, and on the friends of the late Lady Verinder\nwhom I might still find living in the neighbourhood of Rachel's country\nhouse.\n\nOn this occasion, I travelled straight to Frizinghall--the town being\nnow the central point in my field of inquiry. I arrived too late in the\nevening to be able to communicate with Betteredge. The next morning, I\nsent a messenger with a letter, requesting him to join me at the hotel,\nat his earliest convenience.\n\nHaving taken the precaution--partly to save time, partly to accommodate\nBetteredge--of sending my messenger in a fly, I had a reasonable\nprospect, if no delays occurred, of seeing the old man within less than\ntwo hours from the time when I had sent for him. During this interval, I\narranged to employ myself in opening my contemplated inquiry, among the\nguests present at the birthday dinner who were personally known to\nme, and who were easily within my reach. These were my relatives, the\nAblewhites, and Mr. Candy. The doctor had expressed a special wish to\nsee me, and the doctor lived in the next street. So to Mr. Candy I went\nfirst.\n\nAfter what Betteredge had told me, I naturally anticipated finding\ntraces in the doctor's face of the severe illness from which he had\nsuffered. But I was utterly unprepared for such a change as I saw in him\nwhen he entered the room and shook hands with me. His eyes were dim;\nhis hair had turned completely grey; his face was wizen; his figure\nhad shrunk. I looked at the once lively, rattlepated, humorous\nlittle doctor--associated in my remembrance with the perpetration of\nincorrigible social indiscretions and innumerable boyish jokes--and\nI saw nothing left of his former self, but the old tendency to vulgar\nsmartness in his dress. The man was a wreck; but his clothes and his\njewellery--in cruel mockery of the change in him--were as gay and as\ngaudy as ever.\n\n\"I have often thought of you, Mr. Blake,\" he said; \"and I am heartily\nglad to see you again at last. If there is anything I can do for you,\npray command my services, sir--pray command my services!\"\n\nHe said those few commonplace words with needless hurry and eagerness,\nand with a curiosity to know what had brought me to Yorkshire, which\nhe was perfectly--I might say childishly--incapable of concealing from\nnotice.\n\nWith the object that I had in view, I had of course foreseen the\nnecessity of entering into some sort of personal explanation, before I\ncould hope to interest people, mostly strangers to me, in doing their\nbest to assist my inquiry. On the journey to Frizinghall I had arranged\nwhat my explanation was to be--and I seized the opportunity now offered\nto me of trying the effect of it on Mr. Candy.\n\n\"I was in Yorkshire, the other day, and I am in Yorkshire again now, on\nrather a romantic errand,\" I said. \"It is a matter, Mr. Candy, in which\nthe late Lady Verinder's friends all took some interest. You remember\nthe mysterious loss of the Indian Diamond, now nearly a year since?\nCircumstances have lately happened which lead to the hope that it may\nyet be found--and I am interesting myself, as one of the family, in\nrecovering it. Among the obstacles in my way, there is the necessity of\ncollecting again all the evidence which was discovered at the time, and\nmore if possible. There are peculiarities in this case which make it\ndesirable to revive my recollection of everything that happened in the\nhouse, on the evening of Miss Verinder's birthday. And I venture to\nappeal to her late mother's friends who were present on that occasion,\nto lend me the assistance of their memories----\"\n\nI had got as far as that in rehearsing my explanatory phrases, when\nI was suddenly checked by seeing plainly in Mr. Candy's face that my\nexperiment on him was a total failure.\n\nThe little doctor sat restlessly picking at the points of his fingers\nall the time I was speaking. His dim watery eyes were fixed on my face\nwith an expression of vacant and wistful inquiry very painful to see.\nWhat he was thinking of, it was impossible to divine. The one thing\nclearly visible was that I had failed, after the first two or three\nwords, in fixing his attention. The only chance of recalling him to\nhimself appeared to lie in changing the subject. I tried a new topic\nimmediately.\n\n\"So much,\" I said, gaily, \"for what brings me to Frizinghall! Now, Mr.\nCandy, it's your turn. You sent me a message by Gabriel Betteredge----\"\n\nHe left off picking at his fingers, and suddenly brightened up.\n\n\"Yes! yes! yes!\" he exclaimed eagerly. \"That's it! I sent you a\nmessage!\"\n\n\"And Betteredge duly communicated it by letter,\" I went on. \"You had\nsomething to say to me, the next time I was in your neighbourhood. Well,\nMr. Candy, here I am!\"\n\n\"Here you are!\" echoed the doctor. \"And Betteredge was quite right.\nI had something to say to you. That was my message. Betteredge is a\nwonderful man. What a memory! At his age, what a memory!\"\n\nHe dropped back into silence, and began picking at his fingers again.\nRecollecting what I had heard from Betteredge about the effect of the\nfever on his memory, I went on with the conversation, in the hope that I\nmight help him at starting.\n\n\"It's a long time since we met,\" I said. \"We last saw each other at the\nlast birthday dinner my poor aunt was ever to give.\"\n\n\"That's it!\" cried Mr. Candy. \"The birthday dinner!\" He started\nimpulsively to his feet, and looked at me. A deep flush suddenly\noverspread his faded face, and he abruptly sat down again, as if\nconscious of having betrayed a weakness which he would fain have\nconcealed. It was plain, pitiably plain, that he was aware of his own\ndefect of memory, and that he was bent on hiding it from the observation\nof his friends.\n\nThus far he had appealed to my compassion only. But the words he had\njust said--few as they were--roused my curiosity instantly to the\nhighest pitch. The birthday dinner had already become the one event in\nthe past, at which I looked back with strangely-mixed feelings of hope\nand distrust. And here was the birthday dinner unmistakably proclaiming\nitself as the subject on which Mr. Candy had something important to say\nto me!\n\nI attempted to help him out once more. But, this time, my own interests\nwere at the bottom of my compassionate motive, and they hurried me on a\nlittle too abruptly, to the end I had in view.\n\n\"It's nearly a year now,\" I said, \"since we sat at that pleasant table.\nHave you made any memorandum--in your diary, or otherwise--of what you\nwanted to say to me?\"\n\nMr. Candy understood the suggestion, and showed me that he understood\nit, as an insult.\n\n\"I require no memorandum, Mr. Blake,\" he said, stiffly enough. \"I am not\nsuch a very old man, yet--and my memory (thank God) is to be thoroughly\ndepended on!\"\n\nIt is needless to say that I declined to understand that he was offended\nwith me.\n\n\"I wish I could say the same of my memory,\" I answered. \"When I try to\nthink of matters that are a year old, I seldom find my remembrance as\nvivid as I could wish it to be. Take the dinner at Lady Verinder's, for\ninstance----\"\n\nMr. Candy brightened up again, the moment the allusion passed my lips.\n\n\"Ah! the dinner, the dinner at Lady Verinder's!\" he exclaimed, more\neagerly than ever. \"I have got something to say to you about that.\"\n\nHis eyes looked at me again with the painful expression of inquiry,\nso wistful, so vacant, so miserably helpless to see. He was evidently\ntrying hard, and trying in vain, to recover the lost recollection.\n\"It was a very pleasant dinner,\" he burst out suddenly, with an air\nof saying exactly what he wanted to say. \"A very pleasant dinner, Mr.\nBlake, wasn't it?\" He nodded and smiled, and appeared to think, poor\nfellow, that he had succeeded in concealing the total failure of his\nmemory, by a well-timed exertion of his own presence of mind.\n\nIt was so distressing that I at once shifted the talk--deeply as I was\ninterested in his recovering the lost remembrance--to topics of local\ninterest.\n\nHere, he got on glibly enough. Trumpery little scandals and quarrels in\nthe town, some of them as much as a month old, appeared to recur to his\nmemory readily. He chattered on, with something of the smooth gossiping\nfluency of former times. But there were moments, even in the full flow\nof his talkativeness, when he suddenly hesitated--looked at me for\na moment with the vacant inquiry once more in his eyes--controlled\nhimself--and went on again. I submitted patiently to my martyrdom (it is\nsurely nothing less than martyrdom to a man of cosmopolitan sympathies,\nto absorb in silent resignation the news of a country town?) until the\nclock on the chimney-piece told me that my visit had been prolonged\nbeyond half an hour. Having now some right to consider the sacrifice as\ncomplete, I rose to take leave. As we shook hands, Mr. Candy reverted to\nthe birthday festival of his own accord.\n\n\"I am so glad we have met again,\" he said. \"I had it on my mind--I\nreally had it on my mind, Mr. Blake, to speak to you. About the dinner\nat Lady Verinder's, you know? A pleasant dinner--really a pleasant\ndinner now, wasn't it?\"\n\nOn repeating the phrase, he seemed to feel hardly as certain of having\nprevented me from suspecting his lapse of memory, as he had felt on\nthe first occasion. The wistful look clouded his face again: and, after\napparently designing to accompany me to the street door, he suddenly\nchanged his mind, rang the bell for the servant, and remained in the\ndrawing-room.\n\nI went slowly down the doctor's stairs, feeling the disheartening\nconviction that he really had something to say which it was vitally\nimportant to me to hear, and that he was morally incapable of saying\nit. The effort of remembering that he wanted to speak to me was, but\ntoo evidently, the only effort that his enfeebled memory was now able to\nachieve.\n\nJust as I reached the bottom of the stairs, and had turned a corner on\nmy way to the outer hall, a door opened softly somewhere on the ground\nfloor of the house, and a gentle voice said behind me:--\n\n\"I am afraid, sir, you find Mr. Candy sadly changed?\"\n\nI turned round, and found myself face to face with Ezra Jennings.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n\nThe doctor's pretty housemaid stood waiting for me, with the street door\nopen in her hand. Pouring brightly into the hall, the morning light fell\nfull on the face of Mr. Candy's assistant when I turned, and looked at\nhim.\n\nIt was impossible to dispute Betteredge's assertion that the appearance\nof Ezra Jennings, speaking from a popular point of view, was against\nhim. His gipsy-complexion, his fleshless cheeks, his gaunt facial bones,\nhis dreamy eyes, his extraordinary parti-coloured hair, the puzzling\ncontradiction between his face and figure which made him look old and\nyoung both together--were all more or less calculated to produce an\nunfavourable impression of him on a stranger's mind. And yet--feeling\nthis as I certainly did--it is not to be denied that Ezra Jennings made\nsome inscrutable appeal to my sympathies, which I found it impossible to\nresist. While my knowledge of the world warned me to answer the question\nwhich he had put, acknowledging that I did indeed find Mr. Candy sadly\nchanged, and then to proceed on my way out of the house--my interest in\nEzra Jennings held me rooted to the place, and gave him the opportunity\nof speaking to me in private about his employer, for which he had been\nevidently on the watch.\n\n\"Are you walking my way, Mr. Jennings?\" I said, observing that he held\nhis hat in his hand. \"I am going to call on my aunt, Mrs. Ablewhite.\"\n\nEzra Jennings replied that he had a patient to see, and that he was\nwalking my way.\n\nWe left the house together. I observed that the pretty servant girl--who\nwas all smiles and amiability, when I wished her good morning on my way\nout--received a modest little message from Ezra Jennings, relating to\nthe time at which he might be expected to return, with pursed-up lips,\nand with eyes which ostentatiously looked anywhere rather than look in\nhis face. The poor wretch was evidently no favourite in the house.\nOut of the house, I had Betteredge's word for it that he was unpopular\neverywhere. \"What a life!\" I thought to myself, as we descended the\ndoctor's doorsteps.\n\nHaving already referred to Mr. Candy's illness on his side, Ezra\nJennings now appeared determined to leave it to me to resume the\nsubject. His silence said significantly, \"It's your turn now.\" I, too,\nhad my reasons for referring to the doctor's illness: and I readily\naccepted the responsibility of speaking first.\n\n\"Judging by the change I see in him,\" I began, \"Mr. Candy's illness must\nhave been far more serious that I had supposed?\"\n\n\"It is almost a miracle,\" said Ezra Jennings, \"that he lived through\nit.\"\n\n\"Is his memory never any better than I have found it to-day? He has been\ntrying to speak to me----\"\n\n\"Of something which happened before he was taken ill?\" asked the\nassistant, observing that I hesitated.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"His memory of events, at that past time, is hopelessly enfeebled,\" said\nEzra Jennings. \"It is almost to be deplored, poor fellow, that even\nthe wreck of it remains. While he remembers dimly plans that he\nformed--things, here and there, that he had to say or do before his\nillness--he is perfectly incapable of recalling what the plans were, or\nwhat the thing was that he had to say or do. He is painfully conscious\nof his own deficiency, and painfully anxious, as you must have seen, to\nhide it from observation. If he could only have recovered in a complete\nstate of oblivion as to the past, he would have been a happier man.\nPerhaps we should all be happier,\" he added, with a sad smile, \"if we\ncould but completely forget!\"\n\n\"There are some events surely in all men's lives,\" I replied, \"the\nmemory of which they would be unwilling entirely to lose?\"\n\n\"That is, I hope, to be said of most men, Mr. Blake. I am afraid it\ncannot truly be said of ALL. Have you any reason to suppose that the\nlost remembrance which Mr. Candy tried to recover--while you were\nspeaking to him just now--was a remembrance which it was important to\nYOU that he should recall?\"\n\nIn saying those words, he had touched, of his own accord, on the very\npoint upon which I was anxious to consult him. The interest I felt in\nthis strange man had impelled me, in the first instance, to give him the\nopportunity of speaking to me; reserving what I might have to say, on my\nside, in relation to his employer, until I was first satisfied that he\nwas a person in whose delicacy and discretion I could trust. The little\nthat he had said, thus far, had been sufficient to convince me that I\nwas speaking to a gentleman. He had what I may venture to describe as\nthe UNSOUGHT SELF-POSSESSION, which is a sure sign of good breeding, not\nin England only, but everywhere else in the civilised world. Whatever\nthe object which he had in view, in putting the question that he had\njust addressed to me, I felt no doubt that I was justified--so far--in\nanswering him without reserve.\n\n\"I believe I have a strong interest,\" I said, \"in tracing the lost\nremembrance which Mr. Candy was unable to recall. May I ask whether you\ncan suggest to me any method by which I might assist his memory?\"\n\nEzra Jennings looked at me, with a sudden flash of interest in his\ndreamy brown eyes.\n\n\"Mr. Candy's memory is beyond the reach of assistance,\" he said. \"I have\ntried to help it often enough since his recovery, to be able to speak\npositively on that point.\"\n\nThis disappointed me; and I owned it.\n\n\"I confess you led me to hope for a less discouraging answer than that,\"\nI said.\n\nEzra Jennings smiled. \"It may not, perhaps, be a final answer, Mr.\nBlake. It may be possible to trace Mr. Candy's lost recollection,\nwithout the necessity of appealing to Mr. Candy himself.\"\n\n\"Indeed? Is it an indiscretion, on my part, to ask how?\"\n\n\"By no means. My only difficulty in answering your question, is the\ndifficulty of explaining myself. May I trust to your patience, if I\nrefer once more to Mr. Candy's illness: and if I speak of it this time\nwithout sparing you certain professional details?\"\n\n\"Pray go on! You have interested me already in hearing the details.\"\n\nMy eagerness seemed to amuse--perhaps, I might rather say, to please\nhim. He smiled again. We had by this time left the last houses in the\ntown behind us. Ezra Jennings stopped for a moment, and picked some wild\nflowers from the hedge by the roadside. \"How beautiful they are!\" he\nsaid, simply, showing his little nosegay to me. \"And how few people in\nEngland seem to admire them as they deserve!\"\n\n\"You have not always been in England?\" I said.\n\n\"No. I was born, and partly brought up, in one of our colonies. My\nfather was an Englishman; but my mother--We are straying away\nfrom our subject, Mr. Blake; and it is my fault. The truth is, I have\nassociations with these modest little hedgeside flowers--It doesn't\nmatter; we were speaking of Mr. Candy. To Mr. Candy let us return.\"\n\nConnecting the few words about himself which thus reluctantly escaped\nhim, with the melancholy view of life which led him to place the\nconditions of human happiness in complete oblivion of the past, I\nfelt satisfied that the story which I had read in his face was, in two\nparticulars at least, the story that it really told. He had suffered as\nfew men suffer; and there was the mixture of some foreign race in his\nEnglish blood.\n\n\"You have heard, I dare say, of the original cause of Mr. Candy's\nillness?\" he resumed. \"The night of Lady Verinder's dinner-party was a\nnight of heavy rain. My employer drove home through it in his gig, and\nreached the house wetted to the skin. He found an urgent message from\na patient, waiting for him; and he most unfortunately went at once to\nvisit the sick person, without stopping to change his clothes. I was\nmyself professionally detained, that night, by a case at some distance\nfrom Frizinghall. When I got back the next morning, I found Mr. Candy's\ngroom waiting in great alarm to take me to his master's room. By that\ntime the mischief was done; the illness had set in.\"\n\n\"The illness has only been described to me, in general terms, as a\nfever,\" I said.\n\n\"I can add nothing which will make the description more accurate,\"\nanswered Ezra Jennings. \"From first to last the fever assumed no\nspecific form. I sent at once to two of Mr. Candy's medical friends\nin the town, both physicians, to come and give me their opinion of the\ncase. They agreed with me that it looked serious; but they both strongly\ndissented from the view I took of the treatment. We differed entirely in\nthe conclusions which we drew from the patient's pulse. The two\ndoctors, arguing from the rapidity of the beat, declared that a lowering\ntreatment was the only treatment to be adopted. On my side, I admitted\nthe rapidity of the pulse, but I also pointed to its alarming feebleness\nas indicating an exhausted condition of the system, and as showing a\nplain necessity for the administration of stimulants. The two doctors\nwere for keeping him on gruel, lemonade, barley-water, and so on. I was\nfor giving him champagne, or brandy, ammonia, and quinine. A serious\ndifference of opinion, as you see! A difference between two physicians\nof established local repute, and a stranger who was only an assistant in\nthe house. For the first few days, I had no choice but to give way to my\nelders and betters; the patient steadily sinking all the time. I made a\nsecond attempt to appeal to the plain, undeniably plain, evidence of the\npulse. Its rapidity was unchecked, and its feebleness had increased.\nThe two doctors took offence at my obstinacy. They said, 'Mr. Jennings,\neither we manage this case, or you manage it. Which is it to be?' I\nsaid, 'Gentlemen, give me five minutes to consider, and that plain\nquestion shall have a plain reply.' When the time expired, I was ready\nwith my answer. I said, 'You positively refuse to try the stimulant\ntreatment?' They refused in so many words. 'I mean to try it at once,\ngentlemen.'--'Try it, Mr. Jennings, and we withdraw from the case.' I\nsent down to the cellar for a bottle of champagne; and I administered\nhalf a tumbler-full of it to the patient with my own hand. The two\nphysicians took up their hats in silence, and left the house.\"\n\n\"You had assumed a serious responsibility,\" I said. \"In your place, I am\nafraid I should have shrunk from it.\"\n\n\"In my place, Mr. Blake, you would have remembered that Mr. Candy had\ntaken you into his employment, under circumstances which made you his\ndebtor for life. In my place, you would have seen him sinking, hour by\nhour; and you would have risked anything, rather than let the one man on\nearth who had befriended you, die before your eyes. Don't suppose that\nI had no sense of the terrible position in which I had placed myself!\nThere were moments when I felt all the misery of my friendlessness, all\nthe peril of my dreadful responsibility. If I had been a happy man, if I\nhad led a prosperous life, I believe I should have sunk under the task I\nhad imposed on myself. But I had no happy time to look back at, no past\npeace of mind to force itself into contrast with my present anxiety and\nsuspense--and I held firm to my resolution through it all. I took an\ninterval in the middle of the day, when my patient's condition was at\nits best, for the repose I needed. For the rest of the four-and-twenty\nhours, as long as his life was in danger, I never left his bedside.\nTowards sunset, as usual in such cases, the delirium incidental to\nthe fever came on. It lasted more or less through the night; and then\nintermitted, at that terrible time in the early morning--from two\no'clock to five--when the vital energies even of the healthiest of us\nare at their lowest. It is then that Death gathers in his human harvest\nmost abundantly. It was then that Death and I fought our fight over\nthe bed, which should have the man who lay on it. I never hesitated\nin pursuing the treatment on which I had staked everything. When wine\nfailed, I tried brandy. When the other stimulants lost their influence,\nI doubled the dose. After an interval of suspense--the like of which I\nhope to God I shall never feel again--there came a day when the rapidity\nof the pulse slightly, but appreciably, diminished; and, better\nstill, there came also a change in the beat--an unmistakable change to\nsteadiness and strength. THEN, I knew that I had saved him; and then I\nown I broke down. I laid the poor fellow's wasted hand back on the bed,\nand burst out crying. An hysterical relief, Mr. Blake--nothing more!\nPhysiology says, and says truly, that some men are born with female\nconstitutions--and I am one of them!\"\n\nHe made that bitterly professional apology for his tears, speaking\nquietly and unaffectedly, as he had spoken throughout. His tone and\nmanner, from beginning to end, showed him to be especially, almost\nmorbidly, anxious not to set himself up as an object of interest to me.\n\n\"You may well ask, why I have wearied you with all these details?\"\nhe went on. \"It is the only way I can see, Mr. Blake, of properly\nintroducing to you what I have to say next. Now you know exactly what\nmy position was, at the time of Mr. Candy's illness, you will the more\nreadily understand the sore need I had of lightening the burden on my\nmind by giving it, at intervals, some sort of relief. I have had the\npresumption to occupy my leisure, for some years past, in writing a\nbook, addressed to the members of my profession--a book on the intricate\nand delicate subject of the brain and the nervous system. My work will\nprobably never be finished; and it will certainly never be published. It\nhas none the less been the friend of many lonely hours; and it helped\nme to while away the anxious time--the time of waiting, and nothing\nelse--at Mr. Candy's bedside. I told you he was delirious, I think? And\nI mentioned the time at which his delirium came on?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, I had reached a section of my book, at that time, which touched\non this same question of delirium. I won't trouble you at any length\nwith my theory on the subject--I will confine myself to telling you only\nwhat it is your present interest to know. It has often occurred to me in\nthe course of my medical practice, to doubt whether we can justifiably\ninfer--in cases of delirium--that the loss of the faculty of speaking\nconnectedly, implies of necessity the loss of the faculty of thinking\nconnectedly as well. Poor Mr. Candy's illness gave me an opportunity\nof putting this doubt to the test. I understand the art of writing\nin shorthand; and I was able to take down the patient's 'wanderings',\nexactly as they fell from his lips.--Do you see, Mr. Blake, what I am\ncoming to at last?\"\n\nI saw it clearly, and waited with breathless interest to hear more.\n\n\"At odds and ends of time,\" Ezra Jennings went on, \"I reproduced my\nshorthand notes, in the ordinary form of writing--leaving large spaces\nbetween the broken phrases, and even the single words, as they had\nfallen disconnectedly from Mr. Candy's lips. I then treated the result\nthus obtained, on something like the principle which one adopts in\nputting together a child's 'puzzle.' It is all confusion to begin with;\nbut it may be all brought into order and shape, if you can only find\nthe right way. Acting on this plan, I filled in each blank space on the\npaper, with what the words or phrases on either side of it suggested\nto me as the speaker's meaning; altering over and over again, until my\nadditions followed naturally on the spoken words which came before them,\nand fitted naturally into the spoken words which came after them. The\nresult was, that I not only occupied in this way many vacant and anxious\nhours, but that I arrived at something which was (as it seemed to me) a\nconfirmation of the theory that I held. In plainer words, after putting\nthe broken sentences together I found the superior faculty of thinking\ngoing on, more or less connectedly, in my patient's mind, while the\ninferior faculty of expression was in a state of almost complete\nincapacity and confusion.\"\n\n\"One word!\" I interposed eagerly. \"Did my name occur in any of his\nwanderings?\"\n\n\"You shall hear, Mr. Blake. Among my written proofs of the assertion\nwhich I have just advanced--or, I ought to say, among the written\nexperiments, tending to put my assertion to the proof--there IS one, in\nwhich your name occurs. For nearly the whole of one night, Mr. Candy's\nmind was occupied with SOMETHING between himself and you. I have got the\nbroken words, as they dropped from his lips, on one sheet of paper. And\nI have got the links of my own discovering which connect those words\ntogether, on another sheet of paper. The product (as the arithmeticians\nwould say) is an intelligible statement--first, of something actually\ndone in the past; secondly, of something which Mr. Candy contemplated\ndoing in the future, if his illness had not got in the way, and stopped\nhim. The question is whether this does, or does not, represent the lost\nrecollection which he vainly attempted to find when you called on him\nthis morning?\"\n\n\"Not a doubt of it!\" I answered. \"Let us go back directly, and look at\nthe papers!\"\n\n\"Quite impossible, Mr. Blake.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Put yourself in my position for a moment,\" said Ezra Jennings. \"Would\nyou disclose to another person what had dropped unconsciously from the\nlips of your suffering patient and your helpless friend, without first\nknowing that there was a necessity to justify you in opening your lips?\"\n\nI felt that he was unanswerable, here; but I tried to argue the\nquestion, nevertheless.\n\n\"My conduct in such a delicate matter as you describe,\" I replied,\n\"would depend greatly on whether the disclosure was of a nature to\ncompromise my friend or not.\"\n\n\"I have disposed of all necessity for considering that side of the\nquestion, long since,\" said Ezra Jennings. \"Wherever my notes included\nanything which Mr. Candy might have wished to keep secret, those notes\nhave been destroyed. My manuscript experiments at my friend's bedside,\ninclude nothing, now, which he would have hesitated to communicate to\nothers, if he had recovered the use of his memory. In your case, I\nhave every reason to suppose that my notes contain something which he\nactually wished to say to you.\"\n\n\"And yet, you hesitate?\"\n\n\"And yet, I hesitate. Remember the circumstances under which I obtained\nthe information which I possess! Harmless as it is, I cannot prevail\nupon myself to give it up to you, unless you first satisfy me that there\nis a reason for doing so. He was so miserably ill, Mr. Blake! and he was\nso helplessly dependent upon Me! Is it too much to ask, if I request you\nonly to hint to me what your interest is in the lost recollection--or\nwhat you believe that lost recollection to be?\"\n\nTo have answered him with the frankness which his language and his\nmanner both claimed from me, would have been to commit myself to openly\nacknowledging that I was suspected of the theft of the Diamond. Strongly\nas Ezra Jennings had intensified the first impulsive interest which\nI had felt in him, he had not overcome my unconquerable reluctance to\ndisclose the degrading position in which I stood. I took refuge once\nmore in the explanatory phrases with which I had prepared myself to meet\nthe curiosity of strangers.\n\nThis time I had no reason to complain of a want of attention on the\npart of the person to whom I addressed myself. Ezra Jennings listened\npatiently, even anxiously, until I had done.\n\n\"I am sorry to have raised your expectations, Mr. Blake, only to\ndisappoint them,\" he said. \"Throughout the whole period of Mr. Candy's\nillness, from first to last, not one word about the Diamond escaped his\nlips. The matter with which I heard him connect your name has, I can\nassure you, no discoverable relation whatever with the loss or the\nrecovery of Miss Verinder's jewel.\"\n\nWe arrived, as he said those words, at a place where the highway along\nwhich we had been walking branched off into two roads. One led to Mr.\nAblewhite's house, and the other to a moorland village some two or three\nmiles off. Ezra Jennings stopped at the road which led to the village.\n\n\"My way lies in this direction,\" he said. \"I am really and truly sorry,\nMr. Blake, that I can be of no use to you.\"\n\nHis voice told me that he spoke sincerely. His soft brown eyes rested on\nme for a moment with a look of melancholy interest. He bowed, and went,\nwithout another word, on his way to the village.