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THE UNIVERSITY
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PRESENTED BY

MRS. ALFRz^D W. INGALLS

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THE MOONSTONE

BY

WILKIE COLLINS

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Masterpieces of the great
English novelists in which
are portrayed the varying
aspects of English life from
the time of Addison to the
present day: a series anal-
ogous to that in which
Balzac depicted the man-
ners and morals of his
French contemporaries.

" Clear the loom

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THE MOONSTONE

BY

WILKIE COLLINS

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NEW YORK

Zhc Century Co.

1906

Copyright, 1903, by
The Century Co.

Published, October, iq03

PUBLISHERS' NOTE

The literary career of William Wilkie Collins (born in 1824) coin-
cides very nearly with the second half of the nineteenth cen-
tury. His first novel, " Antonina, " was published in 1850, and
from that date until his death in 1889 his stories followed one
another in uninterrupted succession. The list of his more im-
portant publications, including several volumes of short stories,
comprises twenty-seven titles. His life, which was uneventful, was
passed in his birthplace, London, with the exception of several
periods of travel, one of which (1873-4) was spent in the United
States.

As a novelist Collins occupies a position below that of his great
contemporaries, Dickens, Thackeray, and George Eliot; nor can
he be placed on a level with Trollope, if subtle delineation of
character and felicity of style alone are considered. But h'5 works
possess qualities of their own which secured for them a vast num-
ber of delighted readers while he lived, and will give them a high
and permanent place in the history of English fiction. In the
masterly development of plots and the construction and compo-
sition of incidents and effects he is without a rival. The readers
of this volume will understand and agree with Mr. Swinburne
when he says of another of his tales, " Dickens never wrote and
Thackeray never tried to write a story so excellent in construction
and so persistent in its hold on the reader's curiosity — a curiosity
amounting, in the case of the younger and more impressible
readers, to absolute anxiety." This is high praise from a master
of criticism, but not too high. He was, moreover, not only a great
story-teller, but also a literary artist of no mean ability. If the
portraits which he drew lack some of the highest qualities, they
are certainly executed with fidelity and sincerity; they are— to
quote Swinburne again — " works of art as true as his godfather's
[David Wilkie's] pictures, and in their own line as complete."
" The Moonstone," perhaps his most popular novel, was published
in 1868.

THE MOONSTONE

THE MOONSTONE

PROLOGUE

THE STORMING OF SERINGAPATAM (1799).

(Extracted Jrom a Family Paper.)

I.

I ADDRESS these lines — written in India — to my relatives
in England.

My object is to explain the motive which has induced me
to refuse the right hand of friendship to my cousin, John
Herncastle. The reserve which I have hitherto maintained
in this matter has been misinterpreted by members of my
family whose good opinion I can not consent to forfeit. I
request them to suspend their decision until they have read
my narrative. And I declare, on my word of honor, that
vv^hat I am now about to write is, strictly and literally, the
truth.

The private difference between my cousin and me took its
rise in a great public event in which we were both concerned
— the storming of Seringapatam, under General Baird, on the
4th of May, 1799.

In order that the circumstances may be clearly understood,
I must revert for a moment to the period before the assault,
and to the stories current in our camp of the treasure in jew-
els and gold stored up in the Palace of Seringapatam.

II.

One of the wildest of these stories related to a Yellow Dia-
mond— a famous gem in the native annals of India.

The earliest known traditions describe the stone as having-

THE MOONSTONE

been set in the forehead of the four-handed Indian god who
typifies the Moon. Partly from its pecuHar color, partly
from a superstition which represented it as partaking of the
nature of the deity whom it adorned, and growing and lessen-
ing in lustre with the waxing and waning of the moon, it
first gained the name by which it continues to be known in
India to this day — the name of The Moonstone. A similar
superstition was once prevalent, as I have heard, in ancient
Greece and Rome; not applying, however (as in India), to a
diamond devoted to the service of a god, but to a semi-
transparent stone of the inferior order of gems, supposed to
be affected by the lunar influences — the moon, in this latter
case also, giving the name by which the stone is still known
to collectors in our own time.