\n\nFor a minute or more I stood and watched him, walking farther and\nfarther away from me; carrying farther and farther away with him what I\nnow firmly believed to be the clue of which I was in search. He turned,\nafter walking on a little way, and looked back. Seeing me still standing\nat the place where we had parted, he stopped, as if doubting whether I\nmight not wish to speak to him again. There was no time for me to reason\nout my own situation--to remind myself that I was losing my opportunity,\nat what might be the turning point of my life, and all to flatter\nnothing more important than my own self-esteem! There was only time to\ncall him back first, and to think afterwards. I suspect I am one of the\nrashest of existing men. I called him back--and then I said to myself,\n\"Now there is no help for it. I must tell him the truth!\"\n\nHe retraced his steps directly. I advanced along the road to meet him.\n\n\"Mr. Jennings,\" I said. \"I have not treated you quite fairly. My\ninterest in tracing Mr. Candy's lost recollection is not the interest of\nrecovering the Moonstone. A serious personal matter is at the bottom\nof my visit to Yorkshire. I have but one excuse for not having dealt\nfrankly with you in this matter. It is more painful to me than I can\nsay, to mention to anybody what my position really is.\"\n\nEzra Jennings looked at me with the first appearance of embarrassment\nwhich I had seen in him yet.\n\n\"I have no right, Mr. Blake, and no wish,\" he said, \"to intrude myself\ninto your private affairs. Allow me to ask your pardon, on my side, for\nhaving (most innocently) put you to a painful test.\"\n\n\"You have a perfect right,\" I rejoined, \"to fix the terms on which you\nfeel justified in revealing what you heard at Mr. Candy's bedside. I\nunderstand and respect the delicacy which influences you in this matter.\nHow can I expect to be taken into your confidence if I decline to\nadmit you into mine? You ought to know, and you shall know, why I am\ninterested in discovering what Mr. Candy wanted to say to me. If I turn\nout to be mistaken in my anticipations, and if you prove unable to\nhelp me when you are really aware of what I want, I shall trust to your\nhonour to keep my secret--and something tells me that I shall not trust\nin vain.\"\n\n\"Stop, Mr. Blake. I have a word to say, which must be said before you go\nany farther.\" I looked at him in astonishment. The grip of some terrible\nemotion seemed to have seized him, and shaken him to the soul. His\ngipsy complexion had altered to a livid greyish paleness; his eyes\nhad suddenly become wild and glittering; his voice had dropped to a\ntone--low, stern, and resolute--which I now heard for the first time.\nThe latent resources in the man, for good or for evil--it was hard, at\nthat moment, to say which--leapt up in him and showed themselves to me,\nwith the suddenness of a flash of light.\n\n\"Before you place any confidence in me,\" he went on, \"you ought to know,\nand you MUST know, under what circumstances I have been received into\nMr. Candy's house. It won't take long. I don't profess, sir, to tell my\nstory (as the phrase is) to any man. My story will die with me. All I\nask, is to be permitted to tell you, what I have told Mr. Candy. If you\nare still in the mind, when you have heard that, to say what you have\nproposed to say, you will command my attention and command my services.\nShall we walk on?\"\n\nThe suppressed misery in his face silenced me. I answered his question\nby a sign. We walked on.\n\nAfter advancing a few hundred yards, Ezra Jennings stopped at a gap in\nthe rough stone wall which shut off the moor from the road, at this part\nof it.\n\n\"Do you mind resting a little, Mr. Blake?\" he asked. \"I am not what I\nwas--and some things shake me.\"\n\nI agreed of course. He led the way through the gap to a patch of turf\non the heathy ground, screened by bushes and dwarf trees on the side\nnearest to the road, and commanding in the opposite direction a grandly\ndesolate view over the broad brown wilderness of the moor. The clouds\nhad gathered, within the last half hour. The light was dull; the\ndistance was dim. The lovely face of Nature met us, soft and still\ncolourless--met us without a smile.\n\nWe sat down in silence. Ezra Jennings laid aside his hat, and passed his\nhand wearily over his forehead, wearily through his startling white and\nblack hair. He tossed his little nosegay of wild flowers away from him,\nas if the remembrances which it recalled were remembrances which hurt\nhim now.\n\n\"Mr. Blake!\" he said, suddenly. \"You are in bad company. The cloud of a\nhorrible accusation has rested on me for years. I tell you the worst at\nonce. I am a man whose life is a wreck, and whose character is gone.\"\n\nI attempted to speak. He stopped me.\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"Pardon me; not yet. Don't commit yourself to expressions\nof sympathy which you may afterwards wish to recall. I have mentioned an\naccusation which has rested on me for years. There are circumstances\nin connexion with it that tell against me. I cannot bring myself to\nacknowledge what the accusation is. And I am incapable, perfectly\nincapable, of proving my innocence. I can only assert my innocence. I\nassert it, sir, on my oath, as a Christian. It is useless to appeal to\nmy honour as a man.\"\n\nHe paused again. I looked round at him. He never looked at me in return.\nHis whole being seemed to be absorbed in the agony of recollecting, and\nin the effort to speak.\n\n\"There is much that I might say,\" he went on, \"about the merciless\ntreatment of me by my own family, and the merciless enmity to which\nI have fallen a victim. But the harm is done; the wrong is beyond all\nremedy. I decline to weary or distress you, sir, if I can help it. At\nthe outset of my career in this country, the vile slander to which\nI have referred struck me down at once and for ever. I resigned my\naspirations in my profession--obscurity was the only hope left for me.\nI parted with the woman I loved--how could I condemn her to share my\ndisgrace? A medical assistant's place offered itself, in a remote\ncorner of England. I got the place. It promised me peace; it promised me\nobscurity, as I thought. I was wrong. Evil report, with time and chance\nto help it, travels patiently, and travels far. The accusation from\nwhich I had fled followed me. I got warning of its approach. I was able\nto leave my situation voluntarily, with the testimonials that I had\nearned. They got me another situation in another remote district. Time\npassed again; and again the slander that was death to my character\nfound me out. On this occasion I had no warning. My employer said, 'Mr.\nJennings, I have no complaint to make against you; but you must set\nyourself right, or leave me.' I had but one choice--I left him. It's\nuseless to dwell on what I suffered after that. I am only forty years\nold now. Look at my face, and let it tell for me the story of some\nmiserable years. It ended in my drifting to this place, and meeting with\nMr. Candy. He wanted an assistant. I referred him, on the question of\ncapacity, to my last employer. The question of character remained. I\ntold him what I have told you--and more. I warned him that there were\ndifficulties in the way, even if he believed me. 'Here, as elsewhere,'\nI said 'I scorn the guilty evasion of living under an assumed name: I am\nno safer at Frizinghall than at other places from the cloud that follows\nme, go where I may.' He answered, 'I don't do things by halves--I\nbelieve you, and I pity you. If you will risk what may happen, I will\nrisk it too.' God Almighty bless him! He has given me shelter, he\nhas given me employment, he has given me rest of mind--and I have the\ncertain conviction (I have had it for some months past) that nothing\nwill happen now to make him regret it.\"\n\n\"The slander has died out?\" I said.\n\n\"The slander is as active as ever. But when it follows me here, it will\ncome too late.\"\n\n\"You will have left the place?\"\n\n\"No, Mr. Blake--I shall be dead. For ten years past I have suffered from\nan incurable internal complaint. I don't disguise from you that I should\nhave let the agony of it kill me long since, but for one last interest\nin life, which makes my existence of some importance to me still. I want\nto provide for a person--very dear to me--whom I shall never see again.\nMy own little patrimony is hardly sufficient to make her independent of\nthe world. The hope, if I could only live long enough, of increasing\nit to a certain sum, has impelled me to resist the disease by such\npalliative means as I could devise. The one effectual palliative in my\ncase, is--opium. To that all-potent and all-merciful drug I am indebted\nfor a respite of many years from my sentence of death. But even the\nvirtues of opium have their limit. The progress of the disease has\ngradually forced me from the use of opium to the abuse of it. I am\nfeeling the penalty at last. My nervous system is shattered; my nights\nare nights of horror. The end is not far off now. Let it come--I have\nnot lived and worked in vain. The little sum is nearly made up; and I\nhave the means of completing it, if my last reserves of life fail me\nsooner than I expect. I hardly know how I have wandered into telling you\nthis. I don't think I am mean enough to appeal to your pity. Perhaps, I\nfancy you may be all the readier to believe me, if you know that what I\nhave said to you, I have said with the certain knowledge in me that I am\na dying man. There is no disguising, Mr. Blake, that you interest me.\nI have attempted to make my poor friend's loss of memory the means of\nbettering my acquaintance with you. I have speculated on the chance of\nyour feeling a passing curiosity about what he wanted to say, and of my\nbeing able to satisfy it. Is there no excuse for my intruding myself on\nyou? Perhaps there is some excuse. A man who has lived as I have lived\nhas his bitter moments when he ponders over human destiny. You have\nyouth, health, riches, a place in the world, a prospect before you. You,\nand such as you, show me the sunny side of human life, and reconcile me\nwith the world that I am leaving, before I go. However this talk between\nus may end, I shall not forget that you have done me a kindness in doing\nthat. It rests with you, sir, to say what you proposed saying, or to\nwish me good morning.\"\n\nI had but one answer to make to that appeal. Without a moment's\nhesitation I told him the truth, as unreservedly as I have told it in\nthese pages.\n\nHe started to his feet, and looked at me with breathless eagerness as I\napproached the leading incident of my story.\n\n\"It is certain that I went into the room,\" I said; \"it is certain that\nI took the Diamond. I can only meet those two plain facts by declaring\nthat, do what I might, I did it without my own knowledge----\"\n\nEzra Jennings caught me excitedly by the arm.\n\n\"Stop!\" he said. \"You have suggested more to me than you suppose. Have\nyou ever been accustomed to the use of opium?\"\n\n\"I never tasted it in my life.\"\n\n\"Were your nerves out of order, at this time last year? Were you\nunusually restless and irritable?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did you sleep badly?\"\n\n\"Wretchedly. Many nights I never slept at all.\"\n\n\"Was the birthday night an exception? Try, and remember. Did you sleep\nwell on that one occasion?\"\n\n\"I do remember! I slept soundly.\"\n\nHe dropped my arm as suddenly as he had taken it--and looked at me with\nthe air of a man whose mind was relieved of the last doubt that rested\non it.\n\n\"This is a marked day in your life, and in mine,\" he said, gravely.\n\"I am absolutely certain, Mr. Blake, of one thing--I have got what Mr.\nCandy wanted to say to you this morning, in the notes that I took at my\npatient's bedside. Wait! that is not all. I am firmly persuaded that I\ncan prove you to have been unconscious of what you were about, when you\nentered the room and took the Diamond. Give me time to think, and time\nto question you. I believe the vindication of your innocence is in my\nhands!\"\n\n\"Explain yourself, for God's sake! What do you mean?\"\n\nIn the excitement of our colloquy, we had walked on a few steps, beyond\nthe clump of dwarf trees which had hitherto screened us from view.\nBefore Ezra Jennings could answer me, he was hailed from the high road\nby a man, in great agitation, who had been evidently on the look-out for\nhim.\n\n\"I am coming,\" he called back; \"I am coming as fast as I can!\" He turned\nto me. \"There is an urgent case waiting for me at the village yonder;\nI ought to have been there half an hour since--I must attend to it\nat once. Give me two hours from this time, and call at Mr. Candy's\nagain--and I will engage to be ready for you.\"\n\n\"How am I to wait!\" I exclaimed, impatiently. \"Can't you quiet my mind\nby a word of explanation before we part?\"\n\n\"This is far too serious a matter to be explained in a hurry, Mr. Blake.\nI am not wilfully trying your patience--I should only be adding to\nyour suspense, if I attempted to relieve it as things are now. At\nFrizinghall, sir, in two hours' time!\"\n\nThe man on the high road hailed him again. He hurried away, and left me.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\n\nHow the interval of suspense in which I was now condemned might\nhave affected other men in my position, I cannot pretend to say. The\ninfluence of the two hours' probation upon my temperament was simply\nthis. I felt physically incapable of remaining still in any one place,\nand morally incapable of speaking to any one human being, until I had\nfirst heard all that Ezra Jennings had to say to me.\n\nIn this frame of mind, I not only abandoned my contemplated visit to\nMrs. Ablewhite--I even shrank from encountering Gabriel Betteredge\nhimself.\n\nReturning to Frizinghall, I left a note for Betteredge, telling him that\nI had been unexpectedly called away for a few hours, but that he might\ncertainly expect me to return towards three o'clock in the afternoon. I\nrequested him, in the interval, to order his dinner at the usual hour,\nand to amuse himself as he pleased. He had, as I well knew, hosts of\nfriends in Frizinghall; and he would be at no loss how to fill up his\ntime until I returned to the hotel.\n\nThis done, I made the best of my way out of the town again, and roamed\nthe lonely moorland country which surrounds Frizinghall, until my watch\ntold me that it was time, at last, to return to Mr. Candy's house.\n\nI found Ezra Jennings ready and waiting for me.\n\nHe was sitting alone in a bare little room, which communicated by a\nglazed door with a surgery. Hideous coloured diagrams of the ravages of\nhideous diseases decorated the barren buff-coloured walls. A book-case\nfilled with dingy medical works, and ornamented at the top with a skull,\nin place of the customary bust; a large deal table copiously splashed\nwith ink; wooden chairs of the sort that are seen in kitchens and\ncottages; a threadbare drugget in the middle of the floor; a sink of\nwater, with a basin and waste-pipe roughly let into the wall, horribly\nsuggestive of its connection with surgical operations--comprised the\nentire furniture of the room. The bees were humming among a few flowers\nplaced in pots outside the window; the birds were singing in the\ngarden, and the faint intermittent jingle of a tuneless piano in some\nneighbouring house forced itself now and again on the ear. In any\nother place, these everyday sounds might have spoken pleasantly of the\neveryday world outside. Here, they came in as intruders on a silence\nwhich nothing but human suffering had the privilege to disturb. I looked\nat the mahogany instrument case, and at the huge roll of lint, occupying\nplaces of their own on the book-shelves, and shuddered inwardly as I\nthought of the sounds, familiar and appropriate to the everyday use of\nEzra Jennings' room.\n\n\"I make no apology, Mr. Blake, for the place in which I am receiving\nyou,\" he said. \"It is the only room in the house, at this hour of the\nday, in which we can feel quite sure of being left undisturbed. Here\nare my papers ready for you; and here are two books to which we may have\noccasion to refer, before we have done. Bring your chair to the table,\nand we shall be able to consult them together.\"\n\nI drew up to the table; and Ezra Jennings handed me his manuscript\nnotes. They consisted of two large folio leaves of paper. One leaf\ncontained writing which only covered the surface at intervals. The other\npresented writing, in red and black ink, which completely filled the\npage from top to bottom. In the irritated state of my curiosity, at that\nmoment, I laid aside the second sheet of paper in despair.\n\n\"Have some mercy on me!\" I said. \"Tell me what I am to expect, before I\nattempt to read this.\"\n\n\"Willingly, Mr. Blake! Do you mind my asking you one or two more\nquestions?\"\n\n\"Ask me anything you like!\"\n\nHe looked at me with the sad smile on his lips, and the kindly interest\nin his soft brown eyes.\n\n\"You have already told me,\" he said, \"that you have never--to your\nknowledge--tasted opium in your life.\"\n\n\"To my knowledge,\" I repeated.\n\n\"You will understand directly why I speak with that reservation. Let us\ngo on. You are not aware of ever having taken opium. At this time,\nlast year, you were suffering from nervous irritation, and you slept\nwretchedly at night. On the night of the birthday, however, there was an\nexception to the rule--you slept soundly. Am I right, so far?\"\n\n\"Quite right!\"\n\n\"Can you assign any cause for the nervous suffering, and your want of\nsleep?\"\n\n\"I can assign no cause. Old Betteredge made a guess at the cause, I\nremember. But that is hardly worth mentioning.\"\n\n\"Pardon me. Anything is worth mentioning in such a case as this.\nBetteredge attributed your sleeplessness to something. To what?\"\n\n\"To my leaving off smoking.\"\n\n\"Had you been an habitual smoker?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did you leave off the habit suddenly?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Betteredge was perfectly right, Mr. Blake. When smoking is a habit\na man must have no common constitution who can leave it off suddenly\nwithout some temporary damage to his nervous system. Your sleepless\nnights are accounted for, to my mind. My next question refers to Mr.\nCandy. Do you remember having entered into anything like a dispute\nwith him--at the birthday dinner, or afterwards--on the subject of his\nprofession?\"\n\nThe question instantly awakened one of my dormant remembrances in\nconnection with the birthday festival. The foolish wrangle which took\nplace, on that occasion, between Mr. Candy and myself, will be found\ndescribed at much greater length than it deserves in the tenth\nchapter of Betteredge's Narrative. The details there presented of the\ndispute--so little had I thought of it afterwards--entirely failed to\nrecur to my memory. All that I could now recall, and all that I could\ntell Ezra Jennings was, that I had attacked the art of medicine at the\ndinner-table with sufficient rashness and sufficient pertinacity to put\neven Mr. Candy out of temper for the moment. I also remembered that Lady\nVerinder had interfered to stop the dispute, and that the little doctor\nand I had \"made it up again,\" as the children say, and had become as\ngood friends as ever, before we shook hands that night.\n\n\"There is one thing more,\" said Ezra Jennings, \"which it is very\nimportant I should know. Had you any reason for feeling any special\nanxiety about the Diamond, at this time last year?\"\n\n\"I had the strongest reasons for feeling anxiety about the Diamond.\nI knew it to be the object of a conspiracy; and I was warned to take\nmeasures for Miss Verinder's protection, as the possessor of the stone.\"\n\n\"Was the safety of the Diamond the subject of conversation between you\nand any other person, immediately before you retired to rest on the\nbirthday night?\"\n\n\"It was the subject of a conversation between Lady Verinder and her\ndaughter----\"\n\n\"Which took place in your hearing?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nEzra Jennings took up his notes from the table, and placed them in my\nhands.\n\n\"Mr. Blake,\" he said, \"if you read those notes now, by the light which\nmy questions and your answers have thrown on them, you will make two\nastounding discoveries concerning yourself. You will find--First, that\nyou entered Miss Verinder's sitting-room and took the Diamond, in a\nstate of trance, produced by opium. Secondly, that the opium was\ngiven to you by Mr. Candy--without your own knowledge--as a practical\nrefutation of the opinions which you had expressed to him at the\nbirthday dinner.\"\n\nI sat with the papers in my hand completely stupefied.\n\n\"Try and forgive poor Mr. Candy,\" said the assistant gently. \"He has\ndone dreadful mischief, I own; but he has done it innocently. If you\nwill look at the notes, you will see that--but for his illness--he would\nhave returned to Lady Verinder's the morning after the party, and would\nhave acknowledged the trick that he had played you. Miss Verinder would\nhave heard of it, and Miss Verinder would have questioned him--and the\ntruth which has laid hidden for a year would have been discovered in a\nday.\"\n\nI began to regain my self-possession. \"Mr. Candy is beyond the reach of\nmy resentment,\" I said angrily. \"But the trick that he played me is not\nthe less an act of treachery, for all that. I may forgive, but I shall\nnot forget it.\"\n\n\"Every medical man commits that act of treachery, Mr. Blake, in the\ncourse of his practice. The ignorant distrust of opium (in England) is\nby no means confined to the lower and less cultivated classes. Every\ndoctor in large practice finds himself, every now and then, obliged\nto deceive his patients, as Mr. Candy deceived you. I don't defend the\nfolly of playing you a trick under the circumstances. I only plead with\nyou for a more accurate and more merciful construction of motives.\"\n\n\"How was it done?\" I asked. \"Who gave me the laudanum, without my\nknowing it myself?\"\n\n\"I am not able to tell you. Nothing relating to that part of the matter\ndropped from Mr. Candy's lips, all through his illness. Perhaps your own\nmemory may point to the person to be suspected.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"It is useless, in that case, to pursue the inquiry. The laudanum was\nsecretly given to you in some way. Let us leave it there, and go on\nto matters of more immediate importance. Read my notes, if you can.\nFamiliarise your mind with what has happened in the past. I have\nsomething very bold and very startling to propose to you, which relates\nto the future.\"\n\nThose last words roused me.\n\nI looked at the papers, in the order in which Ezra Jennings had placed\nthem in my hands. The paper which contained the smaller quantity of\nwriting was the uppermost of the two. On this, the disconnected words,\nand fragments of sentences, which had dropped from Mr. Candy in his\ndelirium, appeared as follows:\n\n\"... Mr. Franklin Blake ... and agreeable ... down a peg ... medicine\n... confesses ... sleep at night ... tell him ... out of order ...\nmedicine ... he tells me ... and groping in the dark mean one and the\nsame thing ... all the company at the dinner-table ... I say ... groping\nafter sleep ... nothing but medicine ... he says ... leading the blind\n... know what it means ... witty ... a night's rest in spite of\nhis teeth ... wants sleep ... Lady Verinder's medicine chest ...\nfive-and-twenty minims ... without his knowing it ... to-morrow morning\n... Well, Mr. Blake ... medicine to-day ... never ... without it ...\nout, Mr. Candy ... excellent ... without it ... down on him ... truth\n... something besides ... excellent ... dose of laudanum, sir ... bed\n... what ... medicine now.\"\n\nThere, the first of the two sheets of paper came to an end. I handed it\nback to Ezra Jennings.\n\n\"That is what you heard at his bedside?\" I said.\n\n\"Literally and exactly what I heard,\" he answered--\"except that the\nrepetitions are not transferred here from my short-hand notes. He\nreiterated certain words and phrases a dozen times over, fifty times\nover, just as he attached more or less importance to the idea which they\nrepresented. The repetitions, in this sense, were of some assistance\nto me in putting together those fragments. Don't suppose,\" he added,\npointing to the second sheet of paper, \"that I claim to have reproduced\nthe expressions which Mr. Candy himself would have used if he had been\ncapable of speaking connectedly. I only say that I have penetrated\nthrough the obstacle of the disconnected expression, to the thought\nwhich was underlying it connectedly all the time. Judge for yourself.\"\n\nI turned to the second sheet of paper, which I now knew to be the key to\nthe first.\n\nOnce more, Mr. Candy's wanderings appeared, copied in black ink; the\nintervals between the phrases being filled up by Ezra Jennings in\nred ink. I reproduce the result here, in one plain form; the original\nlanguage and the interpretation of it coming close enough together in\nthese pages to be easily compared and verified.\n\n\"... Mr. Franklin Blake is clever and agreeable, but he wants taking\ndown a peg when he talks of medicine. He confesses that he has been\nsuffering from want of sleep at night. I tell him that his nerves are\nout of order, and that he ought to take medicine. He tells me that\ntaking medicine and groping in the dark mean one and the same thing.\nThis before all the company at the dinner-table. I say to him, you are\ngroping after sleep, and nothing but medicine can help you to find it.\nHe says to me, I have heard of the blind leading the blind, and now I\nknow what it means. Witty--but I can give him a night's rest in spite of\nhis teeth. He really wants sleep; and Lady Verinder's medicine chest is\nat my disposal. Give him five-and-twenty minims of laudanum to-night,\nwithout his knowing it; and then call to-morrow morning. 'Well, Mr.\nBlake, will you try a little medicine to-day? You will never sleep\nwithout it.'--'There you are out, Mr. Candy: I have had an excellent\nnight's rest without it.' Then, come down on him with the truth! 'You\nhave had something besides an excellent night's rest; you had a dose\nof laudanum, sir, before you went to bed. What do you say to the art of\nmedicine, now?'\"\n\nAdmiration of the ingenuity which had woven this smooth and finished\ntexture out of the ravelled skein was naturally the first impression\nthat I felt, on handing the manuscript back to Ezra Jennings. He\nmodestly interrupted the first few words in which my sense of surprise\nexpressed itself, by asking me if the conclusion which he had drawn from\nhis notes was also the conclusion at which my own mind had arrived.\n\n\"Do you believe as I believe,\" he said, \"that you were acting under the\ninfluence of the laudanum in doing all that you did, on the night of\nMiss Verinder's birthday, in Lady Verinder's house?\"\n\n\"I am too ignorant of the influence of laudanum to have an opinion of\nmy own,\" I answered. \"I can only follow your opinion, and feel convinced\nthat you are right.\"\n\n\"Very well. The next question is this. You are convinced; and I am\nconvinced--how are we to carry our conviction to the minds of other\npeople?\"\n\nI pointed to the two manuscripts, lying on the table between us. Ezra\nJennings shook his head.\n\n\"Useless, Mr. Blake! Quite useless, as they stand now for three\nunanswerable reasons. In the first place, those notes have been taken\nunder circumstances entirely out of the experience of the mass of\nmankind. Against them, to begin with! In the second place, those notes\nrepresent a medical and metaphysical theory. Against them, once more! In\nthe third place, those notes are of my making; there is nothing but my\nassertion to the contrary, to guarantee that they are not fabrications.\nRemember what I told you on the moor--and ask yourself what my assertion\nis worth. No! my notes have but one value, looking to the verdict of the\nworld outside. Your innocence is to be vindicated; and they show how it\ncan be done. We must put our conviction to the proof--and You are the\nman to prove it!\"\n\n\"How?\" I asked.\n\nHe leaned eagerly nearer to me across the table that divided us.\n\n\"Are you willing to try a bold experiment?\"\n\n\"I will do anything to clear myself of the suspicion that rests on me\nnow.\"\n\n\"Will you submit to some personal inconvenience for a time?\"\n\n\"To any inconvenience, no matter what it may be.\"\n\n\"Will you be guided implicitly by my advice? It may expose you to the\nridicule of fools; it may subject you to the remonstrances of friends\nwhose opinions you are bound to respect.\"\n\n\"Tell me what to do!\" I broke out impatiently. \"And, come what may, I'll\ndo it.\"\n\n\"You shall do this, Mr. Blake,\" he answered. \"You shall steal the\nDiamond, unconsciously, for the second time, in the presence of\nwitnesses whose testimony is beyond dispute.\"\n\nI started to my feet. I tried to speak. I could only look at him.\n\n\"I believe it CAN be done,\" he went on. \"And it shall be done--if you\nwill only help me. Try to compose yourself--sit down, and hear what I\nhave to say to you. You have resumed the habit of smoking; I have seen\nthat for myself. How long have you resumed it.\"\n\n\"For nearly a year.\"\n\n\"Do you smoke more or less than you did?\"\n\n\"More.\"\n\n\"Will you give up the habit again? Suddenly, mind!--as you gave it up\nbefore.\"\n\nI began dimly to see his drift. \"I will give it up, from this moment,\" I\nanswered.\n\n\"If the same consequences follow, which followed last June,\" said Ezra\nJennings--\"if you suffer once more as you suffered then, from sleepless\nnights, we shall have gained our first step. We shall have put you\nback again into something assimilating to your nervous condition on the\nbirthday night. If we can next revive, or nearly revive, the domestic\ncircumstances which surrounded you; and if we can occupy your mind\nagain with the various questions concerning the Diamond which formerly\nagitated it, we shall have replaced you, as nearly as possible in the\nsame position, physically and morally, in which the opium found you last\nyear. In that case we may fairly hope that a repetition of the dose\nwill lead, in a greater or lesser degree, to a repetition of the result.\nThere is my proposal, expressed in a few hasty words. You shall now see\nwhat reasons I have to justify me in making it.\"\n\nHe turned to one of the books at his side, and opened it at a place\nmarked by a small slip of paper.\n\n\"Don't suppose that I am going to weary you with a lecture on\nphysiology,\" he said. \"I think myself bound to prove, in justice to both\nof us, that I am not asking you to try this experiment in deference\nto any theory of my own devising. Admitted principles, and recognised\nauthorities, justify me in the view that I take. Give me five minutes of\nyour attention; and I will undertake to show you that Science sanctions\nmy proposal, fanciful as it may seem. Here, in the first place, is the\nphysiological principle on which I am acting, stated by no less a person\nthan Dr. Carpenter. Read it for yourself.\"\n\nHe handed me the slip of paper which had marked the place in the book.\nIt contained a few lines of writing, as follows:--\n\n\"There seems much ground for the belief, that every sensory impression\nwhich has once been recognised by the perceptive consciousness, is\nregistered (so to speak) in the brain, and may be reproduced at some\nsubsequent time, although there may be no consciousness of its existence\nin the mind during the whole intermediate period.\"\n\n\"Is that plain, so far?\" asked Ezra Jennings.\n\n\"Perfectly plain.\"\n\nHe pushed the open book across the table to me, and pointed to a\npassage, marked by pencil lines.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, \"read that account of a case, which has--as I believe--a\ndirect bearing on your own position, and on the experiment which I am\ntempting you to try. Observe, Mr. Blake, before you begin, that I am now\nreferring you to one of the greatest of English physiologists. The book\nin your hand is Doctor Elliotson's HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY; and the case which\nthe doctor cites rests on the well-known authority of Mr. Combe.\"\n\nThe passage pointed out to me was expressed in these terms:--\n\n\"Dr. Abel informed me,\" says Mr. Combe, \"of an Irish porter to a\nwarehouse, who forgot, when sober, what he had done when drunk; but,\nbeing drunk, again recollected the transactions of his former state of\nintoxication. On one occasion, being drunk, he had lost a parcel of some\nvalue, and in his sober moments could give no account of it. Next time\nhe was intoxicated, he recollected that he had left the parcel at a\ncertain house, and there being no address on it, it had remained there\nsafely, and was got on his calling for it.\"\n\n\"Plain again?\" asked Ezra Jennings.\n\n\"As plain as need be.\"\n\nHe put back the slip of paper in its place, and closed the book.\n\n\"Are you satisfied that I have not spoken without good authority to\nsupport me?\" he asked. \"If not, I have only to go to those bookshelves,\nand you have only to read the passages which I can point out to you.\"\n\n\"I am quite satisfied,\" I said, \"without reading a word more.\"\n\n\"In that case, we may return to your own personal interest in this\nmatter. I am bound to tell you that there is something to be said\nagainst the experiment as well as for it. If we could, this year,\nexactly reproduce, in your case, the conditions as they existed last\nyear, it is physiologically certain that we should arrive at exactly the\nsame result. But this--there is no denying it--is simply impossible. We\ncan only hope to approximate to the conditions; and if we don't succeed\nin getting you nearly enough back to what you were, this venture of ours\nwill fail. If we do succeed--and I am myself hopeful of success--you\nmay at least so far repeat your proceedings on the birthday night, as to\nsatisfy any reasonable person that you are guiltless, morally speaking,\nof the theft of the Diamond. I believe, Mr. Blake, I have now stated\nthe question, on both sides of it, as fairly as I can, within the limits\nthat I have imposed on myself. If there is anything that I have not made\nclear to you, tell me what it is--and if I can enlighten you, I will.\"\n\n\"All that you have explained to me,\" I said, \"I understand perfectly.\nBut I own I am puzzled on one point, which you have not made clear to me\nyet.\"\n\n\"What is the point?\"\n\n\"I don't understand the effect of the laudanum on me. I don't understand\nmy walking down-stairs, and along corridors, and my opening and shutting\nthe drawers of a cabinet, and my going back again to my own room. All\nthese are active proceedings. I thought the influence of opium was first\nto stupefy you, and then to send you to sleep.\"\n\n\"The common error about opium, Mr. Blake! I am, at this moment, exerting\nmy intelligence (such as it is) in your service, under the influence\nof a dose of laudanum, some ten times larger than the dose Mr. Candy\nadministered to you. But don't trust to my authority--even on a question\nwhich comes within my own personal experience. I anticipated the\nobjection you have just made: and I have again provided myself with\nindependent testimony which will carry its due weight with it in your\nown mind, and in the minds of your friends.\"\n\nHe handed me the second of the two books which he had by him on the\ntable.\n\n\"There,\" he said, \"are the far-famed CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM\nEATER! Take the book away with you, and read it. At the passage which\nI have marked, you will find that when De Quincey had committed what he\ncalls 'a debauch of opium,' he either went to the gallery at the Opera\nto enjoy the music, or he wandered about the London markets on Saturday\nnight, and interested himself in observing all the little shifts and\nbargainings of the poor in providing their Sunday's dinner. So much for\nthe capacity of a man to occupy himself actively, and to move about from\nplace to place under the influence of opium.\"\n\n\"I am answered so far,\" I said; \"but I am not answered yet as to the\neffect produced by the opium on myself.\"\n\n\"I will try to answer you in a few words,\" said Ezra Jennings.\n\"The action of opium is comprised, in the majority of cases, in two\ninfluences--a stimulating influence first, and a sedative influence\nafterwards. Under the stimulating influence, the latest and most vivid\nimpressions left on your mind--namely, the impressions relating to the\nDiamond--would be likely, in your morbidly sensitive nervous condition,\nto become intensified in your brain, and would subordinate to themselves\nyour judgment and your will exactly as an ordinary dream subordinates to\nitself your judgment and your will. Little by little, under this action,\nany apprehensions about the safety of the Diamond which you might have\nfelt during the day would be liable to develop themselves from the\nstate of doubt to the state of certainty--would impel you into practical\naction to preserve the jewel--would direct your steps, with that motive\nin view, into the room which you entered--and would guide your hand to\nthe drawers of the cabinet, until you had found the drawer which held\nthe stone. In the spiritualised intoxication of opium, you would do\nall that. Later, as the sedative action began to gain on the stimulant\naction, you would slowly become inert and stupefied. Later still you\nwould fall into a deep sleep. When the morning came, and the effect of\nthe opium had been all slept off, you would wake as absolutely ignorant\nof what you had done in the night as if you had been living at the\nAntipodes. Have I made it tolerably clear to you so far?\"\n\n\"You have made it so clear,\" I said, \"that I want you to go farther.\nYou have shown me how I entered the room, and how I came to take the\nDiamond. But Miss Verinder saw me leave the room again, with the jewel\nin my hand. Can you trace my proceedings from that moment? Can you guess\nwhat I did next?\"\n\n\"That is the very point I was coming to,\" he rejoined. \"It is a question\nwith me whether the experiment which I propose as a means of vindicating\nyour innocence, may not also be made a means of recovering the lost\nDiamond as well. When you left Miss Verinder's sitting-room, with\nthe jewel in your hand, you went back in all probability to your own\nroom----\"\n\n\"Yes? and what then?\"\n\n\"It is possible, Mr. Blake--I dare not say more--that your idea of\npreserving the Diamond led, by a natural sequence, to the idea of hiding\nthe Diamond, and that the place in which you hid it was somewhere in\nyour bedroom. In that event, the case of the Irish porter may be your\ncase. You may remember, under the influence of the second dose of\nopium, the place in which you hid the Diamond under the influence of the\nfirst.\"\n\nIt was my turn, now, to enlighten Ezra Jennings. I stopped him, before\nhe could say any more.\n\n\"You are speculating,\" I said, \"on a result which cannot possibly take\nplace. The Diamond is, at this moment, in London.\"\n\nHe started, and looked at me in great surprise.\n\n\"In London?\" he repeated. \"How did it get to London from Lady Verinder's\nhouse?\"\n\n\"Nobody knows.\"\n\n\"You removed it with your own hand from Miss Verinder's room. How was it\ntaken out of your keeping?\"\n\n\"I have no idea how it was taken out of my keeping.\"\n\n\"Did you see it, when you woke in the morning?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Has Miss Verinder recovered possession of it?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Mr. Blake! there seems to be something here which wants clearing up.\nMay I ask how you know that the Diamond is, at this moment, in London?\"\n\nI had put precisely the same question to Mr. Bruff when I made my first\ninquiries about the Moonstone, on my return to England. In answering\nEzra Jennings, I accordingly repeated what I had myself heard from the\nlawyer's own lips--and what is already familiar to the readers of these\npages.\n\nHe showed plainly that he was not satisfied with my reply.\n\n\"With all deference to you,\" he said, \"and with all deference to your\nlegal adviser, I maintain the opinion which I expressed just now. It\nrests, I am well aware, on a mere assumption. Pardon me for reminding\nyou, that your opinion also rests on a mere assumption as well.\"\n\nThe view he took of the matter was entirely new to me. I waited\nanxiously to hear how he would defend it.\n\n\"I assume,\" pursued Ezra Jennings, \"that the influence of the\nopium--after impelling you to possess yourself of the Diamond, with the\npurpose of securing its safety--might also impel you, acting under the\nsame influence and the same motive, to hide it somewhere in your own\nroom. YOU assume that the Hindoo conspirators could by no possibility\ncommit a mistake. The Indians went to Mr. Luker's house after the\nDiamond--and, therefore, in Mr. Luker's possession the Diamond must be!\nHave you any evidence to prove that the Moonstone was taken to London\nat all? You can't even guess how, or by whom, it was removed from Lady\nVerinder's house! Have you any evidence that the jewel was pledged to\nMr. Luker? He declares that he never heard of the Moonstone; and his\nbankers' receipt acknowledges nothing but the deposit of a valuable of\ngreat price. The Indians assume that Mr. Luker is lying--and you assume\nagain that the Indians are right. All I say, in differing with you,\nis--that my view is possible. What more, Mr. Blake, either logically, or\nlegally, can be said for yours?\"\n\nIt was put strongly; but there was no denying that it was put truly as\nwell.\n\n\"I confess you stagger me,\" I replied. \"Do you object to my writing to\nMr. Bruff, and telling him what you have said?\"\n\n\"On the contrary, I shall be glad if you will write to Mr. Bruff. If we\nconsult his experience, we may see the matter under a new light. For the\npresent, let us return to our experiment with the opium. We have decided\nthat you leave off the habit of smoking from this moment.\"\n\n\"From this moment?\"\n\n\"That is the first step. The next step is to reproduce, as nearly as we\ncan, the domestic circumstances which surrounded you last year.\"\n\nHow was this to be done? Lady Verinder was dead. Rachel and I, so long\nas the suspicion of theft rested on me, were parted irrevocably. Godfrey\nAblewhite was away travelling on the Continent. It was simply impossible\nto reassemble the people who had inhabited the house, when I had slept\nin it last. The statement of this objection did not appear to embarrass\nEzra Jennings. He attached very little importance, he said, to\nreassembling the same people--seeing that it would be vain to expect\nthem to reassume the various positions which they had occupied towards\nme in the past times. On the other hand, he considered it essential to\nthe success of the experiment, that I should see the same objects about\nme which had surrounded me when I was last in the house.\n\n\"Above all things,\" he said, \"you must sleep in the room which you slept\nin, on the birthday night, and it must be furnished in the same way. The\nstairs, the corridors, and Miss Verinder's sitting-room, must also be\nrestored to what they were when you saw them last. It is absolutely\nnecessary, Mr. Blake, to replace every article of furniture in that part\nof the house which may now be put away. The sacrifice of your cigars\nwill be useless, unless we can get Miss Verinder's permission to do\nthat.\"\n\n\"Who is to apply to her for permission?\" I asked.\n\n\"Is it not possible for you to apply?\"\n\n\"Quite out of the question. After what has passed between us on the\nsubject of the lost Diamond, I can neither see her, nor write to her, as\nthings are now.\"\n\nEzra Jennings paused, and considered for a moment.\n\n\"May I ask you a delicate question?\" he said.\n\nI signed to him to go on.\n\n\"Am I right, Mr. Blake, in fancying (from one or two things which have\ndropped from you) that you felt no common interest in Miss Verinder, in\nformer times?\"\n\n\"Quite right.\"\n\n\"Was the feeling returned?\"\n\n\"It was.\"\n\n\"Do you think Miss Verinder would be likely to feel a strong interest in\nthe attempt to prove your innocence?\"\n\n\"I am certain of it.\"\n\n\"In that case, I will write to Miss Verinder--if you will give me\nleave.\"\n\n\"Telling her of the proposal that you have made to me?\"\n\n\"Telling her of everything that has passed between us to-day.\"\n\nIt is needless to say that I eagerly accepted the service which he had\noffered to me.\n\n\"I shall have time to write by to-day's post,\" he said, looking at his\nwatch. \"Don't forget to lock up your cigars, when you get back to the\nhotel! I will call to-morrow morning and hear how you have passed the\nnight.\"\n\nI rose to take leave of him; and attempted to express the grateful sense\nof his kindness which I really felt.\n\nHe pressed my hand gently. \"Remember what I told you on the moor,\" he\nanswered. \"If I can do you this little service, Mr. Blake, I shall feel\nit like a last gleam of sunshine, falling on the evening of a long and\nclouded day.\"\n\n\n\nWe parted. It was then the fifteenth of June. The events of the next\nten days--every one of them more or less directly connected with the\nexperiment of which I was the passive object--are all placed on record,\nexactly as they happened, in the Journal habitually kept by Mr. Candy's\nassistant. In the pages of Ezra Jennings nothing is concealed, and\nnothing is forgotten. Let Ezra Jennings tell how the venture with the\nopium was tried, and how it ended.\n\n\n\n\nFOURTH NARRATIVE\n\n\nExtracted from the Journal of EZRA JENNINGS\n\n\n1849.--June 15.... With some interruption from patients, and some\ninterruption from pain, I finished my letter to Miss Verinder in time\nfor to-day's post. I failed to make it as short a letter as I could\nhave wished. But I think I have made it plain. It leaves her entirely\nmistress of her own decision. If she consents to assist the experiment,\nshe consents of her own free will, and not as a favour to Mr. Franklin\nBlake or to me.\n\n\nJune 16th.--Rose late, after a dreadful night; the vengeance of\nyesterday's opium, pursuing me through a series of frightful dreams.\nAt one time I was whirling through empty space with the phantoms of the\ndead, friends and enemies together. At another, the one beloved\nface which I shall never see again, rose at my bedside, hideously\nphosphorescent in the black darkness, and glared and grinned at me. A\nslight return of the old pain, at the usual time in the early morning,\nwas welcome as a change. It dispelled the visions--and it was bearable\nbecause it did that.\n\nMy bad night made it late in the morning, before I could get to Mr.\nFranklin Blake. I found him stretched on the sofa, breakfasting on\nbrandy and soda-water, and a dry biscuit.\n\n\"I am beginning, as well as you could possibly wish,\" he said. \"A\nmiserable, restless night; and a total failure of appetite this morning.\nExactly what happened last year, when I gave up my cigars. The sooner I\nam ready for my second dose of laudanum, the better I shall be pleased.\"\n\n\"You shall have it on the earliest possible day,\" I answered. \"In the\nmeantime, we must be as careful of your health as we can. If we allow\nyou to become exhausted, we shall fail in that way. You must get an\nappetite for your dinner. In other words, you must get a ride or a walk\nthis morning, in the fresh air.\"\n\n\"I will ride, if they can find me a horse here. By-the-by, I wrote to\nMr. Bruff, yesterday. Have you written to Miss Verinder?\"\n\n\"Yes--by last night's post.\"\n\n\"Very good. We shall have some news worth hearing, to tell each other\nto-morrow. Don't go yet! I have a word to say to you. You appeared to\nthink, yesterday, that our experiment with the opium was not likely to\nbe viewed very favourably by some of my friends. You were quite right. I\ncall old Gabriel Betteredge one of my friends; and you will be amused to\nhear that he protested strongly when I saw him yesterday. 'You have done\na wonderful number of foolish things in the course of your life, Mr.\nFranklin, but this tops them all!' There is Betteredge's opinion! You\nwill make allowance for his prejudices, I am sure, if you and he happen\nto meet?\"\n\nI left Mr. Blake, to go my rounds among my patients; feeling the better\nand the happier even for the short interview that I had had with him.\n\nWhat is the secret of the attraction that there is for me in this man?\nDoes it only mean that I feel the contrast between the frankly kind\nmanner in which he has allowed me to become acquainted with him, and the\nmerciless dislike and distrust with which I am met by other people? Or\nis there really something in him which answers to the yearning that I\nhave for a little human sympathy--the yearning, which has survived the\nsolitude and persecution of many years; which seems to grow keener and\nkeener, as the time comes nearer and nearer when I shall endure and feel\nno more? How useless to ask these questions! Mr. Blake has given me a\nnew interest in life. Let that be enough, without seeking to know what\nthe new interest is.\n\n\nJune 17th.--Before breakfast, this morning, Mr. Candy informed me that\nhe was going away for a fortnight, on a visit to a friend in the south\nof England. He gave me as many special directions, poor fellow, about\nthe patients, as if he still had the large practice which he possessed\nbefore he was taken ill. The practice is worth little enough now! Other\ndoctors have superseded HIM; and nobody who can help it will employ me.\n\nIt is perhaps fortunate that he is to be away just at this time. He\nwould have been mortified if I had not informed him of the experiment\nwhich I am going to try with Mr. Blake. And I hardly know what\nundesirable results might not have happened, if I had taken him into my\nconfidence. Better as it is. Unquestionably, better as it is.\n\nThe post brought me Miss Verinder's answer, after Mr. Candy had left the\nhouse.\n\nA charming letter! It gives me the highest opinion of her. There is no\nattempt to conceal the interest that she feels in our proceedings. She\ntells me, in the prettiest manner, that my letter has satisfied her\nof Mr. Blake's innocence, without the slightest need (so far as she\nis concerned) of putting my assertion to the proof. She even upbraids\nherself--most undeservedly, poor thing!--for not having divined at the\ntime what the true solution of the mystery might really be. The motive\nunderlying all this proceeds evidently from something more than\na generous eagerness to make atonement for a wrong which she has\ninnocently inflicted on another person. It is plain that she has loved\nhim, throughout the estrangement between them. In more than one place\nthe rapture of discovering that he has deserved to be loved, breaks its\nway innocently through the stoutest formalities of pen and ink, and\neven defies the stronger restraint still of writing to a stranger. Is\nit possible (I ask myself, in reading this delightful letter) that I,\nof all men in the world, am chosen to be the means of bringing these two\nyoung people together again? My own happiness has been trampled under\nfoot; my own love has been torn from me. Shall I live to see a happiness\nof others, which is of my making--a love renewed, which is of my\nbringing back? Oh merciful Death, let me see it before your arms enfold\nme, before your voice whispers to me, \"Rest at last!\"\n\nThere are two requests contained in the letter. One of them prevents me\nfrom showing it to Mr. Franklin Blake. I am authorised to tell him that\nMiss Verinder willingly consents to place her house at our disposal;\nand, that said, I am desired to add no more.\n\nSo far, it is easy to comply with her wishes. But the second request\nembarrasses me seriously.\n\nNot content with having written to Mr. Betteredge, instructing him to\ncarry out whatever directions I may have to give, Miss Verinder asks\nleave to assist me, by personally superintending the restoration of her\nown sitting-room. She only waits a word of reply from me to make the\njourney to Yorkshire, and to be present as one of the witnesses on the\nnight when the opium is tried for the second time.\n\nHere, again, there is a motive under the surface; and, here again, I\nfancy that I can find it out.\n\nWhat she has forbidden me to tell Mr. Franklin Blake, she is (as I\ninterpret it) eager to tell him with her own lips, BEFORE he is put\nto the test which is to vindicate his character in the eyes of other\npeople. I understand and admire this generous anxiety to acquit him,\nwithout waiting until his innocence may, or may not, be proved. It\nis the atonement that she is longing to make, poor girl, after having\ninnocently and inevitably wronged him. But the thing cannot be done. I\nhave no sort of doubt that the agitation which a meeting between them\nwould produce on both sides--reviving dormant feelings, appealing to old\nmemories, awakening new hopes--would, in their effect on the mind of Mr.\nBlake, be almost certainly fatal to the success of our experiment. It is\nhard enough, as things are, to reproduce in him the conditions as they\nexisted, or nearly as they existed, last year. With new interests and\nnew emotions to agitate him, the attempt would be simply useless.\n\nAnd yet, knowing this, I cannot find it in my heart to disappoint her. I\nmust try if I can discover some new arrangement, before post-time, which\nwill allow me to say Yes to Miss Verinder, without damage to the service\nwhich I have bound myself to render to Mr. Franklin Blake.\n\nTwo o'clock.--I have just returned from my round of medical visits;\nhaving begun, of course, by calling at the hotel.\n\nMr. Blake's report of the night is the same as before. He has had some\nintervals of broken sleep, and no more. But he feels it less to-day,\nhaving slept after yesterday's dinner. This after-dinner sleep is the\nresult, no doubt, of the ride which I advised him to take. I fear I\nshall have to curtail his restorative exercise in the fresh air. He must\nnot be too well; he must not be too ill. It is a case (as a sailor would\nsay) of very fine steering.\n\nHe has not heard yet from Mr. Bruff. I found him eager to know if I had\nreceived any answer from Miss Verinder.\n\nI told him exactly what I was permitted to tell, and no more. It was\nquite needless to invent excuses for not showing him the letter. He told\nme bitterly enough, poor fellow, that he understood the delicacy which\ndisinclined me to produce it. \"She consents, of course, as a matter of\ncommon courtesy and common justice,\" he said. \"But she keeps her own\nopinion of me, and waits to see the result.\" I was sorely tempted to\nhint that he was now wronging her as she had wronged him. On reflection,\nI shrank from forestalling her in the double luxury of surprising and\nforgiving him.\n\nMy visit was a very short one. After the experience of the other night,\nI have been compelled once more to give up my dose of opium. As a\nnecessary result, the agony of the disease that is in me has got the\nupper hand again. I felt the attack coming on, and left abruptly, so as\nnot to alarm or distress him. It only lasted a quarter of an hour this\ntime, and it left me strength enough to go on with my work.\n\nFive o'clock.--I have written my reply to Miss Verinder.\n\nThe arrangement I have proposed reconciles the interests on both sides,\nif she will only consent to it. After first stating the objections\nthat there are to a meeting between Mr. Blake and herself, before\nthe experiment is tried, I have suggested that she should so time her\njourney as to arrive at the house privately, on the evening when we make\nthe attempt. Travelling by the afternoon train from London, she would\ndelay her arrival until nine o'clock. At that hour, I have undertaken to\nsee Mr. Blake safely into his bedchamber; and so to leave Miss Verinder\nfree to occupy her own rooms until the time comes for administering\nthe laudanum. When that has been done, there can be no objection to her\nwatching the result, with the rest of us. On the next morning, she shall\nshow Mr. Blake (if she likes) her correspondence with me, and shall\nsatisfy him in that way that he was acquitted in her estimation, before\nthe question of his innocence was put to the proof.\n\nIn that sense, I have written to her. This is all that I can do to-day.\nTo-morrow I must see Mr. Betteredge, and give the necessary directions\nfor reopening the house.\n\n\nJune 18th.--Late again, in calling on Mr. Franklin Blake. More of that\nhorrible pain in the early morning; followed, this time, by complete\nprostration, for some hours. I foresee, in spite of the penalties which\nit exacts from me, that I shall have to return to the opium for the\nhundredth time. If I had only myself to think of, I should prefer the\nsharp pains to the frightful dreams. But the physical suffering exhausts\nme. If I let myself sink, it may end in my becoming useless to Mr. Blake\nat the time when he wants me most.\n\nIt was nearly one o'clock before I could get to the hotel to-day. The\nvisit, even in my shattered condition, proved to be a most amusing\none--thanks entirely to the presence on the scene of Gabriel Betteredge.\n\nI found him in the room, when I went in. He withdrew to the window and\nlooked out, while I put my first customary question to my patient. Mr.\nBlake had slept badly again, and he felt the loss of rest this morning\nmore than he had felt it yet.\n\nI asked next if he had heard from Mr. Bruff.\n\nA letter had reached him that morning. Mr. Bruff expressed the strongest\ndisapproval of the course which his friend and client was taking under\nmy advice. It was mischievous--for it excited hopes that might never be\nrealised. It was quite unintelligible to HIS mind, except that it\nlooked like a piece of trickery, akin to the trickery of mesmerism,\nclairvoyance, and the like. It unsettled Miss Verinder's house, and\nit would end in unsettling Miss Verinder herself. He had put the case\n(without mentioning names) to an eminent physician; and the eminent\nphysician had smiled, had shaken his head, and had said--nothing. On\nthese grounds, Mr. Bruff entered his protest, and left it there.\n\nMy next inquiry related to the subject of the Diamond. Had the lawyer\nproduced any evidence to prove that the jewel was in London?\n\nNo, the lawyer had simply declined to discuss the question. He was\nhimself satisfied that the Moonstone had been pledged to Mr. Luker. His\neminent absent friend, Mr. Murthwaite (whose consummate knowledge of\nthe Indian character no one could deny), was satisfied also. Under these\ncircumstances, and with the many demands already made on him, he must\ndecline entering into any disputes on the subject of evidence. Time\nwould show; and Mr. Bruff was willing to wait for time.\n\nIt was quite plain--even if Mr. Blake had not made it plainer still\nby reporting the substance of the letter, instead of reading what was\nactually written--that distrust of me was at the bottom of all this.\nHaving myself foreseen that result, I was neither mortified nor\nsurprised. I asked Mr. Blake if his friend's protest had shaken him. He\nanswered emphatically, that it had not produced the slightest effect\non his mind. I was free after that to dismiss Mr. Bruff from\nconsideration--and I did dismiss him accordingly.\n\nA pause in the talk between us, followed--and Gabriel Betteredge came\nout from his retirement at the window.\n\n\"Can you favour me with your attention, sir?\" he inquired, addressing\nhimself to me.\n\n\"I am quite at your service,\" I answered.\n\nBetteredge took a chair and seated himself at the table. He produced a\nhuge old-fashioned leather pocket-book, with a pencil of dimensions to\nmatch. Having put on his spectacles, he opened the pocket-book, at a\nblank page, and addressed himself to me once more.\n\n\"I have lived,\" said Betteredge, looking at me sternly, \"nigh on fifty\nyears in the service of my late lady. I was page-boy before that, in the\nservice of the old lord, her father. I am now somewhere between seventy\nand eighty years of age--never mind exactly where! I am reckoned to have\ngot as pretty a knowledge and experience of the world as most men. And\nwhat does it all end in? It ends, Mr. Ezra Jennings, in a conjuring\ntrick being performed on Mr. Franklin Blake, by a doctor's assistant\nwith a bottle of laudanum--and by the living jingo, I'm appointed, in my\nold age, to be conjurer's boy!\"\n\nMr. Blake burst out laughing. I attempted to speak. Betteredge held up\nhis hand, in token that he had not done yet.\n\n\"Not a word, Mr. Jennings!\" he said, \"It don't want a word, sir, from\nyou. I have got my principles, thank God. If an order comes to me, which\nis own brother to an order come from Bedlam, it don't matter. So long\nas I get it from my master or mistress, as the case may be, I obey it. I\nmay have my own opinion, which is also, you will please to remember, the\nopinion of Mr. Bruff--the Great Mr. Bruff!\" said Betteredge, raising his\nvoice, and shaking his head at me solemnly. \"It don't matter; I withdraw\nmy opinion, for all that. My young lady says, 'Do it.' And I say, 'Miss,\nit shall be done.' Here I am, with my book and my pencil--the latter not\npointed so well as I could wish, but when Christians take leave of their\nsenses, who is to expect that pencils will keep their points? Give\nme your orders, Mr. Jennings. I'll have them in writing, sir. I'm\ndetermined not to be behind 'em, or before 'em, by so much as a hair's\nbreadth. I'm a blind agent--that's what I am. A blind agent!\" repeated\nBetteredge, with infinite relish of his own description of himself.\n\n\"I am very sorry,\" I began, \"that you and I don't agree----\"\n\n\"Don't bring ME, into it!\" interposed Betteredge. \"This is not a\nmatter of agreement, it's a matter of obedience. Issue your directions,\nsir--issue your directions!\"\n\nMr. Blake made me a sign to take him at his word. I \"issued my\ndirections\" as plainly and as gravely as I could.\n\n\"I wish certain parts of the house to be reopened,\" I said, \"and to be\nfurnished, exactly as they were furnished at this time last year.\"\n\nBetteredge gave his imperfectly-pointed pencil a preliminary lick with\nhis tongue. \"Name the parts, Mr. Jennings!\" he said loftily.\n\n\"First, the inner hall, leading to the chief staircase.\"\n\n\"'First, the inner hall,'\" Betteredge wrote. \"Impossible to furnish\nthat, sir, as it was furnished last year--to begin with.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because there was a stuffed buzzard, Mr. Jennings, in the hall last\nyear. When the family left, the buzzard was put away with the other\nthings. When the buzzard was put away--he burst.\"\n\n\"We will except the buzzard then.\"\n\nBetteredge took a note of the exception. \"'The inner hall to be\nfurnished again, as furnished last year. A burst buzzard alone\nexcepted.' Please to go on, Mr. Jennings.\"\n\n\"The carpet to be laid down on the stairs, as before.\"\n\n\"'The carpet to be laid down on the stairs, as before.' Sorry to\ndisappoint you, sir. But that can't be done either.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because the man who laid that carpet down is dead, Mr. Jennings--and\nthe like of him for reconciling together a carpet and a corner, is not\nto be found in all England, look where you may.\"\n\n\"Very well. We must try the next best man in England.\"\n\nBetteredge took another note; and I went on issuing my directions.\n\n\"Miss Verinder's sitting-room to be restored exactly to what it was\nlast year. Also, the corridor leading from the sitting-room to the first\nlanding. Also, the second corridor, leading from the second landing to\nthe best bedrooms. Also, the bedroom occupied last June by Mr. Franklin\nBlake.\"\n\nBetteredge's blunt pencil followed me conscientiously, word by word.\n\"Go on, sir,\" he said, with sardonic gravity. \"There's a deal of writing\nleft in the point of this pencil yet.\"\n\nI told him that I had no more directions to give. \"Sir,\" said\nBetteredge, \"in that case, I have a point or two to put on my own\nbehalf.\" He opened the pocket-book at a new page, and gave the\ninexhaustible pencil another preliminary lick.\n\n\"I wish to know,\" he began, \"whether I may, or may not, wash my\nhands----\"\n\n\"You may decidedly,\" said Mr. Blake. \"I'll ring for the waiter.\"\n\n\"----of certain responsibilities,\" pursued Betteredge, impenetrably\ndeclining to see anybody in the room but himself and me. \"As to Miss\nVerinder's sitting-room, to begin with. When we took up the carpet\nlast year, Mr. Jennings, we found a surprising quantity of pins. Am I\nresponsible for putting back the pins?\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\nBetteredge made a note of that concession, on the spot.\n\n\"As to the first corridor next,\" he resumed. \"When we moved\nthe ornaments in that part, we moved a statue of a fat naked\nchild--profanely described in the catalogue of the house as 'Cupid,\ngod of Love.' He had two wings last year, in the fleshy part of his\nshoulders. My eye being off him, for the moment, he lost one of them. Am\nI responsible for Cupid's wing?\"\n\nI made another concession, and Betteredge made another note.\n\n\"As to the second corridor,\" he went on. \"There having been nothing in\nit, last year, but the doors of the rooms (to every one of which I can\nswear, if necessary), my mind is easy, I admit, respecting that part of\nthe house only. But, as to Mr. Franklin's bedroom (if THAT is to be\nput back to what it was before), I want to know who is responsible for\nkeeping it in a perpetual state of litter, no matter how often it may\nbe set right--his trousers here, his towels there, and his French novels\neverywhere. I say, who is responsible for untidying the tidiness of Mr.\nFranklin's room, him or me?\"\n\nMr. Blake declared that he would assume the whole responsibility with\nthe greatest pleasure. Betteredge obstinately declined to listen to any\nsolution of the difficulty, without first referring it to my sanction\nand approval. I accepted Mr. Blake's proposal; and Betteredge made a\nlast entry in the pocket-book to that effect.\n\n\"Look in when you like, Mr. Jennings, beginning from to-morrow,\" he\nsaid, getting on his legs. \"You will find me at work, with the necessary\npersons to assist me. I respectfully beg to thank you, sir, for\noverlooking the case of the stuffed buzzard, and the other case of\nthe Cupid's wing--as also for permitting me to wash my hands of all\nresponsibility in respect of the pins on the carpet, and the litter in\nMr. Franklin's room. Speaking as a servant, I am deeply indebted to you.\nSpeaking as a man, I consider you to be a person whose head is full\nof maggots, and I take up my testimony against your experiment as a\ndelusion and a snare. Don't be afraid, on that account, of my feelings\nas a man getting in the way of my duty as a servant! You shall be\nobeyed. The maggots notwithstanding, sir, you shall be obeyed. If it\nends in your setting the house on fire, Damme if I send for the engines,\nunless you ring the bell and order them first!\"\n\nWith that farewell assurance, he made me a bow, and walked out of the\nroom.\n\n\"Do you think we can depend on him?\" I asked.\n\n\"Implicitly,\" answered Mr. Blake. \"When we go to the house, we shall\nfind nothing neglected, and nothing forgotten.\"\n\n\nJune 19th.--Another protest against our contemplated proceedings! From a\nlady this time.\n\nThe morning's post brought me two letters. One from Miss Verinder,\nconsenting, in the kindest manner, to the arrangement that I have\nproposed. The other from the lady under whose care she is living--one\nMrs. Merridew.\n\nMrs. Merridew presents her compliments, and does not pretend to\nunderstand the subject on which I have been corresponding with Miss\nVerinder, in its scientific bearings. Viewed in its social bearings,\nhowever, she feels free to pronounce an opinion. I am probably, Mrs.\nMerridew thinks, not aware that Miss Verinder is barely nineteen years\nof age. To allow a young lady, at her time of life, to be present\n(without a \"chaperone\") in a house full of men among whom a medical\nexperiment is being carried on, is an outrage on propriety which Mrs.\nMerridew cannot possibly permit. If the matter is allowed to proceed,\nshe will feel it to be her duty--at a serious sacrifice of her own\npersonal convenience--to accompany Miss Verinder to Yorkshire. Under\nthese circumstances, she ventures to request that I will kindly\nreconsider the subject; seeing that Miss Verinder declines to be guided\nby any opinion but mine. Her presence cannot possibly be necessary; and\na word from me, to that effect, would relieve both Mrs. Merridew and\nmyself of a very unpleasant responsibility.\n\nTranslated from polite commonplace into plain English, the meaning of\nthis is, as I take it, that Mrs. Merridew stands in mortal fear of the\nopinion of the world. She has unfortunately appealed to the very last\nman in existence who has any reason to regard that opinion with respect.\nI won't disappoint Miss Verinder; and I won't delay a reconciliation\nbetween two young people who love each other, and who have been parted\ntoo long already. Translated from plain English into polite commonplace,\nthis means that Mr. Jennings presents his compliments to Mrs. Merridew,\nand regrets that he cannot feel justified in interfering any farther in\nthe matter.\n\nMr. Blake's report of himself, this morning, was the same as before.\nWe determined not to disturb Betteredge by overlooking him at the house\nto-day. To-morrow will be time enough for our first visit of inspection.\n\n\nJune 20th.--Mr. Blake is beginning to feel his continued restlessness at\nnight. The sooner the rooms are refurnished, now, the better.\n\nOn our way to the house, this morning, he consulted me, with some\nnervous impatience and irresolution, about a letter (forwarded to him\nfrom London) which he had received from Sergeant Cuff.\n\nThe Sergeant writes from Ireland. He acknowledges the receipt (through\nhis housekeeper) of a card and message which Mr. Blake left at his\nresidence near Dorking, and announces his return to England as likely\nto take place in a week or less. In the meantime, he requests to be\nfavoured with Mr. Blake's reasons for wishing to speak to him (as\nstated in the message) on the subject of the Moonstone. If Mr. Blake\ncan convict him of having made any serious mistake, in the course of his\nlast year's inquiry concerning the Diamond, he will consider it a duty\n(after the liberal manner in which he was treated by the late Lady\nVerinder) to place himself at that gentleman's disposal. If not, he\nbegs permission to remain in his retirement, surrounded by the peaceful\nhorticultural attractions of a country life.\n\nAfter reading the letter, I had no hesitation in advising Mr. Blake\nto inform Sergeant Cuff, in reply, of all that had happened since\nthe inquiry was suspended last year, and to leave him to draw his own\nconclusions from the plain facts.\n\nOn second thoughts I also suggested inviting the Sergeant to be present\nat the experiment, in the event of his returning to England in time to\njoin us. He would be a valuable witness to have, in any case; and, if I\nproved to be wrong in believing the Diamond to be hidden in Mr. Blake's\nroom, his advice might be of great importance, at a future stage of\nthe proceedings over which I could exercise no control. This last\nconsideration appeared to decide Mr. Blake. He promised to follow my\nadvice.\n\nThe sound of the hammer informed us that the work of re-furnishing was\nin full progress, as we entered the drive that led to the house.\n\nBetteredge, attired for the occasion in a fisherman's red cap, and an\napron of green baize, met us in the outer hall. The moment he saw me,\nhe pulled out the pocket-book and pencil, and obstinately insisted on\ntaking notes of everything that I said to him. Look where we might, we\nfound, as Mr. Blake had foretold that the work was advancing as rapidly\nand as intelligently as it was possible to desire. But there was still\nmuch to be done in the inner hall, and in Miss Verinder's room. It\nseemed doubtful whether the house would be ready for us before the end\nof the week.\n\nHaving congratulated Betteredge on the progress that he had made (he\npersisted in taking notes every time I opened my lips; declining, at\nthe same time, to pay the slightest attention to anything said by Mr.\nBlake); and having promised to return for a second visit of inspection\nin a day or two, we prepared to leave the house, going out by the back\nway. Before we were clear of the passages downstairs, I was stopped by\nBetteredge, just as I was passing the door which led into his own room.\n\n\"Could I say two words to you in private?\" he asked, in a mysterious\nwhisper.\n\nI consented of course. Mr. Blake walked on to wait for me in the garden,\nwhile I accompanied Betteredge into his room. I fully anticipated a\ndemand for certain new concessions, following the precedent already\nestablished in the cases of the stuffed buzzard, and the Cupid's wing.\nTo my great surprise, Betteredge laid his hand confidentially on my arm,\nand put this extraordinary question to me:\n\n\"Mr. Jennings, do you happen to be acquainted with ROBINSON CRUSOE?\"\n\nI answered that I had read ROBINSON CRUSOE when I was a child.\n\n\"Not since then?\" inquired Betteredge.\n\n\"Not since then.\"\n\nHe fell back a few steps, and looked at me with an expression of\ncompassionate curiosity, tempered by superstitious awe.\n\n\"He has not read ROBINSON CRUSOE since he was a child,\" said Betteredge,\nspeaking to himself--not to me. \"Let's try how ROBINSON CRUSOE strikes\nhim now!\"\n\nHe unlocked a cupboard in a corner, and produced a dirty and dog's-eared\nbook, which exhaled a strong odour of stale tobacco as he turned over\nthe leaves. Having found a passage of which he was apparently in\nsearch, he requested me to join him in the corner; still mysteriously\nconfidential, and still speaking under his breath.\n\n\"In respect to this hocus-pocus of yours, sir, with the laudanum and Mr.\nFranklin Blake,\" he began. \"While the workpeople are in the house, my\nduty as a servant gets the better of my feelings as a man. When the\nworkpeople are gone, my feelings as a man get the better of my duty as a\nservant. Very good. Last night, Mr. Jennings, it was borne in powerfully\non my mind that this new medical enterprise of yours would end badly.\nIf I had yielded to that secret Dictate, I should have put all the\nfurniture away again with my own hand, and have warned the workmen off\nthe premises when they came the next morning.\"\n\n\"I am glad to find, from what I have seen up-stairs,\" I said, \"that you\nresisted the secret Dictate.\"\n\n\"Resisted isn't the word,\" answered Betteredge. \"Wrostled is the word. I\nwrostled, sir, between the silent orders in my bosom pulling me one way,\nand the written orders in my pocket-book pushing me the other,\nuntil (saving your presence) I was in a cold sweat. In that dreadful\nperturbation of mind and laxity of body, to what remedy did I apply? To\nthe remedy, sir, which has never failed me yet for the last thirty years\nand more--to This Book!\"\n\nHe hit the book a sounding blow with his open hand, and struck out of it\na stronger smell of stale tobacco than ever.\n\n\"What did I find here,\" pursued Betteredge, \"at the first page I\nopened? This awful bit, sir, page one hundred and seventy-eight, as\nfollows.--'Upon these, and many like Reflections, I afterwards made it\na certain rule with me, That whenever I found those secret Hints or\nPressings of my Mind, to doing, or not doing any Thing that presented;\nor to going this Way, or that Way, I never failed to obey the secret\nDictate.' As I live by bread, Mr. Jennings, those were the first words\nthat met my eye, exactly at the time when I myself was setting the\nsecret Dictate at defiance! You don't see anything at all out of the\ncommon in that, do you, sir?\"\n\n\"I see a coincidence--nothing more.\"\n\n\"You don't feel at all shaken, Mr. Jennings, in respect to this medical\nenterprise of yours?\n\n\"Not the least in the world.\"\n\nBetteredge stared hard at me, in dead silence. He closed the book\nwith great deliberation; he locked it up again in the cupboard with\nextraordinary care; he wheeled round, and stared hard at me once more.\nThen he spoke.\n\n\"Sir,\" he said gravely, \"there are great allowances to be made for a man\nwho has not read ROBINSON CRUSOE since he was a child. I wish you good\nmorning.\"\n\nHe opened his door with a low bow, and left me at liberty to find my own\nway into the garden. I met Mr. Blake returning to the house.\n\n\"You needn't tell me what has happened,\" he said. \"Betteredge has played\nhis last card: he has made another prophetic discovery in ROBINSON\nCRUSOE. Have you humoured his favourite delusion? No? You have let him\nsee that you don't believe in ROBINSON CRUSOE? Mr. Jennings! you have\nfallen to the lowest possible place in Betteredge's estimation. Say what\nyou like, and do what you like, for the future. You will find that he\nwon't waste another word on you now.\"\n\n\nJune 21st.--A short entry must suffice in my journal to-day.\n\nMr. Blake has had the worst night that he has passed yet. I have been\nobliged, greatly against my will, to prescribe for him. Men of his\nsensitive organisation are fortunately quick in feeling the effect of\nremedial measures. Otherwise, I should be inclined to fear that he will\nbe totally unfit for the experiment when the time comes to try it.\n\nAs for myself, after some little remission of my pains for the last two\ndays I had an attack this morning, of which I shall say nothing but that\nit has decided me to return to the opium. I shall close this book, and\ntake my full dose--five hundred drops.\n\n\nJune 22nd.--Our prospects look better to-day. Mr. Blake's nervous\nsuffering is greatly allayed. He slept a little last night. MY night,\nthanks to the opium, was the night of a man who is stunned. I can't\nsay that I woke this morning; the fitter expression would be, that I\nrecovered my senses.\n\nWe drove to the house to see if the refurnishing was done. It will be\ncompleted to-morrow--Saturday. As Mr. Blake foretold, Betteredge raised\nno further obstacles. From first to last, he was ominously polite, and\nominously silent.\n\nMy medical enterprise (as Betteredge calls it) must now, inevitably, be\ndelayed until Monday next. To-morrow evening the workmen will be late in\nthe house. On the next day, the established Sunday tyranny which is one\nof the institutions of this free country, so times the trains as to make\nit impossible to ask anybody to travel to us from London. Until Monday\ncomes, there is nothing to be done but to watch Mr. Blake carefully, and\nto keep him, if possible, in the same state in which I find him to-day.\n\nIn the meanwhile, I have prevailed on him to write to Mr. Bruff, making\na point of it that he shall be present as one of the witnesses. I\nespecially choose the lawyer, because he is strongly prejudiced against\nus. If we convince HIM, we place our victory beyond the possibility of\ndispute.\n\nMr. Blake has also written to Sergeant Cuff; and I have sent a line\nto Miss Verinder. With these, and with old Betteredge (who is really a\nperson of importance in the family) we shall have witnesses enough for\nthe purpose--without including Mrs. Merridew, if Mrs. Merridew persists\nin sacrificing herself to the opinion of the world.\n\n\nJune 23rd.--The vengeance of the opium overtook me again last night. No\nmatter; I must go on with it now till Monday is past and gone.\n\nMr. Blake is not so well again to-day. At two this morning, he confesses\nthat he opened the drawer in which his cigars are put away. He\nonly succeeded in locking it up again by a violent effort. His next\nproceeding, in case of temptation, was to throw the key out of window.\nThe waiter brought it in this morning, discovered at the bottom of an\nempty cistern--such is Fate! I have taken possession of the key until\nTuesday next.\n\n\nJune 24th.--Mr. Blake and I took a long drive in an open carriage. We\nboth felt beneficially the blessed influence of the soft summer air. I\ndined with him at the hotel. To my great relief--for I found him in an\nover-wrought, over-excited state this morning--he had two hours' sound\nsleep on the sofa after dinner. If he has another bad night, now--I am\nnot afraid of the consequence.\n\n\nJune 25th, Monday.--The day of the experiment! It is five o'clock in the\nafternoon. We have just arrived at the house.\n\nThe first and foremost question, is the question of Mr. Blake's health.\n\nSo far as it is possible for me to judge, he promises (physically\nspeaking) to be quite as susceptible to the action of the opium to-night\nas he was at this time last year. He is, this afternoon, in a state of\nnervous sensitiveness which just stops short of nervous irritation. He\nchanges colour readily; his hand is not quite steady; and he starts at\nchance noises, and at unexpected appearances of persons and things.\n\nThese results have all been produced by deprivation of sleep, which is\nin its turn the nervous consequence of a sudden cessation in the habit\nof smoking, after that habit has been carried to an extreme. Here are\nthe same causes at work again, which operated last year; and here are,\napparently, the same effects. Will the parallel still hold good, when\nthe final test has been tried? The events of the night must decide.\n\nWhile I write these lines, Mr. Blake is amusing himself at the billiard\ntable in the inner hall, practising different strokes in the game, as\nhe was accustomed to practise them when he was a guest in this house\nin June last. I have brought my journal here, partly with a view to\noccupying the idle hours which I am sure to have on my hands between\nthis and to-morrow morning; partly in the hope that something may happen\nwhich it may be worth my while to place on record at the time.\n\nHave I omitted anything, thus far? A glance at yesterday's entry shows\nme that I have forgotten to note the arrival of the morning's post. Let\nme set this right before I close these leaves for the present, and join\nMr. Blake.\n\nI received a few lines then, yesterday, from Miss Verinder. She has\narranged to travel by the afternoon train, as I recommended. Mrs.\nMerridew has insisted on accompanying her. The note hints that the old\nlady's generally excellent temper is a little ruffled, and requests all\ndue indulgence for her, in consideration of her age and her habits.\nI will endeavour, in my relations with Mrs. Merridew, to emulate the\nmoderation which Betteredge displays in his relations with me. He\nreceived us to-day, portentously arrayed in his best black suit, and\nhis stiffest white cravat. Whenever he looks my way, he remembers that\nI have not read ROBINSON CRUSOE since I was a child, and he respectfully\npities me.\n\nYesterday, also, Mr. Blake had the lawyer's answer. Mr. Bruff accepts\nthe invitation--under protest. It is, he thinks, clearly necessary that\na gentleman possessed of the average allowance of common sense, should\naccompany Miss Verinder to the scene of, what we will venture to call,\nthe proposed exhibition. For want of a better escort, Mr. Bruff himself\nwill be that gentleman.--So here is poor Miss Verinder provided with two\n\"chaperones.\" It is a relief to think that the opinion of the world must\nsurely be satisfied with this!\n\nNothing has been heard of Sergeant Cuff. He is no doubt still in\nIreland. We must not expect to see him to-night.\n\nBetteredge has just come in, to say that Mr. Blake has asked for me. I\nmust lay down my pen for the present.\n\n* * * * *\n\nSeven o'clock.--We have been all over the refurnished rooms and\nstaircases again; and we have had a pleasant stroll in the shrubbery,\nwhich was Mr. Blake's favourite walk when he was here last. In this way,\nI hope to revive the old impressions of places and things as vividly as\npossible in his mind.\n\nWe are now going to dine, exactly at the hour at which the birthday\ndinner was given last year. My object, of course, is a purely medical\none in this case. The laudanum must find the process of digestion, as\nnearly as may be, where the laudanum found it last year.\n\nAt a reasonable time after dinner I propose to lead the conversation\nback again--as inartificially as I can--to the subject of the Diamond,\nand of the Indian conspiracy to steal it. When I have filled his mind\nwith these topics, I shall have done all that it is in my power to do,\nbefore the time comes for giving him the second dose.\n\n* * * * *\n\nHalf-past eight.--I have only this moment found an opportunity of\nattending to the most important duty of all; the duty of looking in the\nfamily medicine chest, for the laudanum which Mr. Candy used last year.\n\nTen minutes since, I caught Betteredge at an unoccupied moment, and told\nhim what I wanted. Without a word of objection, without so much as an\nattempt to produce his pocket-book, he led the way (making allowances\nfor me at every step) to the store-room in which the medicine chest is\nkept.\n\nI discovered the bottle, carefully guarded by a glass stopper tied\nover with leather. The preparation which it contained was, as I had\nanticipated, the common Tincture of Opium. Finding the bottle still well\nfilled, I have resolved to use it, in preference to employing either of\nthe two preparations with which I had taken care to provide myself, in\ncase of emergency.\n\nThe question of the quantity which I am to administer presents certain\ndifficulties. I have thought it over, and have decided on increasing the\ndose.\n\nMy notes inform me that Mr. Candy only administered twenty-five minims.\nThis is a small dose to have produced the results which followed--even\nin the case of a person so sensitive as Mr. Blake. I think it highly\nprobable that Mr. Candy gave more than he supposed himself to have\ngiven--knowing, as I do, that he has a keen relish of the pleasures of\nthe table, and that he measured out the laudanum on the birthday, after\ndinner. In any case, I shall run the risk of enlarging the dose to forty\nminims. On this occasion, Mr. Blake knows beforehand that he is going to\ntake the laudanum--which is equivalent, physiologically speaking, to his\nhaving (unconsciously to himself) a certain capacity in him to resist\nthe effects. If my view is right, a larger quantity is therefore\nimperatively required, this time, to repeat the results which the\nsmaller quantity produced, last year.\n\n* * * * *\n\nTen o'clock.--The witnesses, or the company (which shall I call them?)\nreached the house an hour since.\n\nA little before nine o'clock, I prevailed on Mr. Blake to accompany me\nto his bedroom; stating, as a reason, that I wished him to look round\nit, for the last time, in order to make quite sure that nothing had been\nforgotten in the refurnishing of the room. I had previously arranged\nwith Betteredge, that the bedchamber prepared for Mr. Bruff should\nbe the next room to Mr. Blake's, and that I should be informed of the\nlawyer's arrival by a knock at the door. Five minutes after the clock in\nthe hall had struck nine, I heard the knock; and, going out immediately,\nmet Mr. Bruff in the corridor.\n\nMy personal appearance (as usual) told against me. Mr. Bruff's distrust\nlooked at me plainly enough out of Mr. Bruff's eyes. Being well used\nto producing this effect on strangers, I did not hesitate a moment in\nsaying what I wanted to say, before the lawyer found his way into Mr.\nBlake's room.\n\n\"You have travelled here, I believe, in company with Mrs. Merridew and\nMiss Verinder?\" I said.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Mr. Bruff, as drily as might be.\n\n\"Miss Verinder has probably told you, that I wish her presence in the\nhouse (and Mrs. Merridew's presence of course) to be kept a secret from\nMr. Blake, until my experiment on him has been tried first?\"\n\n\"I know that I am to hold my tongue, sir!\" said Mr. Bruff, impatiently.\n\"Being habitually silent on the subject of human folly, I am all the\nreadier to keep my lips closed on this occasion. Does that satisfy you?\"\n\nI bowed, and left Betteredge to show him to his room. Betteredge gave\nme one look at parting, which said, as if in so many words, \"You have\ncaught a Tartar, Mr. Jennings--and the name of him is Bruff.\"\n\nIt was next necessary to get the meeting over with the two ladies. I\ndescended the stairs--a little nervously, I confess--on my way to Miss\nVerinder's sitting-room.\n\nThe gardener's wife (charged with looking after the accommodation of the\nladies) met me in the first-floor corridor. This excellent woman\ntreats me with an excessive civility which is plainly the offspring of\ndown-right terror. She stares, trembles, and curtseys, whenever I speak\nto her. On my asking for Miss Verinder, she stared, trembled, and would\nno doubt have curtseyed next, if Miss Verinder herself had not cut that\nceremony short, by suddenly opening her sitting-room door.\n\n\"Is that Mr. Jennings?\" she asked.\n\nBefore I could answer, she came out eagerly to speak to me in the\ncorridor. We met under the light of a lamp on a bracket. At the first\nsight of me, Miss Verinder stopped, and hesitated. She recovered herself\ninstantly, coloured for a moment--and then, with a charming frankness,\noffered me her hand.\n\n\"I can't treat you like a stranger, Mr. Jennings,\" she said. \"Oh, if you\nonly knew how happy your letters have made me!\"\n\nShe looked at my ugly wrinkled face, with a bright gratitude so new to\nme in my experience of my fellow-creatures, that I was at a loss how to\nanswer her. Nothing had prepared me for her kindness and her beauty.\nThe misery of many years has not hardened my heart, thank God. I was as\nawkward and as shy with her, as if I had been a lad in my teens.\n\n\"Where is he now?\" she asked, giving free expression to her one dominant\ninterest--the interest in Mr. Blake. \"What is he doing? Has he spoken\nof me? Is he in good spirits? How does he bear the sight of the house,\nafter what happened in it last year? When are you going to give him\nthe laudanum? May I see you pour it out? I am so interested; I am so\nexcited--I have ten thousand things to say to you, and they all crowd\ntogether so that I don't know what to say first. Do you wonder at the\ninterest I take in this?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said. \"I venture to think that I thoroughly understand it.\"\n\nShe was far above the paltry affectation of being confused. She answered\nme as she might have answered a brother or a father.\n\n\"You have relieved me of indescribable wretchedness; you have given me\na new life. How can I be ungrateful enough to have any concealment\nfrom you? I love him,\" she said simply, \"I have loved him from first to\nlast--even when I was wronging him in my own thoughts; even when I was\nsaying the hardest and the cruellest words to him. Is there any excuse\nfor me, in that? I hope there is--I am afraid it is the only excuse I\nhave. When to-morrow comes, and he knows that I am in the house, do you\nthink----\"\n\nShe stopped again, and looked at me very earnestly.\n\n\"When to-morrow comes,\" I said, \"I think you have only to tell him what\nyou have just told me.\"\n\nHer face brightened; she came a step nearer to me. Her fingers trifled\nnervously with a flower which I had picked in the garden, and which I\nhad put into the button-hole of my coat.\n\n\"You have seen a great deal of him lately,\" she said. \"Have you, really\nand truly, seen THAT?\"\n\n\"Really and truly,\" I answered. \"I am quite certain of what will happen\nto-morrow. I wish I could feel as certain of what will happen to-night.\"\n\nAt that point in the conversation, we were interrupted by the appearance\nof Betteredge with the tea-tray. He gave me another significant look as\nhe passed on into the sitting-room. \"Aye! aye! make your hay while the\nsun shines. The Tartar's upstairs, Mr. Jennings--the Tartar's upstairs!\"\n\nWe followed him into the room. A little old lady, in a corner,\nvery nicely dressed, and very deeply absorbed over a smart piece of\nembroidery, dropped her work in her lap, and uttered a faint little\nscream at the first sight of my gipsy complexion and my piebald hair.\n\n\"Mrs. Merridew,\" said Miss Verinder, \"this is Mr. Jennings.\"\n\n\"I beg Mr. Jennings's pardon,\" said the old lady, looking at Miss\nVerinder, and speaking at me. \"Railway travelling always makes me\nnervous. I am endeavouring to quiet my mind by occupying myself as\nusual. I don't know whether my embroidery is out of place, on this\nextraordinary occasion. If it interferes with Mr. Jennings's medical\nviews, I shall be happy to put it away of course.\"\n\nI hastened to sanction the presence of the embroidery, exactly as I had\nsanctioned the absence of the burst buzzard and the Cupid's wing. Mrs.\nMerridew made an effort--a grateful effort--to look at my hair. No! it\nwas not to be done. Mrs. Merridew looked back again at Miss Verinder.\n\n\"If Mr. Jennings will permit me,\" pursued the old lady, \"I should like\nto ask a favour. Mr. Jennings is about to try a scientific experiment\nto-night. I used to attend scientific experiments when I was a girl at\nschool. They invariably ended in an explosion. If Mr. Jennings will be\nso very kind, I should like to be warned of the explosion this time.\nWith a view to getting it over, if possible, before I go to bed.\"\n\nI attempted to assure Mrs. Merridew that an explosion was not included\nin the programme on this occasion.\n\n\"No,\" said the old lady. \"I am much obliged to Mr. Jennings--I am aware\nthat he is only deceiving me for my own good. I prefer plain dealing.\nI am quite resigned to the explosion--but I DO want to get it over, if\npossible, before I go to bed.\"\n\nHere the door opened, and Mrs. Merridew uttered another little scream.\nThe advent of the explosion? No: only the advent of Betteredge.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, Mr. Jennings,\" said Betteredge, in his most\nelaborately confidential manner. \"Mr. Franklin wishes to know where you\nare. Being under your orders to deceive him, in respect to the presence\nof my young lady in the house, I have said I don't know. That you will\nplease to observe, was a lie. Having one foot already in the grave, sir,\nthe fewer lies you expect me to tell, the more I shall be indebted to\nyou, when my conscience pricks me and my time comes.\"\n\nThere was not a moment to be wasted on the purely speculative question\nof Betteredge's conscience. Mr. Blake might make his appearance in\nsearch of me, unless I went to him at once in his own room. Miss\nVerinder followed me out into the corridor.\n\n\"They seem to be in a conspiracy to persecute you,\" she said. \"What does\nit mean?\"\n\n\"Only the protest of the world, Miss Verinder--on a very small\nscale--against anything that is new.\"\n\n\"What are we to do with Mrs. Merridew?\"\n\n\"Tell her the explosion will take place at nine to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"So as to send her to bed?\"\n\n\"Yes--so as to send her to bed.\"\n\nMiss Verinder went back to the sitting-room, and I went upstairs to Mr.\nBlake.\n\nTo my surprise I found him alone; restlessly pacing his room, and a\nlittle irritated at being left by himself.\n\n\"Where is Mr. Bruff?\" I asked.\n\nHe pointed to the closed door of communication between the two rooms.\nMr. Bruff had looked in on him, for a moment; had attempted to renew his\nprotest against our proceedings; and had once more failed to produce the\nsmallest impression on Mr. Blake. Upon this, the lawyer had taken refuge\nin a black leather bag, filled to bursting with professional papers.\n\"The serious business of life,\" he admitted, \"was sadly out of place on\nsuch an occasion as the present. But the serious business of life\nmust be carried on, for all that. Mr. Blake would perhaps kindly make\nallowance for the old-fashioned habits of a practical man. Time was\nmoney--and, as for Mr. Jennings, he might depend on it that Mr. Bruff\nwould be forthcoming when called upon.\" With that apology, the lawyer\nhad gone back to his own room, and had immersed himself obstinately in\nhis black bag.\n\nI thought of Mrs. Merridew and her embroidery, and of Betteredge and\nhis conscience. There is a wonderful sameness in the solid side of the\nEnglish character--just as there is a wonderful sameness in the solid\nexpression of the English face.\n\n\"When are you going to give me the laudanum?\" asked Mr. Blake\nimpatiently.\n\n\"You must wait a little longer,\" I said. \"I will stay and keep you\ncompany till the time comes.\"\n\nIt was then not ten o'clock. Inquiries which I had made, at various\ntimes, of Betteredge and Mr. Blake, had led me to the conclusion that\nthe dose of laudanum given by Mr. Candy could not possibly have been\nadministered before eleven. I had accordingly determined not to try the\nsecond dose until that time.\n\nWe talked a little; but both our minds were preoccupied by the coming\nordeal. The conversation soon flagged--then dropped altogether. Mr.\nBlake idly turned over the books on his bedroom table. I had taken\nthe precaution of looking at them, when we first entered the room. THE\nGUARDIAN; THE TATLER; Richardson's PAMELA; Mackenzie's MAN OF FEELING;\nRoscoe's LORENZO DE MEDICI; and Robertson's CHARLES THE FIFTH--all\nclassical works; all (of course) immeasurably superior to anything\nproduced in later times; and all (from my present point of view)\npossessing the one great merit of enchaining nobody's interest, and\nexciting nobody's brain. I left Mr. Blake to the composing influence\nof Standard Literature, and occupied myself in making this entry in my\njournal.\n\nMy watch informs me that it is close on eleven o'clock. I must shut up\nthese leaves once more.\n\n* * * * *\n\nTwo o'clock A.M.--The experiment has been tried. With what result, I am\nnow to describe.\n\nAt eleven o'clock, I rang the bell for Betteredge, and told Mr. Blake\nthat he might at last prepare himself for bed.\n\nI looked out of the window at the night. It was mild and rainy,\nresembling, in this respect, the night of the birthday--the twenty-first\nof June, last year. Without professing to believe in omens, it was at\nleast encouraging to find no direct nervous influences--no stormy or\nelectric perturbations--in the atmosphere. Betteredge joined me at the\nwindow, and mysteriously put a little slip of paper into my hand. It\ncontained these lines:\n\n\"Mrs. Merridew has gone to bed, on the distinct understanding that the\nexplosion is to take place at nine to-morrow morning, and that I am not\nto stir out of this part of the house until she comes and sets me\nfree. She has no idea that the chief scene of the experiment is my\nsitting-room--or she would have remained in it for the whole night! I am\nalone, and very anxious. Pray let me see you measure out the laudanum; I\nwant to have something to do with it, even in the unimportant character\nof a mere looker-on.--R.V.\"\n\nI followed Betteredge out of the room, and told him to remove the\nmedicine-chest into Miss Verinder's sitting-room.\n\nThe order appeared to take him completely by surprise. He looked as if\nhe suspected me of some occult medical design on Miss Verinder! \"Might\nI presume to ask,\" he said, \"what my young lady and the medicine-chest\nhave got to do with each other?\"\n\n\"Stay in the sitting-room, and you will see.\"\n\nBetteredge appeared to doubt his own unaided capacity to superintend me\neffectually, on an occasion when a medicine-chest was included in the\nproceedings.\n\n\"Is there any objection, sir\" he asked, \"to taking Mr. Bruff into this\npart of the business?\"\n\n\"Quite the contrary! I am now going to ask Mr. Bruff to accompany me\ndown-stairs.\"\n\nBetteredge withdrew to fetch the medicine-chest, without another word.\nI went back into Mr. Blake's room, and knocked at the door\nof communication. Mr. Bruff opened it, with his papers in his\nhand--immersed in Law; impenetrable to Medicine.\n\n\"I am sorry to disturb you,\" I said. \"But I am going to prepare the\nlaudanum for Mr. Blake; and I must request you to be present, and to see\nwhat I do.\"\n\n\"Yes?\" said Mr. Bruff, with nine-tenths of his attention riveted on his\npapers, and with one-tenth unwillingly accorded to me. \"Anything else?\"\n\n\"I must trouble you to return here with me, and to see me administer the\ndose.\"\n\n\"Anything else?\"\n\n\"One thing more. I must put you to the inconvenience of remaining in Mr.\nBlake's room, and of waiting to see what happens.\"\n\n\"Oh, very good!\" said Mr. Bruff. \"My room, or Mr. Blake's room--it\ndoesn't matter which; I can go on with my papers anywhere. Unless you\nobject, Mr. Jennings, to my importing THAT amount of common sense into\nthe proceedings?\"\n\nBefore I could answer, Mr. Blake addressed himself to the lawyer,\nspeaking from his bed.\n\n\"Do you really mean to say that you don't feel any interest in what we\nare going to do?\" he asked. \"Mr. Bruff, you have no more imagination\nthan a cow!\"\n\n\"A cow is a very useful animal, Mr. Blake,\" said the lawyer. With that\nreply he followed me out of the room, still keeping his papers in his\nhand.\n\nWe found Miss Verinder, pale and agitated, restlessly pacing her\nsitting-room from end to end. At a table in a corner stood Betteredge,\non guard over the medicine-chest. Mr. Bruff sat down on the first chair\nthat he could find, and (emulating the usefulness of the cow) plunged\nback again into his papers on the spot.\n\nMiss Verinder drew me aside, and reverted instantly to her one\nall-absorbing interest--her interest in Mr. Blake.\n\n\"How is he now?\" she asked. \"Is he nervous? is he out of temper? Do you\nthink it will succeed? Are you sure it will do no harm?\"\n\n\"Quite sure. Come, and see me measure it out.\"\n\n\"One moment! It is past eleven now. How long will it be before anything\nhappens?\"\n\n\"It is not easy to say. An hour perhaps.\"\n\n\"I suppose the room must be dark, as it was last year?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"I shall wait in my bedroom--just as I did before. I shall keep the door\na little way open. It was a little way open last year. I will watch the\nsitting-room door; and the moment it moves, I will blow out my light. It\nall happened in that way, on my birthday night. And it must all happen\nagain in the same way, musn't it?\"\n\n\"Are you sure you can control yourself, Miss Verinder?\"\n\n\"In HIS interests, I can do anything!\" she answered fervently.\n\nOne look at her face told me that I could trust her. I addressed myself\nagain to Mr. Bruff.\n\n\"I must trouble you to put your papers aside for a moment,\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, certainly!\" He got up with a start--as if I had disturbed him at a\nparticularly interesting place--and followed me to the medicine-chest.\nThere, deprived of the breathless excitement incidental to the practice\nof his profession, he looked at Betteredge--and yawned wearily.\n\nMiss Verinder joined me with a glass jug of cold water, which she had\ntaken from a side-table. \"Let me pour out the water,\" she whispered. \"I\nmust have a hand in it!\"\n\nI measured out the forty minims from the bottle, and poured the laudanum\ninto a medicine glass. \"Fill it till it is three parts full,\" I said,\nand handed the glass to Miss Verinder. I then directed Betteredge to\nlock up the medicine chest; informing him that I had done with it now. A\nlook of unutterable relief overspread the old servant's countenance. He\nhad evidently suspected me of a medical design on his young lady!\n\nAfter adding the water as I had directed, Miss Verinder seized a\nmoment--while Betteredge was locking the chest, and while Mr. Bruff was\nlooking back to his papers--and slyly kissed the rim of the medicine\nglass. \"When you give it to him,\" said the charming girl, \"give it to\nhim on that side!\"\n\nI took the piece of crystal which was to represent the Diamond from my\npocket, and gave it to her.\n\n\"You must have a hand in this, too,\" I said. \"You must put it where you\nput the Moonstone last year.\"\n\nShe led the way to the Indian cabinet, and put the mock Diamond into the\ndrawer which the real Diamond had occupied on the birthday night. Mr.\nBruff witnessed this proceeding, under protest, as he had witnessed\neverything else. But the strong dramatic interest which the experiment\nwas now assuming, proved (to my great amusement) to be too much for\nBetteredge's capacity of self restraint. His hand trembled as he held\nthe candle, and he whispered anxiously, \"Are you sure, miss, it's the\nright drawer?\"\n\nI led the way out again, with the laudanum and water in my hand. At the\ndoor, I stopped to address a last word to Miss Verinder.\n\n\"Don't be long in putting out the lights,\" I said.\n\n\"I will put them out at once,\" she answered. \"And I will wait in my\nbedroom, with only one candle alight.\"\n\nShe closed the sitting-room door behind us. Followed by Mr. Bruff and\nBetteredge, I went back to Mr. Blake's room.\n\nWe found him moving restlessly from side to side of the bed, and\nwondering irritably whether he was to have the laudanum that night. In\nthe presence of the two witnesses, I gave him the dose, and shook up his\npillows, and told him to lie down again quietly and wait.\n\nHis bed, provided with light chintz curtains, was placed, with the head\nagainst the wall of the room, so as to leave a good open space on either\nside of it. On one side, I drew the curtains completely--and in the\npart of the room thus screened from his view, I placed Mr. Bruff and\nBetteredge, to wait for the result. At the bottom of the bed I half drew\nthe curtains--and placed my own chair at a little distance, so that I\nmight let him see me or not see me, speak to me or not speak to me, just\nas the circumstances might direct. Having already been informed that he\nalways slept with a light in the room, I placed one of the two lighted\ncandles on a little table at the head of the bed, where the glare of\nthe light would not strike on his eyes. The other candle I gave to Mr.\nBruff; the light, in this instance, being subdued by the screen of the\nchintz curtains. The window was open at the top, so as to ventilate the\nroom. The rain fell softly, the house was quiet. It was twenty minutes\npast eleven, by my watch, when the preparations were completed, and I\ntook my place on the chair set apart at the bottom of the bed.\n\nMr. Bruff resumed his papers, with every appearance of being as deeply\ninterested in them as ever. But looking towards him now, I saw certain\nsigns and tokens which told me that the Law was beginning to lose its\nhold on him at last. The suspended interest of the situation in which\nwe were now placed was slowly asserting its influence even on HIS\nunimaginative mind. As for Betteredge, consistency of principle and\ndignity of conduct had become, in his case, mere empty words. He forgot\nthat I was performing a conjuring trick on Mr. Franklin Blake; he forgot\nthat I had upset the house from top to bottom; he forgot that I had not\nread ROBINSON CRUSOE since I was a child. \"For the Lord's sake, sir,\" he\nwhispered to me, \"tell us when it will begin to work.\"\n\n\"Not before midnight,\" I whispered back. \"Say nothing, and sit still.\"\n\nBetteredge dropped to the lowest depth of familiarity with me, without a\nstruggle to save himself. He answered by a wink!\n\nLooking next towards Mr. Blake, I found him as restless as ever in his\nbed; fretfully wondering why the influence of the laudanum had not begun\nto assert itself yet. To tell him, in his present humour, that the more\nhe fidgeted and wondered, the longer he would delay the result for which\nwe were now waiting, would have been simply useless. The wiser course to\ntake was to dismiss the idea of the opium from his mind, by leading him\ninsensibly to think of something else.\n\nWith this view, I encouraged him to talk to me; contriving so to direct\nthe conversation, on my side, as to lead it back again to the subject\nwhich had engaged us earlier in the evening--the subject of the Diamond.\nI took care to revert to those portions of the story of the Moonstone,\nwhich related to the transport of it from London to Yorkshire; to\nthe risk which Mr. Blake had run in removing it from the bank at\nFrizinghall: and to the unexpected appearance of the Indians at the\nhouse, on the evening of the birthday. And I purposely assumed, in\nreferring to these events, to have misunderstood much of what Mr. Blake\nhimself had told me a few hours since. In this way, I set him talking\non the subject with which it was now vitally important to fill his\nmind--without allowing him to suspect that I was making him talk for a\npurpose. Little by little, he became so interested in putting me right\nthat he forgot to fidget in the bed. His mind was far away from the\nquestion of the opium, at the all-important time when his eyes first\ntold me that the opium was beginning to lay its hold on his brain.\n\nI looked at my watch. It wanted five minutes to twelve, when the\npremonitory symptoms of the working of the laudanum first showed\nthemselves to me.\n\nAt this time, no unpractised eyes would have detected any change in him.\nBut, as the minutes of the new morning wore away, the swiftly-subtle\nprogress of the influence began to show itself more plainly. The\nsublime intoxication of opium gleamed in his eyes; the dew of a stealthy\nperspiration began to glisten on his face. In five minutes more, the\ntalk which he still kept up with me, failed in coherence. He held\nsteadily to the subject of the Diamond; but he ceased to complete his\nsentences. A little later, the sentences dropped to single words. Then,\nthere was an interval of silence. Then, he sat up in bed. Then, still\nbusy with the subject of the Diamond, he began to talk again--not to\nme, but to himself. That change told me that the first stage in the\nexperiment was reached. The stimulant influence of the opium had got\nhim.\n\nThe time, now, was twenty-three minutes past twelve. The next half hour,\nat most, would decide the question of whether he would, or would not,\nget up from his bed, and leave the room.\n\nIn the breathless interest of watching him--in the unutterable triumph\nof seeing the first result of the experiment declare itself in the\nmanner, and nearly at the time, which I had anticipated--I had utterly\nforgotten the two companions of my night vigil. Looking towards them\nnow, I saw the Law (as represented by Mr. Bruff's papers) lying unheeded\non the floor. Mr. Bruff himself was looking eagerly through a crevice\nleft in the imperfectly-drawn curtains of the bed. And Betteredge,\noblivious of all respect for social distinctions, was peeping over Mr.\nBruff's shoulder.\n\nThey both started back, on finding that I was looking at them, like two\nboys caught out by their schoolmaster in a fault. I signed to them to\ntake off their boots quietly, as I was taking off mine. If Mr. Blake\ngave us the chance of following him, it was vitally necessary to follow\nhim without noise.\n\nTen minutes passed--and nothing happened. Then, he suddenly threw the\nbed-clothes off him. He put one leg out of bed. He waited.\n\n\"I wish I had never taken it out of the bank,\" he said to himself. \"It\nwas safe in the bank.\"\n\nMy heart throbbed fast; the pulses at my temples beat furiously. The\ndoubt about the safety of the Diamond was, once more, the dominant\nimpression in his brain! On that one pivot, the whole success of the\nexperiment turned. The prospect thus suddenly opened before me was too\nmuch for my shattered nerves. I was obliged to look away from him--or I\nshould have lost my self-control.\n\nThere was another interval of silence.\n\nWhen I could trust myself to look back at him he was out of his bed,\nstanding erect at the side of it. The pupils of his eyes were now\ncontracted; his eyeballs gleamed in the light of the candle as he moved\nhis head slowly to and fro. He was thinking; he was doubting--he spoke\nagain.\n\n\"How do I know?\" he said. \"The Indians may be hidden in the house.\"\n\nHe stopped, and walked slowly to the other end of the room. He\nturned--waited--came back to the bed.\n\n\"It's not even locked up,\" he went on. \"It's in the drawer of her\ncabinet. And the drawer doesn't lock.\"\n\nHe sat down on the side of the bed. \"Anybody might take it,\" he said.\n\nHe rose again restlessly, and reiterated his first words.\n\n\"How do I know? The Indians may be hidden in the house.\"\n\nHe waited again. I drew back behind the half curtain of the bed. He\nlooked about the room, with a vacant glitter in his eyes. It was a\nbreathless moment. There was a pause of some sort. A pause in the\naction of the opium? a pause in the action of the brain? Who could tell?\nEverything depended, now, on what he did next.\n\nHe laid himself down again on the bed!\n\nA horrible doubt crossed my mind. Was it possible that the sedative\naction of the opium was making itself felt already? It was not in my\nexperience that it should do this. But what is experience, where opium\nis concerned? There are probably no two men in existence on whom\nthe drug acts in exactly the same manner. Was some constitutional\npeculiarity in him, feeling the influence in some new way? Were we to\nfail on the very brink of success?\n\nNo! He got up again abruptly. \"How the devil am I to sleep,\" he said,\n\"with THIS on my mind?\"\n\nHe looked at the light, burning on the table at the head of his bed.\nAfter a moment, he took the candle in his hand.\n\nI blew out the second candle, burning behind the closed curtains. I drew\nback, with Mr. Bruff and Betteredge, into the farthest corner by the\nbed. I signed to them to be silent, as if their lives had depended on\nit.\n\nWe waited--seeing and hearing nothing. We waited, hidden from him by the\ncurtains.\n\nThe light which he was holding on the other side of us moved suddenly.\nThe next moment he passed us, swift and noiseless, with the candle in\nhis hand.\n\nHe opened the bedroom door, and went out.\n\nWe followed him along the corridor. We followed him down the stairs. We\nfollowed him along the second corridor. He never looked back; he never\nhesitated.\n\nHe opened the sitting-room door, and went in, leaving it open behind\nhim.\n\nThe door was hung (like all the other doors in the house) on large\nold-fashioned hinges. When it was opened, a crevice was opened between\nthe door and the post. I signed to my two companions to look\nthrough this, so as to keep them from showing themselves. I placed\nmyself--outside the door also--on the opposite side. A recess in the\nwall was at my left hand, in which I could instantly hide myself, if he\nshowed any signs of looking back into the corridor.\n\nHe advanced to the middle of the room, with the candle still in his\nhand: he looked about him--but he never looked back.\n\nI saw the door of Miss Verinder's bedroom, standing ajar. She had put\nout her light. She controlled herself nobly. The dim white outline of\nher summer dress was all that I could see. Nobody who had not known it\nbeforehand would have suspected that there was a living creature in the\nroom. She kept back, in the dark: not a word, not a movement escaped\nher.\n\nIt was now ten minutes past one. I heard, through the dead silence, the\nsoft drip of the rain and the tremulous passage of the night air through\nthe trees.\n\nAfter waiting irresolute, for a minute or more, in the middle of the\nroom, he moved to the corner near the window, where the Indian cabinet\nstood.\n\nHe put his candle on the top of the cabinet. He opened, and shut, one\ndrawer after another, until he came to the drawer in which the mock\nDiamond was put. He looked into the drawer for a moment. Then he took\nthe mock Diamond out with his right hand. With the other hand, he took\nthe candle from the top of the cabinet.\n\nHe walked back a few steps towards the middle of the room, and stood\nstill again.\n\nThus far, he had exactly repeated what he had done on the birthday\nnight. Would his next proceeding be the same as the proceeding of last\nyear? Would he leave the room? Would he go back now, as I believed he\nhad gone back then, to his bed-chamber? Would he show us what he had\ndone with the Diamond, when he had returned to his own room?\n\nHis first action, when he moved once more, proved to be an action which\nhe had not performed, when he was under the influence of the opium for\nthe first time. He put the candle down on a table, and wandered on a\nlittle towards the farther end of the room. There was a sofa there.\nHe leaned heavily on the back of it, with his left hand--then roused\nhimself, and returned to the middle of the room. I could now see his\neyes. They were getting dull and heavy; the glitter in them was fast\ndying out.\n\nThe suspense of the moment proved too much for Miss Verinder's\nself-control. She advanced a few steps--then stopped again. Mr. Bruff\nand Betteredge looked across the open doorway at me for the first time.\nThe prevision of a coming disappointment was impressing itself on their\nminds as well as on mine.\n\nStill, so long as he stood where he was, there was hope. We waited, in\nunutterable expectation, to see what would happen next.\n\nThe next event was decisive. He let the mock Diamond drop out of his\nhand.\n\nIt fell on the floor, before the doorway--plainly visible to him, and\nto everyone. He made no effort to pick it up: he looked down at\nit vacantly, and, as he looked, his head sank on his breast. He\nstaggered--roused himself for an instant--walked back unsteadily to the\nsofa--and sat down on it. He made a last effort; he tried to rise, and\nsank back. His head fell on the sofa cushions. It was then twenty-five\nminutes past one o'clock. Before I had put my watch back in my pocket,\nhe was asleep.\n\nIt was all over now. The sedative influence had got him; the experiment\nwas at an end.\n\nI entered the room, telling Mr. Bruff and Betteredge that they might\nfollow me. There was no fear of disturbing him. We were free to move and\nspeak.\n\n\"The first thing to settle,\" I said, \"is the question of what we are to\ndo with him. He will probably sleep for the next six or seven hours, at\nleast. It is some distance to carry him back to his own room. When I was\nyounger, I could have done it alone. But my health and strength are not\nwhat they were--I am afraid I must ask you to help me.\"\n\nBefore they could answer, Miss Verinder called to me softly. She met me\nat the door of her room, with a light shawl, and with the counterpane\nfrom her own bed.\n\n\"Do you mean to watch him while he sleeps?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes, I am not sure enough of the action of the opium in his case to be\nwilling to leave him alone.\"\n\nShe handed me the shawl and the counterpane.\n\n\"Why should you disturb him?\" she whispered. \"Make his bed on the sofa.\nI can shut my door, and keep in my room.\"\n\nIt was infinitely the simplest and the safest way of disposing of\nhim for the night. I mentioned the suggestion to Mr. Bruff and\nBetteredge--who both approved of my adopting it. In five minutes I had\nlaid him comfortably on the sofa, and had covered him lightly with\nthe counterpane and the shawl. Miss Verinder wished us good night, and\nclosed the door. At my request, we three then drew round the table in\nthe middle of the room, on which the candle was still burning, and on\nwhich writing materials were placed.\n\n\"Before we separate,\" I began, \"I have a word to say about the\nexperiment which has been tried to-night. Two distinct objects were to\nbe gained by it. The first of these objects was to prove, that Mr. Blake\nentered this room, and took the Diamond, last year, acting unconsciously\nand irresponsibly, under the influence of opium. After what you have\nboth seen, are you both satisfied, so far?\"\n\nThey answered me in the affirmative, without a moment's hesitation.\n\n\"The second object,\" I went on, \"was to discover what he did with the\nDiamond, after he was seen by Miss Verinder to leave her sitting-room\nwith the jewel in his hand, on the birthday night. The gaining of this\nobject depended, of course, on his still continuing exactly to repeat\nhis proceedings of last year. He has failed to do that; and the purpose\nof the experiment is defeated accordingly. I can't assert that I am\nnot disappointed at the result--but I can honestly say that I am not\nsurprised by it. I told Mr. Blake from the first, that our complete\nsuccess in this matter depended on our completely reproducing in him the\nphysical and moral conditions of last year--and I warned him that this\nwas the next thing to a downright impossibility. We have only partially\nreproduced the conditions, and the experiment has been only partially\nsuccessful in consequence. It is also possible that I may have\nadministered too large a dose of laudanum. But I myself look upon the\nfirst reason that I have given, as the true reason why we have to lament\na failure, as well as to rejoice over a success.\"\n\nAfter saying those words, I put the writing materials before Mr. Bruff,\nand asked him if he had any objection--before we separated for the\nnight--to draw out, and sign, a plain statement of what he had seen.\nHe at once took the pen, and produced the statement with the fluent\nreadiness of a practised hand.\n\n\"I owe you this,\" he said, signing the paper, \"as some atonement for\nwhat passed between us earlier in the evening. I beg your pardon,\nMr. Jennings, for having doubted you. You have done Franklin Blake an\ninestimable service. In our legal phrase, you have proved your case.\"\n\nBetteredge's apology was characteristic of the man.\n\n\"Mr. Jennings,\" he said, \"when you read ROBINSON CRUSOE again (which I\nstrongly recommend you to do), you will find that he never scruples to\nacknowledge it, when he turns out to have been in the wrong. Please\nto consider me, sir, as doing what Robinson Crusoe did, on the present\noccasion.\" With those words he signed the paper in his turn.\n\nMr. Bruff took me aside, as we rose from the table.\n\n\"One word about the Diamond,\" he said. \"Your theory is that Franklin\nBlake hid the Moonstone in his room. My theory is, that the Moonstone\nis in the possession of Mr. Luker's bankers in London. We won't dispute\nwhich of us is right. We will only ask, which of us is in a position to\nput his theory to the test?\"\n\n\"The test, in my case,\" I answered, \"has been tried to-night, and has\nfailed.\"\n\n\"The test, in my case,\" rejoined Mr. Bruff, \"is still in process of\ntrial. For the last two days I have had a watch set for Mr. Luker at the\nbank; and I shall cause that watch to be continued until the last day\nof the month. I know that he must take the Diamond himself out of his\nbankers' hands--and I am acting on the chance that the person who has\npledged the Diamond may force him to do this by redeeming the pledge.\nIn that case I may be able to lay my hand on the person. If I succeed, I\nclear up the mystery, exactly at the point where the mystery baffles us\nnow! Do you admit that, so far?\"\n\nI admitted it readily.\n\n\"I am going back to town by the morning train,\" pursued the lawyer. \"I\nmay hear, when I return, that a discovery has been made--and it may be\nof the greatest importance that I should have Franklin Blake at hand to\nappeal to, if necessary. I intend to tell him, as soon as he wakes, that\nhe must return with me to London. After all that has happened, may I\ntrust to your influence to back me?\"\n\n\"Certainly!\" I said.\n\nMr. Bruff shook hands with me, and left the room. Betteredge followed\nhim out; I went to the sofa to look at Mr. Blake. He had not moved since\nI had laid him down and made his bed--he lay locked in a deep and quiet\nsleep.\n\nWhile I was still looking at him, I heard the bedroom door softly\nopened. Once more, Miss Verinder appeared on the threshold, in her\npretty summer dress.\n\n\"Do me a last favour?\" she whispered. \"Let me watch him with you.\"\n\nI hesitated--not in the interests of propriety; only in the interest of\nher night's rest. She came close to me, and took my hand.\n\n\"I can't sleep; I can't even sit still, in my own room,\" she said. \"Oh,\nMr. Jennings, if you were me, only think how you would long to sit and\nlook at him. Say, yes! Do!\"\n\nIs it necessary to mention that I gave way? Surely not!\n\nShe drew a chair to the foot of the sofa. She looked at him in a silent\necstasy of happiness, till the tears rose in her eyes. She dried her\neyes, and said she would fetch her work. She fetched her work, and never\ndid a single stitch of it. It lay in her lap--she was not even able to\nlook away from him long enough to thread her needle. I thought of my own\nyouth; I thought of the gentle eyes which had once looked love at me. In\nthe heaviness of my heart I turned to my Journal for relief, and wrote\nin it what is written here.\n\nSo we kept our watch together in silence. One of us absorbed in his\nwriting; the other absorbed in her love.\n\nHour after hour he lay in his deep sleep. The light of the new day grew\nand grew in the room, and still he never moved.\n\nTowards six o'clock, I felt the warning which told me that my pains\nwere coming back. I was obliged to leave her alone with him for a little\nwhile. I said I would go up-stairs, and fetch another pillow for him out\nof his room. It was not a long attack, this time. In a little while I\nwas able to venture back, and let her see me again.\n\nI found her at the head of the sofa, when I returned. She was just\ntouching his forehead with her lips. I shook my head as soberly as I\ncould, and pointed to her chair. She looked back at me with a bright\nsmile, and a charming colour in her face. \"You would have done it,\" she\nwhispered, \"in my place!\"\n\n* * * * *\n\nIt is just eight o'clock. He is beginning to move for the first time.\n\nMiss Verinder is kneeling by the side of the sofa. She has so placed\nherself that when his eyes first open, they must open on her face.\n\nShall I leave them together?\n\nYes!\n\n* * * * *\n\nEleven o'clock.--The house is empty again. They have arranged it among\nthemselves; they have all gone to London by the ten o'clock train. My\nbrief dream of happiness is over. I have awakened again to the realities\nof my friendless and lonely life.\n\nI dare not trust myself to write down, the kind words that have been\nsaid to me especially by Miss Verinder and Mr. Blake. Besides, it is\nneedless. Those words will come back to me in my solitary hours, and\nwill help me through what is left of the end of my life. Mr. Blake is to\nwrite, and tell me what happens in London. Miss Verinder is to return to\nYorkshire in the autumn (for her marriage, no doubt); and I am to take a\nholiday, and be a guest in the house. Oh me, how I felt, as the grateful\nhappiness looked at me out of her eyes, and the warm pressure of her\nhand said, \"This is your doing!\"\n\nMy poor patients are waiting for me. Back again, this morning, to the\nold routine! Back again, to-night, to the dreadful alternative between\nthe opium and the pain!\n\nGod be praised for His mercy! I have seen a little sunshine--I have had\na happy time.\n\n\n\n\nFIFTH NARRATIVE\n\nThe Story Resumed by FRANKLIN BLAKE\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nBut few words are needed, on my part, to complete the narrative that has\nbeen presented in the Journal of Ezra Jennings.\n\nOf myself, I have only to say that I awoke on the morning of the\ntwenty-sixth, perfectly ignorant of all that I had said and done under\nthe influence of the opium--from the time when the drug first laid its\nhold on me, to the time when I opened my eyes, in Rachel's sitting-room.\n\nOf what happened after my waking, I do not feel called upon to render an\naccount in detail. Confining myself merely to results, I have to report\nthat Rachel and I thoroughly understood each other, before a single\nword of explanation had passed on either side. I decline to account,\nand Rachel declines to account, for the extraordinary rapidity of our\nreconciliation. Sir and Madam, look back at the time when you were\npassionately attached to each other--and you will know what happened,\nafter Ezra Jennings had shut the door of the sitting-room, as well as I\nknow it myself.\n\nI have, however, no objection to add, that we should have been certainly\ndiscovered by Mrs. Merridew, but for Rachel's presence of mind. She\nheard the sound of the old lady's dress in the corridor, and instantly\nran out to meet her; I heard Mrs. Merridew say, \"What is the matter?\"\nand I heard Rachel answer, \"The explosion!\" Mrs. Merridew instantly\npermitted herself to be taken by the arm, and led into the garden, out\nof the way of the impending shock. On her return to the house, she met\nme in the hall, and expressed herself as greatly struck by the vast\nimprovement in Science, since the time when she was a girl at school.\n\"Explosions, Mr. Blake, are infinitely milder than they were. I assure\nyou, I barely heard Mr. Jennings's explosion from the garden. And no\nsmell afterwards, that I can detect, now we have come back to the house!\nI must really apologise to your medical friend. It is only due to him to\nsay that he has managed it beautifully!\"\n\nSo, after vanquishing Betteredge and Mr. Bruff, Ezra Jennings vanquished\nMrs. Merridew herself. There is a great deal of undeveloped liberal\nfeeling in the world, after all!\n\nAt breakfast, Mr. Bruff made no secret of his reasons for wishing that\nI should accompany him to London by the morning train. The watch kept\nat the bank, and the result which might yet come of it, appealed so\nirresistibly to Rachel's curiosity, that she at once decided (if Mrs.\nMerridew had no objection) on accompanying us back to town--so as to be\nwithin reach of the earliest news of our proceedings.\n\nMrs. Merridew proved to be all pliability and indulgence, after the\ntruly considerate manner in which the explosion had conducted itself;\nand Betteredge was accordingly informed that we were all four to travel\nback together by the morning train. I fully expected that he would have\nasked leave to accompany us. But Rachel had wisely provided her faithful\nold servant with an occupation that interested him. He was charged\nwith completing the refurnishing of the house, and was too full of his\ndomestic responsibilities to feel the \"detective-fever\" as he might have\nfelt it under other circumstances.\n\nOur one subject of regret, in going to London, was the necessity of\nparting, more abruptly than we could have wished, with Ezra Jennings. It\nwas impossible to persuade him to accompany us. I could only promise to\nwrite to him--and Rachel could only insist on his coming to see her when\nshe returned to Yorkshire. There was every prospect of our meeting again\nin a few months--and yet there was something very sad in seeing our best\nand dearest friend left standing alone on the platform, as the train\nmoved out of the station.\n\nOn our arrival in London, Mr. Bruff was accosted at the terminus by a\nsmall boy, dressed in a jacket and trousers of threadbare black cloth,\nand personally remarkable in virtue of the extraordinary prominence of\nhis eyes. They projected so far, and they rolled about so loosely,\nthat you wondered uneasily why they remained in their sockets. After\nlistening to the boy, Mr. Bruff asked the ladies whether they would\nexcuse our accompanying them back to Portland Place. I had barely time\nto promise Rachel that I would return, and tell her everything that had\nhappened, before Mr. Bruff seized me by the arm, and hurried me into a\ncab. The boy with the ill-secured eyes took his place on the box by the\ndriver, and the driver was directed to go to Lombard Street.\n\n\"News from the bank?\" I asked, as we started.\n\n\"News of Mr. Luker,\" said Mr. Bruff. \"An hour ago, he was seen to\nleave his house at Lambeth, in a cab, accompanied by two men, who were\nrecognised by my men as police officers in plain clothes. If Mr. Luker's\ndread of the Indians is at the bottom of this precaution, the inference\nis plain enough. He is going to take the Diamond out of the bank.\"\n\n\"And we are going to the bank to see what comes of it?\"\n\n\"Yes--or to hear what has come of it, if it is all over by this time.\nDid you notice my boy--on the box, there?\"\n\n\"I noticed his eyes.\"\n\nMr. Bruff laughed. \"They call the poor little wretch 'Gooseberry' at\nthe office,\" he said. \"I employ him to go on errands--and I only wish my\nclerks who have nick-named him were as thoroughly to be depended on as\nhe is. Gooseberry is one of the sharpest boys in London, Mr. Blake, in\nspite of his eyes.\"\n\nIt was twenty minutes to five when we drew up before the bank in Lombard\nStreet. Gooseberry looked longingly at his master, as he opened the cab\ndoor.\n\n\"Do you want to come in too?\" asked Mr. Bruff kindly. \"Come in then,\nand keep at my heels till further orders. He's as quick as lightning,\"\npursued Mr. Bruff, addressing me in a whisper. \"Two words will do with\nGooseberry, where twenty would be wanted with another boy.\"\n\nWe entered the bank. The outer office--with the long counter, behind\nwhich the cashiers sat--was crowded with people; all waiting their turn\nto take money out, or to pay money in, before the bank closed at five\no'clock.\n\nTwo men among the crowd approached Mr. Bruff, as soon as he showed\nhimself.\n\n\"Well,\" asked the lawyer. \"Have you seen him?\"\n\n\"He passed us here half an hour since, sir, and went on into the inner\noffice.\"\n\n\"Has he not come out again yet?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\nMr. Bruff turned to me. \"Let us wait,\" he said.\n\nI looked round among the people about me for the three Indians. Not a\nsign of them was to be seen anywhere. The only person present with a\nnoticeably dark complexion was a tall man in a pilot coat, and a round\nhat, who looked like a sailor. Could this be one of them in disguise?\nImpossible! The man was taller than any of the Indians; and his face,\nwhere it was not hidden by a bushy black beard, was twice the breadth of\nany of their faces at least.\n\n\"They must have their spy somewhere,\" said Mr. Bruff, looking at the\ndark sailor in his turn. \"And he may be the man.\"\n\nBefore he could say more, his coat-tail was respectfully pulled by his\nattendant sprite with the gooseberry eyes. Mr. Bruff looked where the\nboy was looking. \"Hush!\" he said. \"Here is Mr. Luker!\"\n\nThe money-lender came out from the inner regions of the bank, followed\nby his two guardian policemen in plain clothes.\n\n\"Keep your eye on him,\" whispered Mr. Bruff. \"If he passes the Diamond\nto anybody, he will pass it here.\"\n\nWithout noticing either of us, Mr. Luker slowly made his way to the\ndoor--now in the thickest, now in the thinnest part of the crowd.\nI distinctly saw his hand move, as he passed a short, stout man,\nrespectably dressed in a suit of sober grey. The man started a little,\nand looked after him. Mr. Luker moved on slowly through the crowd. At\nthe door his guard placed themselves on either side of him. They were\nall three followed by one of Mr. Bruff's men--and I saw them no more.\n\nI looked round at the lawyer, and then looked significantly towards the\nman in the suit of sober grey. \"Yes!\" whispered Mr. Bruff, \"I saw it\ntoo!\" He turned about, in search of his second man. The second man\nwas nowhere to be seen. He looked behind him for his attendant sprite.\nGooseberry had disappeared.\n\n\"What the devil does it mean?\" said Mr. Bruff angrily. \"They have both\nleft us at the very time when we want them most.\"\n\nIt came to the turn of the man in the grey suit to transact his business\nat the counter. He paid in a cheque--received a receipt for it--and\nturned to go out.\n\n\"What is to be done?\" asked Mr. Bruff. \"We can't degrade ourselves by\nfollowing him.\"\n\n\"I can!\" I said. \"I wouldn't lose sight of that man for ten thousand\npounds!\"\n\n\"In that case,\" rejoined Mr. Bruff, \"I wouldn't lose sight of you,\nfor twice the money. A nice occupation for a man in my position,\" he\nmuttered to himself, as we followed the stranger out of the bank. \"For\nHeaven's sake don't mention it. I should be ruined if it was known.\"\n\nThe man in the grey suit got into an omnibus, going westward. We got in\nafter him. There were latent reserves of youth still left in Mr.\nBruff. I assert it positively--when he took his seat in the omnibus, he\nblushed!\n\nThe man in the grey suit stopped the omnibus, and got out in Oxford\nStreet. We followed him again. He went into a chemist's shop.\n\nMr. Bruff started. \"My chemist!\" he exclaimed. \"I am afraid we have made\na mistake.\"\n\nWe entered the shop. Mr. Bruff and the proprietor exchanged a few words\nin private. The lawyer joined me again, with a very crestfallen face.\n\n\"It's greatly to our credit,\" he said, as he took my arm, and led me\nout--\"that's one comfort!\"\n\n\"What is to our credit?\" I asked.\n\n\"Mr. Blake! you and I are the two worst amateur detectives that ever\ntried their hands at the trade. The man in the grey suit has been thirty\nyears in the chemist's service. He was sent to the bank to pay money\nto his master's account--and he knows no more of the Moonstone than the\nbabe unborn.\"\n\nI asked what was to be done next.\n\n\"Come back to my office,\" said Mr. Bruff. \"Gooseberry, and my second\nman, have evidently followed somebody else. Let us hope that THEY had\ntheir eyes about them at any rate!\"\n\nWhen we reached Gray's Inn Square, the second man had arrived there\nbefore us. He had been waiting for more than a quarter of an hour.\n\n\"Well!\" asked Mr. Bruff. \"What's your news?\"\n\n\"I am sorry to say, sir,\" replied the man, \"that I have made a mistake.\nI could have taken my oath that I saw Mr. Luker pass something to an\nelderly gentleman, in a light-coloured paletot. The elderly gentleman\nturns out, sir, to be a most respectable master iron-monger in\nEastcheap.\"\n\n\"Where is Gooseberry?\" asked Mr. Bruff resignedly.\n\nThe man stared. \"I don't know, sir. I have seen nothing of him since I\nleft the bank.\"\n\nMr. Bruff dismissed the man. \"One of two things,\" he said to me. \"Either\nGooseberry has run away, or he is hunting on his own account. What do\nyou say to dining here, on the chance that the boy may come back in an\nhour or two? I have got some good wine in the cellar, and we can get a\nchop from the coffee-house.\"\n\nWe dined at Mr. Bruff's chambers. Before the cloth was removed, \"a\nperson\" was announced as wanting to speak to the lawyer. Was the person\nGooseberry? No: only the man who had been employed to follow Mr. Luker\nwhen he left the bank.\n\nThe report, in this case, presented no feature of the slightest\ninterest. Mr. Luker had gone back to his own house, and had there\ndismissed his guard. He had not gone out again afterwards. Towards dusk,\nthe shutters had been put up, and the doors had been bolted. The street\nbefore the house, and the alley behind the house, had been carefully\nwatched. No signs of the Indians had been visible. No person whatever\nhad been seen loitering about the premises. Having stated these facts,\nthe man waited to know whether there were any further orders. Mr. Bruff\ndismissed him for the night.\n\n\"Do you think Mr. Luker has taken the Moonstone home with him?\" I asked.\n\n\"Not he,\" said Mr. Bruff. \"He would never have dismissed his two\npolicemen, if he had run the risk of keeping the Diamond in his own\nhouse again.\"\n\nWe waited another half-hour for the boy, and waited in vain. It was then\ntime for Mr. Bruff to go to Hampstead, and for me to return to Rachel in\nPortland Place. I left my card, in charge of the porter at the chambers,\nwith a line written on it to say that I should be at my lodgings at half\npast ten, that night. The card was to be given to the boy, if the boy\ncame back.\n\nSome men have a knack of keeping appointments; and other men have a\nknack of missing them. I am one of the other men. Add to this, that I\npassed the evening at Portland Place, on the same seat with Rachel, in a\nroom forty feet long, with Mrs. Merridew at the further end of it. Does\nanybody wonder that I got home at half past twelve instead of half past\nten? How thoroughly heartless that person must be! And how earnestly I\nhope I may never make that person's acquaintance!\n\nMy servant handed me a morsel of paper when he let me in.\n\nI read, in a neat legal handwriting, these words--\"If you please, sir, I\nam getting sleepy. I will come back to-morrow morning, between nine and\nten.\" Inquiry proved that a boy, with very extraordinary-looking eyes,\nhad called, and presented my card and message, had waited an hour, had\ndone nothing but fall asleep and wake up again, had written a line for\nme, and had gone home--after gravely informing the servant that \"he was\nfit for nothing unless he got his night's rest.\"\n\nAt nine, the next morning, I was ready for my visitor. At half past\nnine, I heard steps outside my door. \"Come in, Gooseberry!\" I called\nout. \"Thank you, sir,\" answered a grave and melancholy voice. The door\nopened. I started to my feet, and confronted--Sergeant Cuff.\n\n\"I thought I would look in here, Mr. Blake, on the chance of your being\nin town, before I wrote to Yorkshire,\" said the Sergeant.\n\nHe was as dreary and as lean as ever. His eyes had not lost their old\ntrick (so subtly noticed in Betteredge's NARRATIVE) of \"looking as if\nthey expected something more from you than you were aware of yourself.\"\nBut, so far as dress can alter a man, the great Cuff was changed beyond\nall recognition. He wore a broad-brimmed white hat, a light shooting\njacket, white trousers, and drab gaiters. He carried a stout oak stick.\nHis whole aim and object seemed to be to look as if he had lived in the\ncountry all his life. When I complimented him on his Metamorphosis,\nhe declined to take it as a joke. He complained, quite gravely, of the\nnoises and the smells of London. I declare I am far from sure that he\ndid not speak with a slightly rustic accent! I offered him breakfast.\nThe innocent countryman was quite shocked. HIS breakfast hour was\nhalf-past six--and HE went to bed with the cocks and hens!\n\n\"I only got back from Ireland last night,\" said the Sergeant, coming\nround to the practical object of his visit, in his own impenetrable\nmanner. \"Before I went to bed, I read your letter, telling me what has\nhappened since my inquiry after the Diamond was suspended last year.\nThere's only one thing to be said about the matter on my side. I\ncompletely mistook my case. How any man living was to have seen things\nin their true light, in such a situation as mine was at the time, I\ndon't profess to know. But that doesn't alter the facts as they stand.\nI own that I made a mess of it. Not the first mess, Mr. Blake, which\nhas distinguished my professional career! It's only in books that the\nofficers of the detective force are superior to the weakness of making a\nmistake.\"\n\n\"You have come in the nick of time to recover your reputation,\" I said.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, Mr. Blake,\" rejoined the Sergeant. \"Now I have\nretired from business, I don't care a straw about my reputation. I\nhave done with my reputation, thank God! I am here, sir, in grateful\nremembrance of the late Lady Verinder's liberality to me. I will go\nback to my old work--if you want me, and if you will trust me--on that\nconsideration, and on no other. Not a farthing of money is to pass, if\nyou please, from you to me. This is on honour. Now tell me, Mr. Blake,\nhow the case stands since you wrote to me last.\"\n\nI told him of the experiment with the opium, and of what had occurred\nafterwards at the bank in Lombard Street. He was greatly struck by the\nexperiment--it was something entirely new in his experience. And he was\nparticularly interested in the theory of Ezra Jennings, relating to what\nI had done with the Diamond, after I had left Rachel's sitting-room, on\nthe birthday night.\n\n\"I don't hold with Mr. Jennings that you hid the Moonstone,\" said\nSergeant Cuff. \"But I agree with him, that you must certainly have taken\nit back to your own room.\"\n\n\"Well?\" I asked. \"And what happened then?\"\n\n\"Have you no suspicion yourself of what happened, sir?\"\n\n\"None whatever.\"\n\n\"Has Mr. Bruff no suspicion?\"\n\n\"No more than I have.\"\n\nSergeant Cuff rose, and went to my writing-table. He came back with a\nsealed envelope. It was marked \"Private;\" it was addressed to me; and it\nhad the Sergeant's signature in the corner.\n\n\"I suspected the wrong person, last year,\" he said: \"and I may be\nsuspecting the wrong person now. Wait to open the envelope, Mr. Blake,\ntill you have got at the truth. And then compare the name of the guilty\nperson, with the name that I have written in that sealed letter.\"\n\nI put the letter into my pocket--and then asked for the Sergeant's\nopinion of the measures which we had taken at the bank.\n\n\"Very well intended, sir,\" he answered, \"and quite the right thing to\ndo. But there was another person who ought to have been looked after\nbesides Mr. Luker.\"\n\n\"The person named in the letter you have just given to me?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Blake, the person named in the letter. It can't be helped now.\nI shall have something to propose to you and Mr. Bruff, sir, when the\ntime comes. Let's wait, first, and see if the boy has anything to tell\nus that is worth hearing.\"\n\nIt was close on ten o'clock, and the boy had not made his appearance.\nSergeant Cuff talked of other matters. He asked after his old friend\nBetteredge, and his old enemy the gardener. In a minute more, he would\nno doubt have got from this, to the subject of his favourite roses, if\nmy servant had not interrupted us by announcing that the boy was below.\n\nOn being brought into the room, Gooseberry stopped at the threshold\nof the door, and looked distrustfully at the stranger who was in my\ncompany. I told the boy to come to me.\n\n\"You may speak before this gentleman,\" I said. \"He is here to assist me;\nand he knows all that has happened. Sergeant Cuff,\" I added, \"this is\nthe boy from Mr. Bruff's office.\"\n\nIn our modern system of civilisation, celebrity (no matter of what kind)\nis the lever that will move anything. The fame of the great Cuff had\neven reached the ears of the small Gooseberry. The boy's ill-fixed\neyes rolled, when I mentioned the illustrious name, till I thought they\nreally must have dropped on the carpet.\n\n\"Come here, my lad,\" said the Sergeant, \"and let's hear what you have got\nto tell us.\"\n\nThe notice of the great man--the hero of many a famous story in every\nlawyer's office in London--appeared to fascinate the boy. He placed\nhimself in front of Sergeant Cuff, and put his hands behind him, after\nthe approved fashion of a neophyte who is examined in his catechism.\n\n\"What is your name?\" said the Sergeant, beginning with the first\nquestion in the catechism.\n\n\"Octavius Guy,\" answered the boy. \"They call me Gooseberry at the office\nbecause of my eyes.\"\n\n\"Octavius Guy, otherwise Gooseberry,\" pursued the Sergeant, with the\nutmost gravity, \"you were missed at the bank yesterday. What were you\nabout?\"\n\n\"If you please, sir, I was following a man.\"\n\n\"Who was he?\"\n\n\"A tall man, sir, with a big black beard, dressed like a sailor.\"\n\n\"I remember the man!\" I broke in. \"Mr. Bruff and I thought he was a spy\nemployed by the Indians.\"\n\nSergeant Cuff did not appear to be much impressed by what Mr. Bruff and\nI had thought. He went on catechising Gooseberry.\n\n\"Well?\" he said--\"and why did you follow the sailor?\"\n\n\"If you please, sir, Mr. Bruff wanted to know whether Mr. Luker passed\nanything to anybody on his way out of the bank. I saw Mr. Luker pass\nsomething to the sailor with the black beard.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you tell Mr. Bruff what you saw?\"\n\n\"I hadn't time to tell anybody, sir, the sailor went out in such a\nhurry.\"\n\n\"And you ran out after him--eh?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Gooseberry,\" said the Sergeant, patting his head, \"you have got\nsomething in that small skull of yours--and it isn't cotton-wool. I am\ngreatly pleased with you, so far.\"\n\nThe boy blushed with pleasure. Sergeant Cuff went on.\n\n\"Well? and what did the sailor do, when he got into the street?\"\n\n\"He called a cab, sir.\"\n\n\"And what did you do?\"\n\n\"Held on behind, and run after it.\"\n\nBefore the Sergeant could put his next question, another visitor was\nannounced--the head clerk from Mr. Bruff's office.\n\nFeeling the importance of not interrupting Sergeant Cuff's examination\nof the boy, I received the clerk in another room. He came with bad news\nof his employer. The agitation and excitement of the last two days had\nproved too much for Mr. Bruff. He had awoke that morning with an attack\nof gout; he was confined to his room at Hampstead; and, in the present\ncritical condition of our affairs, he was very uneasy at being compelled\nto leave me without the advice and assistance of an experienced person.\nThe chief clerk had received orders to hold himself at my disposal, and\nwas willing to do his best to replace Mr. Bruff.\n\nI wrote at once to quiet the old gentleman's mind, by telling him of\nSergeant Cuff's visit: adding that Gooseberry was at that moment under\nexamination; and promising to inform Mr. Bruff, either personally, or by\nletter, of whatever might occur later in the day. Having despatched\nthe clerk to Hampstead with my note, I returned to the room which I had\nleft, and found Sergeant Cuff at the fireplace, in the act of ringing\nthe bell.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, Mr. Blake,\" said the Sergeant. \"I was just going to\nsend word by your servant that I wanted to speak to you. There isn't a\ndoubt on my mind that this boy--this most meritorious boy,\" added the\nSergeant, patting Gooseberry on the head, \"has followed the right man.\nPrecious time has been lost, sir, through your unfortunately not being\nat home at half past ten last night. The only thing to do, now, is to\nsend for a cab immediately.\"\n\nIn five minutes more, Sergeant Cuff and I (with Gooseberry on the box to\nguide the driver) were on our way eastward, towards the City.\n\n\"One of these days,\" said the Sergeant, pointing through the front\nwindow of the cab, \"that boy will do great things in my late profession.\nHe is the brightest and cleverest little chap I have met with, for many\na long year past. You shall hear the substance, Mr. Blake, of what he\ntold me while you were out of the room. You were present, I think, when\nhe mentioned that he held on behind the cab, and ran after it?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, the cab went from Lombard Street to the Tower Wharf. The\nsailor with the black beard got out, and spoke to the steward of the\nRotterdam steamboat, which was to start next morning. He asked if\nhe could be allowed to go on board at once, and sleep in his berth\nover-night. The steward said, No. The cabins, and berths, and bedding\nwere all to have a thorough cleaning that evening, and no passenger\ncould be allowed to come on board, before the morning. The sailor turned\nround, and left the wharf. When he got into the street again, the boy\nnoticed for the first time, a man dressed like a respectable mechanic,\nwalking on the opposite side of the road, and apparently keeping\nthe sailor in view. The sailor stopped at an eating-house in the\nneighbourhood, and went in. The boy--not being able to make up his mind,\nat the moment--hung about among some other boys, staring at the good\nthings in the eating-house window. He noticed the mechanic waiting, as\nhe himself was waiting--but still on the opposite side of the street.\nAfter a minute, a cab came by slowly, and stopped where the mechanic\nwas standing. The boy could only see plainly one person in the cab, who\nleaned forward at the window to speak to the mechanic. He described that\nperson, Mr. Blake, without any prompting from me, as having a dark face,\nlike the face of an Indian.\"\n\nIt was plain, by this time, that Mr. Bruff and I had made another\nmistake. The sailor with the black beard was clearly not a spy in the\nservice of the Indian conspiracy. Was he, by any possibility, the man\nwho had got the Diamond?\n\n\"After a little,\" pursued the Sergeant, \"the cab moved on slowly\ndown the street. The mechanic crossed the road, and went into the\neating-house. The boy waited outside till he was hungry and tired--and\nthen went into the eating-house, in his turn. He had a shilling in his\npocket; and he dined sumptuously, he tells me, on a black-pudding, an\neel-pie, and a bottle of ginger-beer. What can a boy not digest? The\nsubstance in question has never been found yet.\"\n\n\"What did he see in the eating-house?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Blake, he saw the sailor reading the newspaper at one table,\nand the mechanic reading the newspaper at another. It was dusk before\nthe sailor got up, and left the place. He looked about him suspiciously\nwhen he got out into the street. The boy--BEING a boy--passed unnoticed.\nThe mechanic had not come out yet. The sailor walked on, looking about\nhim, and apparently not very certain of where he was going next. The\nmechanic appeared once more, on the opposite side of the road. The\nsailor went on, till he got to Shore Lane, leading into Lower Thames\nStreet. There he stopped before a public-house, under the sign of 'The\nWheel of Fortune,' and, after examining the place outside, went in.\nGooseberry went in too. There were a great many people, mostly of the\ndecent sort, at the bar. 'The Wheel of Fortune' is a very respectable\nhouse, Mr. Blake; famous for its porter and pork-pies.\"\n\nThe Sergeant's digressions irritated me. He saw it; and confined himself\nmore strictly to Gooseberry's evidence when he went on.\n\n\"The sailor,\" he resumed, \"asked if he could have a bed. The landlord\nsaid 'No; they were full.' The barmaid corrected him, and said 'Number\nTen was empty.' A waiter was sent for to show the sailor to Number Ten.\nJust before that, Gooseberry had noticed the mechanic among the people\nat the bar. Before the waiter had answered the call, the mechanic had\nvanished. The sailor was taken off to his room. Not knowing what to do\nnext, Gooseberry had the wisdom to wait and see if anything happened.\nSomething did happen. The landlord was called for. Angry voices were\nheard up-stairs. The mechanic suddenly made his appearance again,\ncollared by the landlord, and exhibiting, to Gooseberry's great\nsurprise, all the signs and tokens of being drunk. The landlord thrust\nhim out at the door, and threatened him with the police if he came back.\nFrom the altercation between them, while this was going on, it appeared\nthat the man had been discovered in Number Ten, and had declared with\ndrunken obstinacy that he had taken the room. Gooseberry was so struck\nby this sudden intoxication of a previously sober person, that he\ncouldn't resist running out after the mechanic into the street. As long\nas he was in sight of the public-house, the man reeled about in the most\ndisgraceful manner. The moment he turned the corner of the street, he\nrecovered his balance instantly, and became as sober a member of society\nas you could wish to see. Gooseberry went back to 'The Wheel of Fortune'\nin a very bewildered state of mind. He waited about again, on the chance\nof something happening. Nothing happened; and nothing more was to be\nheard, or seen, of the sailor. Gooseberry decided on going back to the\noffice. Just as he came to this conclusion, who should appear, on the\nopposite side of the street as usual, but the mechanic again! He looked\nup at one particular window at the top of the public-house, which was\nthe only one that had a light in it. The light seemed to relieve his\nmind. He left the place directly. The boy made his way back to Gray's\nInn--got your card and message--called--and failed to find you. There\nyou have the state of the case, Mr. Blake, as it stands at the present\ntime.\"\n\n\"What is your own opinion of the case, Sergeant?\"\n\n\"I think it's serious, sir. Judging by what the boy saw, the Indians are\nin it, to begin with.\"\n\n\"Yes. And the sailor is evidently the person to whom Mr. Luker passed\nthe Diamond. It seems odd that Mr. Bruff, and I, and the man in Mr.\nBruff's employment, should all have been mistaken about who the person\nwas.\"\n\n\"Not at all, Mr. Blake. Considering the risk that person ran, it's\nlikely enough that Mr. Luker purposely misled you, by previous\narrangement between them.\"\n\n\"Do you understand the proceedings at the public-house?\" I asked. \"The\nman dressed like a mechanic was acting of course in the employment\nof the Indians. But I am as much puzzled to account for his sudden\nassumption of drunkenness as Gooseberry himself.\"\n\n\"I think I can give a guess at what it means, sir,\" said the Sergeant.\n\"If you will reflect, you will see that the man must have had some\npretty strict instructions from the Indians. They were far too\nnoticeable themselves to risk being seen at the bank, or in the\npublic-house--they were obliged to trust everything to their\ndeputy. Very good. Their deputy hears a certain number named in the\npublic-house, as the number of the room which the sailor is to have for\nthe night--that being also the room (unless our notion is all\nwrong) which the Diamond is to have for the night, too. Under those\ncircumstances, the Indians, you may rely on it, would insist on having a\ndescription of the room--of its position in the house, of its capability\nof being approached from the outside, and so on. What was the man to do,\nwith such orders as these? Just what he did! He ran up-stairs to get\na look at the room, before the sailor was taken into it. He was found\nthere, making his observations--and he shammed drunk, as the easiest way\nof getting out of the difficulty. That's how I read the riddle. After he\nwas turned out of the public-house, he probably went with his report to\nthe place where his employers were waiting for him. And his employers,\nno doubt, sent him back to make sure that the sailor was really settled\nat the public-house till the next morning. As for what happened at 'The\nWheel of Fortune,' after the boy left--we ought to have discovered that\nlast night. It's eleven in the morning, now. We must hope for the best,\nand find out what we can.\"\n\nIn a quarter of an hour more, the cab stopped in Shore Lane, and\nGooseberry opened the door for us to get out.\n\n\"All right?\" asked the Sergeant.\n\n\"All right,\" answered the boy.\n\nThe moment we entered \"The Wheel of Fortune\" it was plain even to my\ninexperienced eyes that there was something wrong in the house.\n\nThe only person behind the counter at which the liquors were served, was\na bewildered servant girl, perfectly ignorant of the business. One or\ntwo customers, waiting for their morning drink, were tapping impatiently\non the counter with their money. The bar-maid appeared from the inner\nregions of the parlour, excited and preoccupied. She answered Sergeant\nCuff's inquiry for the landlord, by telling him sharply that her master\nwas up-stairs, and was not to be bothered by anybody.\n\n\"Come along with me, sir,\" said Sergeant Cuff, coolly leading the way\nup-stairs, and beckoning to the boy to follow him.\n\nThe barmaid called to her master, and warned him that strangers\nwere intruding themselves into the house. On the first floor we were\nencountered by the Landlord, hurrying down, in a highly irritated state,\nto see what was the matter.\n\n\"Who the devil are you? and what do you want here?\" he asked.\n\n\"Keep your temper,\" said the Sergeant, quietly. \"I'll tell you who I am\nto begin with. I am Sergeant Cuff.\"\n\nThe illustrious name instantly produced its effect. The angry landlord\nthrew open the door of a sitting-room, and asked the Sergeant's pardon.\n\n\"I am annoyed and out of sorts, sir--that's the truth,\" he said.\n\"Something unpleasant has happened in the house this morning. A man in\nmy way of business has a deal to upset his temper, Sergeant Cuff.\"\n\n\"Not a doubt of it,\" said the Sergeant. \"I'll come at once, if you will\nallow me, to what brings us here. This gentleman and I want to trouble\nyou with a few inquiries, on a matter of some interest to both of us.\"\n\n\"Relating to what, sir?\" asked the landlord.\n\n\"Relating to a dark man, dressed like a sailor, who slept here last\nnight.\"\n\n\"Good God! that's the man who is upsetting the whole house at this\nmoment!\" exclaimed the landlord. \"Do you, or does this gentleman know\nanything about him?\"\n\n\"We can't be certain till we see him,\" answered the Sergeant.\n\n\"See him?\" echoed the landlord. \"That's the one thing that nobody has\nbeen able to do since seven o'clock this morning. That was the time when\nhe left word, last night, that he was to be called. He WAS called--and\nthere was no getting an answer from him, and no opening his door to see\nwhat was the matter. They tried again at eight, and they tried again\nat nine. No use! There was the door still locked--and not a sound to be\nheard in the room! I have been out this morning--and I only got back a\nquarter of an hour ago. I have hammered at the door myself--and all to\nno purpose. The potboy has gone to fetch a carpenter. If you can wait\na few minutes, gentlemen, we will have the door opened, and see what it\nmeans.\"\n\n\"Was the man drunk last night?\" asked Sergeant Cuff.\n\n\"Perfectly sober, sir--or I would never have let him sleep in my house.\"\n\n\"Did he pay for his bed beforehand?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Could he leave the room in any way, without going out by the door?\"\n\n\"The room is a garret,\" said the landlord. \"But there's a trap-door in\nthe ceiling, leading out on to the roof--and a little lower down the\nstreet, there's an empty house under repair. Do you think, Sergeant, the\nblackguard has got off in that way, without paying?\"\n\n\"A sailor,\" said Sergeant Cuff, \"might have done it--early in the\nmorning, before the street was astir. He would be used to climbing, and\nhis head wouldn't fail him on the roofs of the houses.\"\n\nAs he spoke, the arrival of the carpenter was announced. We all went\nup-stairs, at once, to the top story. I noticed that the Sergeant was\nunusually grave, even for him. It also struck me as odd that he told the\nboy (after having previously encouraged him to follow us), to wait in\nthe room below till we came down again.\n\nThe carpenter's hammer and chisel disposed of the resistance of the door\nin a few minutes. But some article of furniture had been placed against\nit inside, as a barricade. By pushing at the door, we thrust this\nobstacle aside, and so got admission to the room. The landlord entered\nfirst; the Sergeant second; and I third. The other persons present\nfollowed us.\n\nWe all looked towards the bed, and all started.\n\nThe man had not left the room. He lay, dressed, on the bed--with a white\npillow over his face, which completely hid it from view.\n\n\"What does that mean?\" said the landlord, pointing to the pillow.\n\nSergeant Cuff led the way to the bed, without answering, and removed the\npillow.\n\nThe man's swarthy face was placid and still; his black hair and beard\nwere slightly, very slightly, discomposed. His eyes stared wide-open,\nglassy and vacant, at the ceiling. The filmy look and the fixed\nexpression of them horrified me. I turned away, and went to the open\nwindow. The rest of them remained, where Sergeant Cuff remained, at the\nbed.\n\n\"He's in a fit!\" I heard the landlord say.\n\n\"He's dead,\" the Sergeant answered. \"Send for the nearest doctor, and\nsend for the police.\"\n\nThe waiter was despatched on both errands. Some strange fascination\nseemed to hold Sergeant Cuff to the bed. Some strange curiosity seemed\nto keep the rest of them waiting, to see what the Sergeant would do\nnext.\n\nI turned again to the window. The moment afterwards, I felt a soft pull\nat my coat-tails, and a small voice whispered, \"Look here, sir!\"\n\nGooseberry had followed us into the room. His loose eyes rolled\nfrightfully--not in terror, but in exultation. He had made a\ndetective-discovery on his own account. \"Look here, sir,\" he\nrepeated--and led me to a table in the corner of the room.\n\nOn the table stood a little wooden box, open, and empty. On one side of\nthe box lay some jewellers' cotton. On the other side, was a torn\nsheet of white paper, with a seal on it, partly destroyed, and with\nan inscription in writing, which was still perfectly legible. The\ninscription was in these words:\n\n\"Deposited with Messrs. Bushe, Lysaught, and Bushe, by Mr. Septimus\nLuker, of Middlesex Place, Lambeth, a small wooden box, sealed up in\nthis envelope, and containing a valuable of great price. The box, when\nclaimed, to be only given up by Messrs. Bushe and Co. on the personal\napplication of Mr. Luker.\"\n\nThose lines removed all further doubt, on one point at least. The sailor\nhad been in possession of the Moonstone, when he had left the bank on\nthe previous day.\n\nI felt another pull at my coat-tails. Gooseberry had not done with me\nyet.\n\n\"Robbery!\" whispered the boy, pointing, in high delight, to the empty\nbox.\n\n\"You were told to wait down-stairs,\" I said. \"Go away!\"\n\n\"And Murder!\" added Gooseberry, pointing, with a keener relish still, to\nthe man on the bed.\n\nThere was something so hideous in the boy's enjoyment of the horror of\nthe scene, that I took him by the two shoulders and put him out of the\nroom.\n\nAt the moment when I crossed the threshold of the door, I heard Sergeant\nCuff's voice, asking where I was. He met me, as I returned into the\nroom, and forced me to go back with him to the bedside.\n\n\"Mr. Blake!\" he said. \"Look at the man's face. It is a face\ndisguised--and here's a proof of it!\"\n\nHe traced with his finger a thin line of livid white, running backward\nfrom the dead man's forehead, between the swarthy complexion, and the\nslightly-disturbed black hair. \"Let's see what is under this,\" said the\nSergeant, suddenly seizing the black hair, with a firm grip of his hand.\n\nMy nerves were not strong enough to bear it. I turned away again from\nthe bed.\n\nThe first sight that met my eyes, at the other end of the room, was\nthe irrepressible Gooseberry, perched on a chair, and looking with\nbreathless interest, over the heads of his elders, at the Sergeant's\nproceedings.\n\n\"He's pulling off his wig!\" whispered Gooseberry, compassionating my\nposition, as the only person in the room who could see nothing.\n\nThere was a pause--and then a cry of astonishment among the people round\nthe bed.\n\n\"He's pulled off his beard!\" cried Gooseberry.\n\nThere was another pause--Sergeant Cuff asked for something. The landlord\nwent to the wash-hand-stand, and returned to the bed with a basin of\nwater and a towel.\n\nGooseberry danced with excitement on the chair. \"Come up here, along\nwith me, sir! He's washing off his complexion now!\"\n\nThe Sergeant suddenly burst his way through the people about him,\nand came, with horror in his face, straight to the place where I was\nstanding.\n\n\"Come back to the bed, sir!\" he began. He looked at me closer, and\nchecked himself \"No!\" he resumed. \"Open the sealed letter first--the\nletter I gave you this morning.\"\n\nI opened the letter.\n\n\"Read the name, Mr. Blake, that I have written inside.\"\n\nI read the name that he had written. It was GODFREY ABLEWHITE.\n\n\"Now,\" said the Sergeant, \"come with me, and look at the man on the\nbed.\"\n\nI went with him, and looked at the man on the bed.\n\nGODFREY ABLEWHITE!\n\n\n\n\nSIXTH NARRATIVE\n\nContributed by SERGEANT CUFF\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nDorking, Surrey, July 30th, 1849. To Franklin Blake, Esq. Sir,--I beg\nto apologise for the delay that has occurred in the production of the\nReport, with which I engaged to furnish you. I have waited to make it a\ncomplete Report; and I have been met, here and there, by obstacles which\nit was only possible to remove by some little expenditure of patience\nand time.\n\nThe object which I proposed to myself has now, I hope, been attained.\nYou will find, in these pages, answers to the greater part--if not\nall--of the questions, concerning the late Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, which\noccurred to your mind when I last had the honour of seeing you.\n\nI propose to tell you--in the first place--what is known of the manner\nin which your cousin met his death; appending to the statement such\ninferences and conclusions as we are justified (according to my opinion)\nin drawing from the facts.\n\nI shall then endeavour--in the second place--to put you in possession\nof such discoveries as I have made, respecting the proceedings of Mr.\nGodfrey Ablewhite, before, during and after the time, when you and he\nmet as guests at the late Lady Verinder's country-house.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nAs to your cousin's death, then, first.\n\nIt appears to be established, beyond any reasonable doubt, that he was\nkilled (while he was asleep, or immediately on his waking) by being\nsmothered with a pillow from his bed--that the persons guilty of\nmurdering him are the three Indians--and that the object contemplated\n(and achieved) by the crime, was to obtain possession of the diamond,\ncalled the Moonstone.\n\nThe facts from which this conclusion is drawn, are derived partly from\nan examination of the room at the tavern; and partly from the evidence\nobtained at the Coroner's Inquest.\n\nOn forcing the door of the room, the deceased gentleman was discovered,\ndead, with the pillow of the bed over his face. The medical man who\nexamined him, being informed of this circumstance, considered the\npost-mortem appearances as being perfectly compatible with murder by\nsmothering--that is to say, with murder committed by some person, or\npersons, pressing the pillow over the nose and mouth of the deceased,\nuntil death resulted from congestion of the lungs.\n\nNext, as to the motive for the crime.\n\nA small box, with a sealed paper torn off from it (the paper containing\nan inscription) was found open, and empty, on a table in the room.\nMr. Luker has himself personally identified the box, the seal, and\nthe inscription. He has declared that the box did actually contain the\ndiamond, called the Moonstone; and he has admitted having given the\nbox (thus sealed up) to Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite (then concealed under a\ndisguise), on the afternoon of the twenty-sixth of June last. The fair\ninference from all this is, that the stealing of the Moonstone was the\nmotive of the crime.\n\nNext, as to the manner in which the crime was committed.\n\nOn examination of the room (which is only seven feet high), a trap-door\nin the ceiling, leading out on to the roof of the house, was discovered\nopen. The short ladder, used for obtaining access to the trap-door (and\nkept under the bed), was found placed at the opening, so as to enable\nany person or persons, in the room, to leave it again easily. In the\ntrap-door itself was found a square aperture cut in the wood, apparently\nwith some exceedingly sharp instrument, just behind the bolt which\nfastened the door on the inner side. In this way, any person from the\noutside could have drawn back the bolt, and opened the door, and have\ndropped (or have been noiselessly lowered by an accomplice) into the\nroom--its height, as already observed, being only seven feet. That some\nperson, or persons, must have got admission in this way, appears evident\nfrom the fact of the aperture being there. As to the manner in which\nhe (or they) obtained access to the roof of the tavern, it is to be\nremarked that the third house, lower down in the street, was empty, and\nunder repair--that a long ladder was left by the workmen, leading from\nthe pavement to the top of the house--and that, on returning to their\nwork, on the morning of the 27th, the men found the plank which they had\ntied to the ladder, to prevent anyone from using it in their absence,\nremoved, and lying on the ground. As to the possibility of ascending\nby this ladder, passing over the roofs of the houses, passing back, and\ndescending again, unobserved--it is discovered, on the evidence of the\nnight policeman, that he only passes through Shore Lane twice in an\nhour, when out on his beat. The testimony of the inhabitants also\ndeclares, that Shore Lane, after midnight, is one of the quietest and\nloneliest streets in London. Here again, therefore, it seems fair to\ninfer that--with ordinary caution, and presence of mind--any man, or\nmen, might have ascended by the ladder, and might have descended again,\nunobserved. Once on the roof of the tavern, it has been proved, by\nexperiment, that a man might cut through the trap-door, while lying down\non it, and that in such a position, the parapet in front of the house\nwould conceal him from the view of anyone passing in the street.\n\nLastly, as to the person, or persons, by whom the crime was committed.\n\nIt is known (1) that the Indians had an interest in possessing\nthemselves of the Diamond. (2) It is at least probable that the man\nlooking like an Indian, whom Octavius Guy saw at the window of the cab,\nspeaking to the man dressed like a mechanic, was one of the three\nHindoo conspirators. (3) It is certain that this same man dressed like\na mechanic, was seen keeping Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite in view, all through\nthe evening of the 26th, and was found in the bedroom (before Mr.\nAblewhite was shown into it) under circumstances which lead to the\nsuspicion that he was examining the room. (4) A morsel of torn gold\nthread was picked up in the bedroom, which persons expert in such\nmatters, declare to be of Indian manufacture, and to be a species of\ngold thread not known in England. (5) On the morning of the 27th, three\nmen, answering to the description of the three Indians, were observed\nin Lower Thames Street, were traced to the Tower Wharf, and were seen to\nleave London by the steamer bound for Rotterdam.\n\nThere is here, moral, if not legal, evidence, that the murder was\ncommitted by the Indians.\n\nWhether the man personating a mechanic was, or was not, an accomplice\nin the crime, it is impossible to say. That he could have committed the\nmurder alone, seems beyond the limits of probability. Acting by himself,\nhe could hardly have smothered Mr. Ablewhite--who was the taller and\nstronger man of the two--without a struggle taking place, or a cry being\nheard. A servant girl, sleeping in the next room, heard nothing. The\nlandlord, sleeping in the room below, heard nothing. The whole evidence\npoints to the inference that more than one man was concerned in this\ncrime--and the circumstances, I repeat, morally justify the conclusion\nthat the Indians committed it.\n\nI have only to add, that the verdict at the Coroner's Inquest was Wilful\nMurder against some person, or persons, unknown. Mr. Ablewhite's family\nhave offered a reward, and no effort has been left untried to discover\nthe guilty persons. The man dressed like a mechanic has eluded\nall inquiries. The Indians have been traced. As to the prospect of\nultimately capturing these last, I shall have a word to say to you on\nthat head, when I reach the end of the present Report.\n\nIn the meanwhile, having now written all that is needful on the subject\nof Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's death, I may pass next to the narrative of\nhis proceedings before, during, and after the time, when you and he met\nat the late Lady Verinder's house.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nWith regard to the subject now in hand, I may state, at the outset, that\nMr. Godfrey Ablewhite's life had two sides to it.\n\nThe side turned up to the public view, presented the spectacle of\na gentleman, possessed of considerable reputation as a speaker at\ncharitable meetings, and endowed with administrative abilities, which\nhe placed at the disposal of various Benevolent Societies, mostly of\nthe female sort. The side kept hidden from the general notice, exhibited\nthis same gentleman in the totally different character of a man of\npleasure, with a villa in the suburbs which was not taken in his own\nname, and with a lady in the villa, who was not taken in his own name,\neither.\n\nMy investigations in the villa have shown me several fine pictures\nand statues; furniture tastefully selected, and admirably made; and a\nconservatory of the rarest flowers, the match of which it would not be\neasy to find in all London. My investigation of the lady has resulted in\nthe discovery of jewels which are worthy to take rank with the flowers,\nand of carriages and horses which have (deservedly) produced a sensation\nin the Park, among persons well qualified to judge of the build of the\none, and the breed of the others.\n\nAll this is, so far, common enough. The villa and the lady are\nsuch familiar objects in London life, that I ought to apologise for\nintroducing them to notice. But what is not common and not familiar (in\nmy experience), is that all these fine things were not only ordered,\nbut paid for. The pictures, the statues, the flowers, the jewels,\nthe carriages, and the horses--inquiry proved, to my indescribable\nastonishment, that not a sixpence of debt was owing on any of them. As\nto the villa, it had been bought, out and out, and settled on the lady.\n\nI might have tried to find the right reading of this riddle, and tried\nin vain--but for Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's death, which caused an inquiry\nto be made into the state of his affairs.\n\nThe inquiry elicited these facts:--\n\nThat Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was entrusted with the care of a sum of\ntwenty thousand pounds--as one of two Trustees for a young gentleman,\nwho was still a minor in the year eighteen hundred and forty-eight. That\nthe Trust was to lapse, and that the young gentleman was to receive the\ntwenty thousand pounds on the day when he came of age, in the month of\nFebruary, eighteen hundred and fifty. That, pending the arrival of this\nperiod, an income of six hundred pounds was to be paid to him by his two\nTrustees, half-yearly--at Christmas and Midsummer Day. That this income\nwas regularly paid by the active Trustee, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. That\nthe twenty thousand pounds (from which the income was supposed to\nbe derived) had every farthing of it been sold out of the Funds, at\ndifferent periods, ending with the end of the year eighteen hundred and\nforty-seven. That the power of attorney, authorising the bankers to sell\nout the stock, and the various written orders telling them what amounts\nto sell out, were formally signed by both the Trustees. That the\nsignature of the second Trustee (a retired army officer, living in\nthe country) was a signature forged, in every case, by the active\nTrustee--otherwise Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.\n\nIn these facts lies the explanation of Mr. Godfrey's honourable conduct,\nin paying the debts incurred for the lady and the villa--and (as you\nwill presently see) of more besides.\n\nWe may now advance to the date of Miss Verinder's birthday (in the year\neighteen hundred and forty-eight)--the twenty-first of June.\n\nOn the day before, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite arrived at his father's house,\nand asked (as I know from Mr. Ablewhite, senior, himself) for a loan of\nthree hundred pounds. Mark the sum; and remember at the same time,\nthat the half-yearly payment to the young gentleman was due on\nthe twenty-fourth of the month. Also, that the whole of the young\ngentleman's fortune had been spent by his Trustee, by the end of the\nyear 'forty-seven.\n\nMr. Ablewhite, senior, refused to lend his son a farthing.\n\nThe next day Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite rode over, with you, to Lady\nVerinder's house. A few hours afterwards, Mr. Godfrey (as you yourself\nhave told me) made a proposal of marriage to Miss Verinder. Here, he saw\nhis way no doubt--if accepted--to the end of all his money anxieties,\npresent and future. But, as events actually turned out, what happened?\nMiss Verinder refused him.\n\nOn the night of the birthday, therefore, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's\npecuniary position was this. He had three hundred pounds to find on\nthe twenty-fourth of the month, and twenty thousand pounds to find in\nFebruary eighteen hundred and fifty. Failing to raise these sums, at\nthese times, he was a ruined man.\n\nUnder those circumstances, what takes place next?\n\nYou exasperate Mr. Candy, the doctor, on the sore subject of his\nprofession; and he plays you a practical joke, in return, with a dose of\nlaudanum. He trusts the administration of the dose, prepared in a little\nphial, to Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite--who has himself confessed the share he\nhad in the matter, under circumstances which shall presently be related\nto you. Mr. Godfrey is all the readier to enter into the conspiracy,\nhaving himself suffered from your sharp tongue in the course of the\nevening. He joins Betteredge in persuading you to drink a little brandy\nand water before you go to bed. He privately drops the dose of laudanum\ninto your cold grog. And you drink the mixture.\n\nLet us now shift the scene, if you please to Mr. Luker's house at\nLambeth. And allow me to remark, by way of preface, that Mr. Bruff and\nI, together, have found a means of forcing the money-lender to make\na clean breast of it. We have carefully sifted the statement he has\naddressed to us; and here it is at your service.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nLate on the evening of Friday, the twenty-third of June ('forty-eight),\nMr. Luker was surprised by a visit from Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. He was\nmore than surprised, when Mr. Godfrey produced the Moonstone. No such\nDiamond (according to Mr. Luker's experience) was in the possession of\nany private person in Europe.\n\nMr. Godfrey Ablewhite had two modest proposals to make, in relation to\nthis magnificent gem. First, Would Mr. Luker be so good as to buy it?\nSecondly, Would Mr. Luker (in default of seeing his way to the purchase)\nundertake to sell it on commission, and to pay a sum down, on the\nanticipated result?\n\nMr. Luker tested the Diamond, weighed the Diamond and estimated the\nvalue of the Diamond, before he answered a word. HIS estimate (allowing\nfor the flaw in the stone) was thirty thousand pounds.\n\nHaving reached that result, Mr. Luker opened his lips, and put a\nquestion: \"How did you come by this?\" Only six words! But what volumes\nof meaning in them!\n\nMr. Godfrey Ablewhite began a story. Mr. Luker opened his lips again,\nand only said three words, this time. \"That won't do!\"\n\nMr. Godfrey Ablewhite began another story. Mr. Luker wasted no more\nwords on him. He got up, and rang the bell for the servant to show the\ngentleman out.\n\nUpon this compulsion, Mr. Godfrey made an effort, and came out with a\nnew and amended version of the affair, to the following effect.\n\nAfter privately slipping the laudanum into your brandy and water, he\nwished you good night, and went into his own room. It was the next\nroom to yours; and the two had a door of communication between them. On\nentering his own room Mr. Godfrey (as he supposed) closed his door.\nHis money troubles kept him awake. He sat, in his dressing-gown and\nslippers, for nearly an hour, thinking over his position. Just as he was\npreparing to get into bed, he heard you, talking to yourself, in your\nown room, and going to the door of communication, found that he had not\nshut it as he supposed.\n\nHe looked into your room to see what was the matter. He discovered you\nwith the candle in your hand, just leaving your bed-chamber. He heard\nyou say to yourself, in a voice quite unlike your own voice, \"How do I\nknow? The Indians may be hidden in the house.\"\n\nUp to that time, he had simply supposed himself (in giving you the\nlaudanum) to be helping to make you the victim of a harmless practical\njoke. It now occurred to him, that the laudanum had taken some effect\non you, which had not been foreseen by the doctor, any more than by\nhimself. In the fear of an accident happening he followed you softly to\nsee what you would do.\n\nHe followed you to Miss Verinder's sitting-room, and saw you go in. You\nleft the door open. He looked through the crevice thus produced, between\nthe door and the post, before he ventured into the room himself.\n\nIn that position, he not only detected you in taking the Diamond out of\nthe drawer--he also detected Miss Verinder, silently watching you from\nher bedroom, through her open door. His own eyes satisfied him that SHE\nsaw you take the Diamond, too.\n\nBefore you left the sitting-room again, you hesitated a little. Mr.\nGodfrey took advantage of this hesitation to get back again to his\nbedroom before you came out, and discovered him. He had barely got back,\nbefore you got back too. You saw him (as he supposes) just as he was\npassing through the door of communication. At any rate, you called to\nhim in a strange, drowsy voice.\n\nHe came back to you. You looked at him in a dull sleepy way. You put the\nDiamond into his hand. You said to him, \"Take it back, Godfrey, to your\nfather's bank. It's safe there--it's not safe here.\" You turned away\nunsteadily, and put on your dressing-gown. You sat down in the large\narm-chair in your room. You said, \"I can't take it back to the bank. My\nhead's like lead--and I can't feel my feet under me.\" Your head sank on\nthe back of the chair--you heaved a heavy sigh--and you fell asleep.\n\nMr. Godfrey Ablewhite went back, with the Diamond, into his own room.\nHis statement is, that he came to no conclusion, at that time--except\nthat he would wait, and see what happened in the morning.\n\nWhen the morning came, your language and conduct showed that you were\nabsolutely ignorant of what you had said and done overnight. At the same\ntime, Miss Verinder's language and conduct showed that she was resolved\nto say nothing (in mercy to you) on her side. If Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite\nchose to keep the Diamond, he might do so with perfect impunity. The\nMoonstone stood between him and ruin. He put the Moonstone into his\npocket.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nThis was the story told by your cousin (under pressure of necessity) to\nMr. Luker.\n\nMr. Luker believed the story to be, as to all main essentials, true--on\nthis ground, that Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was too great a fool to have\ninvented it. Mr. Bruff and I agree with Mr. Luker, in considering this\ntest of the truth of the story to be a perfectly reliable one.\n\nThe next question, was the question of what Mr. Luker would do in the\nmatter of the Moonstone. He proposed the following terms, as the only\nterms on which he would consent to mix himself up with, what was (even\nin HIS line of business) a doubtful and dangerous transaction.\n\nMr. Luker would consent to lend Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite the sum of two\nthousand pounds, on condition that the Moonstone was to be deposited\nwith him as a pledge. If, at the expiration of one year from that date,\nMr. Godfrey Ablewhite paid three thousand pounds to Mr. Luker, he was to\nreceive back the Diamond, as a pledge redeemed. If he failed to produce\nthe money at the expiration of the year, the pledge (otherwise the\nMoonstone) was to be considered as forfeited to Mr. Luker--who would,\nin this latter case, generously make Mr. Godfrey a present of certain\npromissory notes of his (relating to former dealings) which were then in\nthe money-lender's possession.\n\nIt is needless to say, that Mr. Godfrey indignantly refused to listen to\nthese monstrous terms. Mr. Luker thereupon, handed him back the Diamond,\nand wished him good night.\n\nYour cousin went to the door, and came back again. How was he to be\nsure that the conversation of that evening would be kept strictly secret\nbetween his friend and himself?\n\nMr. Luker didn't profess to know how. If Mr. Godfrey had accepted his\nterms, Mr. Godfrey would have made him an accomplice, and might have\ncounted on his silence as on a certainty. As things were, Mr. Luker\nmust be guided by his own interests. If awkward inquiries were made, how\ncould he be expected to compromise himself, for the sake of a man who\nhad declined to deal with him?\n\nReceiving this reply, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite did, what all animals (human\nand otherwise) do, when they find themselves caught in a trap. He looked\nabout him in a state of helpless despair. The day of the month, recorded\non a neat little card in a box on the money-lender's chimney-piece,\nhappened to attract his eye. It was the twenty-third of June. On the\ntwenty-fourth he had three hundred pounds to pay to the young gentleman\nfor whom he was trustee, and no chance of raising the money, except\nthe chance that Mr. Luker had offered to him. But for this miserable\nobstacle, he might have taken the Diamond to Amsterdam, and have made a\nmarketable commodity of it, by having it cut up into separate stones. As\nmatters stood, he had no choice but to accept Mr. Luker's terms. After\nall, he had a year at his disposal, in which to raise the three thousand\npounds--and a year is a long time.\n\nMr. Luker drew out the necessary documents on the spot. When they were\nsigned, he gave Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite two cheques. One, dated June 23rd,\nfor three hundred pounds. Another, dated a week on, for the remaining\nbalance seventeen hundred pounds.\n\nHow the Moonstone was trusted to the keeping of Mr Luker's bankers, and\nhow the Indians treated Mr. Luker and Mr. Godfrey (after that had been\ndone) you know already.\n\nThe next event in your cousin's life refers again to Miss Verinder. He\nproposed marriage to her for the second time--and (after having being\naccepted) he consented, at her request, to consider the marriage as\nbroken off. One of his reasons for making this concession has been\npenetrated by Mr. Bruff. Miss Verinder had only a life interest in her\nmother's property--and there was no raising the twenty thousand pounds\non THAT.\n\nBut you will say, he might have saved the three thousand pounds, to\nredeem the pledged Diamond, if he had married. He might have done so\ncertainly--supposing neither his wife, nor her guardians and trustees,\nobjected to his anticipating more than half of the income at his\ndisposal, for some unknown purpose, in the first year of his marriage.\nBut even if he got over this obstacle, there was another waiting for him\nin the background. The lady at the Villa, had heard of his contemplated\nmarriage. A superb woman, Mr. Blake, of the sort that are not to be\ntrifled with--the sort with the light complexion and the Roman nose.\nShe felt the utmost contempt for Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. It would be\nsilent contempt, if he made a handsome provision for her. Otherwise,\nit would be contempt with a tongue to it. Miss Verinder's life interest\nallowed him no more hope of raising the \"provision\" than of raising the\ntwenty thousand pounds. He couldn't marry--he really couldn't marry,\nunder all the circumstances.\n\nHow he tried his luck again with another lady, and how THAT marriage\nalso broke down on the question of money, you know already. You\nalso know of the legacy of five thousand pounds, left to him shortly\nafterwards, by one of those many admirers among the soft sex whose good\ngraces this fascinating man had contrived to win. That legacy (as the\nevent has proved) led him to his death.\n\nI have ascertained that when he went abroad, on getting his five\nthousand pounds, he went to Amsterdam. There he made all the necessary\narrangements for having the Diamond cut into separate stones. He came\nback (in disguise), and redeemed the Moonstone, on the appointed day.\nA few days were allowed to elapse (as a precaution agreed to by both\nparties) before the jewel was actually taken out of the bank. If he had\ngot safe with it to Amsterdam, there would have been just time between\nJuly 'forty-nine, and February 'fifty (when the young gentleman came of\nage) to cut the Diamond, and to make a marketable commodity (polished or\nunpolished) of the separate stones. Judge from this, what motives he\nhad to run the risk which he actually ran. It was \"neck or nothing\" with\nhim--if ever it was \"neck or nothing\" with a man yet.\n\nI have only to remind you, before closing this Report, that there is a\nchance of laying hands on the Indians, and of recovering the Moonstone\nyet. They are now (there is every reason to believe) on their passage to\nBombay, in an East Indiaman. The ship (barring accidents) will touch\nat no other port on her way out; and the authorities at Bombay (already\ncommunicated with by letter, overland) will be prepared to board the\nvessel, the moment she enters the harbour.\n\nI have the honour to remain, dear sir, your obedient servant, RICHARD\nCUFF (late sergeant in the Detective Force, Scotland Yard, London).*\n\n     * NOTE.--Wherever the Report touches on the events of the\n     birthday, or of the three days that followed it, compare\n     with Betteredge's Narrative, chapters viii. to xiii.\n\n\n\n\n\nSEVENTH NARRATIVE\n\nIn a Letter from MR. CANDY\n\n\nFrizinghall, Wednesday, September 26th, 1849.--Dear Mr. Franklin Blake,\nyou will anticipate the sad news I have to tell you, on finding your\nletter to Ezra Jennings returned to you, unopened, in this enclosure. He\ndied in my arms, at sunrise, on Wednesday last.\n\nI am not to blame for having failed to warn you that his end was at\nhand. He expressly forbade me to write to you. \"I am indebted to Mr.\nFranklin Blake,\" he said, \"for having seen some happy days. Don't\ndistress him, Mr. Candy--don't distress him.\"\n\nHis sufferings, up to the last six hours of his life, were terrible to\nsee. In the intervals of remission, when his mind was clear, I entreated\nhim to tell me of any relatives of his to whom I might write. He asked\nto be forgiven for refusing anything to me. And then he said--not\nbitterly--that he would die as he had lived, forgotten and unknown. He\nmaintained that resolution to the last. There is no hope now of making\nany discoveries concerning him. His story is a blank.\n\nThe day before he died, he told me where to find all his papers. I\nbrought them to him on his bed. There was a little bundle of old\nletters which he put aside. There was his unfinished book. There was his\nDiary--in many locked volumes. He opened the volume for this year, and\ntore out, one by one, the pages relating to the time when you and he\nwere together. \"Give those,\" he said, \"to Mr. Franklin Blake. In years\nto come, he may feel an interest in looking back at what is written\nthere.\" Then he clasped his hands, and prayed God fervently to bless\nyou, and those dear to you. He said he should like to see you again. But\nthe next moment he altered his mind. \"No,\" he answered when I offered to\nwrite. \"I won't distress him! I won't distress him!\"\n\nAt his request I next collected the other papers--that is to say, the\nbundle of letters, the unfinished book and the volumes of the Diary--and\nenclosed them all in one wrapper, sealed with my own seal. \"Promise,\"\nhe said, \"that you will put this into my coffin with your own hand; and\nthat you will see that no other hand touches it afterwards.\"\n\nI gave him my promise. And the promise has been performed.\n\nHe asked me to do one other thing for him--which it cost me a hard\nstruggle to comply with. He said, \"Let my grave be forgotten. Give me\nyour word of honour that you will allow no monument of any sort--not\neven the commonest tombstone--to mark the place of my burial. Let me\nsleep, nameless. Let me rest, unknown.\" When I tried to plead with\nhim to alter his resolution, he became for the first, and only time,\nviolently agitated. I could not bear to see it; and I gave way. Nothing\nbut a little grass mound marks the place of his rest. In time, the\ntombstones will rise round it. And the people who come after us will\nlook and wonder at the nameless grave.\n\nAs I have told you, for six hours before his death his sufferings\nceased. He dozed a little. I think he dreamed. Once or twice he smiled.\nA woman's name, as I suppose--the name of \"Ella\"--was often on his lips\nat this time. A few minutes before the end he asked me to lift him on\nhis pillow, to see the sun rise through the window. He was very weak.\nHis head fell on my shoulder. He whispered, \"It's coming!\" Then he said,\n\"Kiss me!\" I kissed his forehead. On a sudden he lifted his head.\nThe sunlight touched his face. A beautiful expression, an angelic\nexpression, came over it. He cried out three times, \"Peace! peace!\npeace!\" His head sank back again on my shoulder, and the long trouble of\nhis life was at an end.\n\nSo he has gone from us. This was, as I think, a great man--though the\nworld never knew him. He had the sweetest temper I have ever met with.\nThe loss of him makes me feel very lonely. Perhaps I have never been\nquite myself since my illness. Sometimes, I think of giving up my\npractice, and going away, and trying what some of the foreign baths and\nwaters will do for me.\n\nIt is reported here, that you and Miss Verinder are to be married next\nmonth. Please to accept my best congratulations.\n\nThe pages of my poor friend's Journal are waiting for you at my\nhouse--sealed up, with your name on the wrapper. I was afraid to trust\nthem to the post.\n\nMy best respects and good wishes attend Miss Verinder. I remain, dear\nMr. Franklin Blake, truly yours,\n\nTHOMAS CANDY.\n\n\n\n\n\nEIGHTH NARRATIVE\n\nContributed by GABRIEL BETTEREDGE\n\n\nI am the person (as you remember no doubt) who led the way in these\npages, and opened the story. I am also the person who is left behind, as\nit were, to close the story up.\n\nLet nobody suppose that I have any last words to say here concerning the\nIndian Diamond. I hold that unlucky jewel in abhorrence--and I refer you\nto other authority than mine, for such news of the Moonstone as you may,\nat the present time, be expected to receive. My purpose, in this place,\nis to state a fact in the history of the family, which has been passed\nover by everybody, and which I won't allow to be disrespectfully\nsmothered up in that way. The fact to which I allude is--the marriage of\nMiss Rachel and Mr. Franklin Blake. This interesting event took place at\nour house in Yorkshire, on Tuesday, October ninth, eighteen hundred and\nforty-nine. I had a new suit of clothes on the occasion. And the married\ncouple went to spend the honeymoon in Scotland.\n\nFamily festivals having been rare enough at our house, since my poor\nmistress's death, I own--on this occasion of the wedding--to having\n(towards the latter part of the day) taken a drop too much on the\nstrength of it.\n\nIf you have ever done the same sort of thing yourself you will\nunderstand and feel for me. If you have not, you will very likely say,\n\"Disgusting old man! why does he tell us this?\" The reason why is now to\ncome.\n\nHaving, then, taken my drop (bless you! you have got your favourite\nvice, too; only your vice isn't mine, and mine isn't yours), I next\napplied the one infallible remedy--that remedy being, as you know,\nROBINSON CRUSOE. Where I opened that unrivalled book, I can't say. Where\nthe lines of print at last left off running into each other, I know,\nhowever, perfectly well. It was at page three hundred and eighteen--a\ndomestic bit concerning Robinson Crusoe's marriage, as follows:\n\n\"With those Thoughts, I considered my new Engagement, that I had a Wife\n\"--(Observe! so had Mr. Franklin!)--\"one Child born\"--(Observe again!\nthat might yet be Mr. Franklin's case, too!)--\"and my Wife then\"--What\nRobinson Crusoe's wife did, or did not do, \"then,\" I felt no desire to\ndiscover. I scored the bit about the Child with my pencil, and put a\nmorsel of paper for a mark to keep the place; \"Lie you there,\" I said,\n\"till the marriage of Mr. Franklin and Miss Rachel is some months\nolder--and then we'll see!\"\n\nThe months passed (more than I had bargained for), and no occasion\npresented itself for disturbing that mark in the book. It was not till\nthis present month of November, eighteen hundred and fifty, that Mr.\nFranklin came into my room, in high good spirits, and said, \"Betteredge!\nI have got some news for you! Something is going to happen in the house,\nbefore we are many months older.\"\n\n\"Does it concern the family, sir?\" I asked.\n\n\"It decidedly concerns the family,\" says Mr. Franklin.\n\n\"Has your good lady anything to do with it, if you please, sir?\"\n\n\"She has a great deal to do with it,\" says Mr. Franklin, beginning to\nlook a little surprised.\n\n\"You needn't say a word more, sir,\" I answered. \"God bless you both! I'm\nheartily glad to hear it.\"\n\nMr. Franklin stared like a person thunderstruck. \"May I venture to\ninquire where you got your information?\" he asked. \"I only got mine\n(imparted in the strictest secrecy) five minutes since.\"\n\nHere was an opportunity of producing ROBINSON CRUSOE! Here was a chance\nof reading that domestic bit about the child which I had marked on the\nday of Mr. Franklin's marriage! I read those miraculous words with an\nemphasis which did them justice, and then I looked him severely in the\nface. \"NOW, sir, do you believe in ROBINSON CRUSOE?\" I asked, with a\nsolemnity, suitable to the occasion.\n\n\"Betteredge!\" says Mr. Franklin, with equal solemnity, \"I'm convinced at\nlast.\" He shook hands with me--and I felt that I had converted him.\n\nWith the relation of this extraordinary circumstance, my reappearance\nin these pages comes to an end. Let nobody laugh at the unique anecdote\nhere related. You are welcome to be as merry as you please over\neverything else I have written. But when I write of ROBINSON CRUSOE, by\nthe Lord it's serious--and I request you to take it accordingly!\n\nWhen this is said, all is said. Ladies and gentlemen, I make my bow, and\nshut up the story.\n\n\n\n\n\nEPILOGUE\n\nTHE FINDING OF THE DIAMOND\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nThe Statement of SERGEANT CUFF'S MAN (1849)\n\n\nOn the twenty-seventh of June last, I received instructions from\nSergeant Cuff to follow three men; suspected of murder, and described as\nIndians. They had been seen on the Tower Wharf that morning, embarking\non board the steamer bound for Rotterdam.\n\nI left London by a steamer belonging to another company, which sailed\non the morning of Thursday the twenty-eighth. Arriving at Rotterdam,\nI succeeded in finding the commander of the Wednesday's steamer. He\ninformed me that the Indians had certainly been passengers on board his\nvessel--but as far as Gravesend only. Off that place, one of the three\nhad inquired at what time they would reach Calais. On being informed\nthat the steamer was bound to Rotterdam, the spokesman of the party\nexpressed the greatest surprise and distress at the mistake which he and\nhis two friends had made. They were all willing (he said) to sacrifice\ntheir passage money, if the commander of the steamer would only put them\nashore. Commiserating their position, as foreigners in a strange land,\nand knowing no reason for detaining them, the commander signalled for a\nshore boat, and the three men left the vessel.\n\nThis proceeding of the Indians having been plainly resolved on\nbeforehand, as a means of preventing their being traced, I lost no time\nin returning to England. I left the steamer at Gravesend, and discovered\nthat the Indians had gone from that place to London. Thence, I again\ntraced them as having left for Plymouth. Inquiries made at Plymouth\nproved that they had sailed, forty-eight hours previously, in the BEWLEY\nCASTLE, East Indiaman, bound direct to Bombay.\n\nOn receiving this intelligence, Sergeant Cuff caused the authorities at\nBombay to be communicated with, overland--so that the vessel might be\nboarded by the police immediately on her entering the port. This step\nhaving been taken, my connection with the matter came to an end. I have\nheard nothing more of it since that time.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nThe Statement of THE CAPTAIN (1849)\n\n\nI am requested by Sergeant Cuff to set in writing certain facts,\nconcerning three men (believed to be Hindoos) who were passengers, last\nsummer, in the ship BEWLEY CASTLE, bound for Bombay direct, under my\ncommand.\n\nThe Hindoos joined us at Plymouth. On the passage out I heard no\ncomplaint of their conduct. They were berthed in the forward part of the\nvessel. I had but few occasions myself of personally noticing them.\n\nIn the latter part of the voyage, we had the misfortune to be becalmed\nfor three days and nights, off the coast of India. I have not got the\nship's journal to refer to, and I cannot now call to mind the latitude\nand longitude. As to our position, therefore, I am only able to state\ngenerally that the currents drifted us in towards the land, and that\nwhen the wind found us again, we reached our port in twenty-four hours\nafterwards.\n\nThe discipline of a ship (as all seafaring persons know) becomes relaxed\nin a long calm. The discipline of my ship became relaxed. Certain\ngentlemen among the passengers got some of the smaller boats lowered,\nand amused themselves by rowing about, and swimming, when the sun at\nevening time was cool enough to let them divert themselves in that way.\nThe boats when done with ought to have been slung up again in their\nplaces. Instead of this they were left moored to the ship's side.\nWhat with the heat, and what with the vexation of the weather, neither\nofficers nor men seemed to be in heart for their duty while the calm\nlasted.\n\nOn the third night, nothing unusual was heard or seen by the watch on\ndeck. When the morning came, the smallest of the boats was missing--and\nthe three Hindoos were next reported to be missing, too.\n\nIf these men had stolen the boat shortly after dark (which I have no\ndoubt they did), we were near enough to the land to make it vain to send\nin pursuit of them, when the discovery was made in the morning. I have\nno doubt they got ashore, in that calm weather (making all due allowance\nfor fatigue and clumsy rowing), before day-break.\n\nOn reaching our port I there learnt, for the first time, the reason\nthese passengers had for seizing their opportunity of escaping from the\nship. I could only make the same statement to the authorities which I\nhave made here. They considered me to blame for allowing the discipline\nof the vessel to be relaxed. I have expressed my regret on this score to\nthem, and to my owners.\n\nSince that time, nothing has been heard to my knowledge of the three\nHindoos. I have no more to add to what is here written.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nThe Statement of MR. MURTHWAITE (1850)\n\n(In a letter to MR. BRUFF)\n\n\nHave you any recollection, my dear sir, of a semi-savage person whom you\nmet out at dinner, in London, in the autumn of 'forty-eight? Permit me\nto remind you that the person's name was Murthwaite, and that you and\nhe had a long conversation together after dinner. The talk related to\nan Indian Diamond, called the Moonstone, and to a conspiracy then in\nexistence to get possession of the gem.\n\nSince that time, I have been wandering in Central Asia. Thence I have\ndrifted back to the scene of some of my past adventures in the north\nand north-west of India. About a fortnight since, I found myself in\na certain district or province (but little known to Europeans) called\nKattiawar.\n\nHere an adventure befell me, in which (incredible as it may appear) you\nare personally interested.\n\nIn the wild regions of Kattiawar (and how wild they are, you will\nunderstand, when I tell you that even the husbandmen plough the land,\narmed to the teeth), the population is fanatically devoted to the old\nHindoo religion--to the ancient worship of Bramah and Vishnu. The few\nMahometan families, thinly scattered about the villages in the interior,\nare afraid to taste meat of any kind. A Mahometan even suspected of\nkilling that sacred animal, the cow, is, as a matter of course, put to\ndeath without mercy in these parts by the pious Hindoo neighbours who\nsurround him. To strengthen the religious enthusiasm of the people, two\nof the most famous shrines of Hindoo pilgrimage are contained within the\nboundaries of Kattiawar. One of them is Dwarka, the birthplace of the\ngod Krishna. The other is the sacred city of Somnauth--sacked, and\ndestroyed as long since as the eleventh century, by the Mahometan\nconqueror, Mahmoud of Ghizni.\n\nFinding myself, for the second time, in these romantic regions, I\nresolved not to leave Kattiawar, without looking once more on the\nmagnificent desolation of Somnauth. At the place where I planned to do\nthis, I was (as nearly as I could calculate it) some three days distant,\njourneying on foot, from the sacred city.\n\nI had not been long on the road, before I noticed that other people--by\ntwos and threes--appeared to be travelling in the same direction as\nmyself.\n\nTo such of these as spoke to me, I gave myself out as a Hindoo-Boodhist,\nfrom a distant province, bound on a pilgrimage. It is needless to say\nthat my dress was of the sort to carry out this description. Add, that\nI know the language as well as I know my own, and that I am lean\nenough and brown enough to make it no easy matter to detect my European\norigin--and you will understand that I passed muster with the people\nreadily: not as one of themselves, but as a stranger from a distant part\nof their own country.\n\nOn the second day, the number of Hindoos travelling in my direction\nhad increased to fifties and hundreds. On the third day, the throng had\nswollen to thousands; all slowly converging to one point--the city of\nSomnauth.\n\nA trifling service which I was able to render to one of my\nfellow-pilgrims, during the third day's journey, proved the means of\nintroducing me to certain Hindoos of the higher caste. From these men I\nlearnt that the multitude was on its way to a great religious ceremony,\nwhich was to take place on a hill at a little distance from Somnauth.\nThe ceremony was in honour of the god of the Moon; and it was to be held\nat night.\n\nThe crowd detained us as we drew near to the place of celebration. By\nthe time we reached the hill the moon was high in the heaven. My Hindoo\nfriends possessed some special privileges which enabled them to gain\naccess to the shrine. They kindly allowed me to accompany them. When\nwe arrived at the place, we found the shrine hidden from our view by\na curtain hung between two magnificent trees. Beneath the trees a flat\nprojection of rock jutted out, and formed a species of natural platform.\nBelow this, I stood, in company with my Hindoo friends.\n\nLooking back down the hill, the view presented the grandest spectacle of\nNature and Man, in combination, that I have ever seen. The lower slopes\nof the eminence melted imperceptibly into a grassy plain, the place of\nthe meeting of three rivers. On one side, the graceful winding of the\nwaters stretched away, now visible, now hidden by trees, as far as the\neye could see. On the other, the waveless ocean slept in the calm of\nthe night. People this lovely scene with tens of thousands of human\ncreatures, all dressed in white, stretching down the sides of the hill,\noverflowing into the plain, and fringing the nearer banks of the winding\nrivers. Light this halt of the pilgrims by the wild red flames of\ncressets and torches, streaming up at intervals from every part of\nthe innumerable throng. Imagine the moonlight of the East, pouring in\nunclouded glory over all--and you will form some idea of the view that\nmet me when I looked forth from the summit of the hill.\n\nA strain of plaintive music, played on stringed instruments, and flutes,\nrecalled my attention to the hidden shrine.\n\nI turned, and saw on the rocky platform the figures of three men. In the\ncentral figure of the three I recognised the man to whom I had spoken\nin England, when the Indians appeared on the terrace at Lady Verinder's\nhouse. The other two who had been his companions on that occasion were\nno doubt his companions also on this.\n\nOne of the spectators, near whom I was standing, saw me start. In a\nwhisper, he explained to me the apparition of the three figures on the\nplatform of rock.\n\nThey were Brahmins (he said) who had forfeited their caste in the\nservice of the god. The god had commanded that their purification should\nbe the purification by pilgrimage. On that night, the three men were to\npart. In three separate directions, they were to set forth as pilgrims\nto the shrines of India. Never more were they to look on each other's\nfaces. Never more were they to rest on their wanderings, from the day\nwhich witnessed their separation, to the day which witnessed their\ndeath.\n\nAs those words were whispered to me, the plaintive music ceased. The\nthree men prostrated themselves on the rock, before the curtain which\nhid the shrine. They rose--they looked on one another--they embraced.\nThen they descended separately among the people. The people made way\nfor them in dead silence. In three different directions I saw the crowd\npart, at one and the same moment. Slowly the grand white mass of the\npeople closed together again. The track of the doomed men through the\nranks of their fellow mortals was obliterated. We saw them no more.\n\nA new strain of music, loud and jubilant, rose from the hidden shrine.\nThe crowd around me shuddered, and pressed together.\n\nThe curtain between the trees was drawn aside, and the shrine was\ndisclosed to view.\n\nThere, raised high on a throne--seated on his typical antelope, with\nhis four arms stretching towards the four corners of the earth--there,\nsoared above us, dark and awful in the mystic light of heaven, the god\nof the Moon. And there, in the forehead of the deity, gleamed the yellow\nDiamond, whose splendour had last shone on me in England, from the bosom\nof a woman's dress!\n\nYes! after the lapse of eight centuries, the Moonstone looks forth once\nmore, over the walls of the sacred city in which its story first began.\nHow it has found its way back to its wild native land--by what accident,\nor by what crime, the Indians regained possession of their sacred gem,\nmay be in your knowledge, but is not in mine. You have lost sight of it\nin England, and (if I know anything of this people) you have lost sight\nof it for ever.\n\nSo the years pass, and repeat each other; so the same events revolve in\nthe cycles of time. What will be the next adventures of the Moonstone?\nWho can tell?"