The adventures of the Yellow Diamond begin with the
eleventh century of the Christian era. At that date the Mo-
hammedan conqueror, Mahmud of Ghazni, crossed India ;
seized on the holy city of Somnath ; and stripped of its trea-
sures the famous temple which had stood for centuries — the
shrine of Hindoo pilgrimage, and the wonder of the Eastern
world.

Of all the deities worshiped in the temple, the moon-god
alone escaped the rapacity of the conquering Mohammedans.
Preserved by three Brahmans, the inviolate deity, bearing
the Yellow Diamond in its forehead, was removed by night,
and was transported to the second of the sacred cities of India
— the city of Benares.

Here, in a new shrine — in a hall inlaid with precious
stones, under a roof supported by pillars of gold — the moon-
god was set up and worshiped. Here, on the night when
the shrine was completed, Vishnu the Preserver appeared to
the three Brahmans in a dream.

The deity breathed the breath of his divinity on the Dia-
mond in the forehead of the god. And the Brahmans knelt
and hid their faces in their robes. The deity commanded
that the Moonstone should be watched, from that time forth,
by three priests in turn, night and day, to the end of the
generations of men. And the Brahmans heard and bowed
before his will. The deity predicted certain disaster to the
presumptuous mortal who laid hands on the sacred gem, and

4

THE MOONSTONE

to all of his house and name who received it after him. And
the Brahnians caused the prophecy to be written over the
gates of the shrine in letters of gold.

One age followed another — and still, generation after gen-
eration, the successors of the three Brahmans watched their
priceless Moonstone, night and day. One age followed an-
other, until the first years of the eighteenth Christian century
saw the reign of Aurung-Zeb, Emperor of the Moguls. At
his command havoc and rapine were let loose once more
among the temples of the worship of Brahmah. The shrine
of the four-handed god was polluted by the slaughter of
sacred animals ; the images of the deities were broken in
pieces ; and the Moonstone was seized by an officer of rank in
the army of Aurung-Zeb.

Powerless to recover their lost treasure by open force, the
three guardian priests followed and watched it in disguise.
The generations succeeded each other ; the warrior who had
committed the sacrilege perished miserably; the Moonstone
passed (carrying its curse with it) from one lawless Moham-
medan hand to another; and still, through all chances and
changes, the successors of the three guardian priests kept
their watch, waiting the day when the will of Vishnu the
Preserver should restore to them their sacred gem. Time
rolled on from the first to the last years of the eighteenth
Christian century. The Diamond fell into the possession of
Tippoo, Sultan of Seringapatam, who caused it to be placed
as an ornament in the handle of a dagger, and who com-
manded it to be kept among the choicest treasures of his
armory. Even then — in the palace of the Sultan himself — the
three guardian priests still watched in secret. There were
three officers of Tippoo's household, strangers to the rest,
who had won their master's confidence by conforming, or
appearing to conform, to the Mussulman faith ; and to those
three men report pointed as the three priests in disguise.

III.

So, as told in our camp, ran the fanciful story of the Moon-
stone. Tt made no serious impression on any of us except

5

THE MOONSTONE

my cousin — whose love of the marvelous induced him to be-
lieve it. On the night before the assault on Seringapatam
he was absurdly angry with me, and with others, for treat-
ing the whole thing as a fable. A foolish wrangle followed ;
and Herncastle's unlucky temper got the better of him. He
declared, in his boastful way, that we should see the Dia-
mond on his finger if the English army took Seringapatam.
The sally was saluted by a roar of laughter, and there, as we
all thought that night, the thing ended.

Let me now take you on to the day of the assault.

My cousin and I were separated at the outset. I never
saw him when we forded the river ; when we planted the
English flag in the first breach ; when we crossed the ditch
beyond; and, fighting every inch of our way, entered the
town. It was only at dusk, when the place was ours, and
after General Baird himself had found the dead body of Tip-
poo under a heap of the slain, that Herncastle and I met.

We were each attached to a party sent out by the general's
orders to prevent the plunder and confusion which followed
our conquest. The camp-followers committed deplorable
excesses ; and, worse still, the soldiers found their way,
by an unguarded door, into the treasury of the Palace and
loaded themselves with gold and jewels. It was in the court
outside the treasury that my cousin and I met to enforce the
laws of discipline on our own soldiers. Herncastle's fiery
temper had been, as I could plainly see, exasperated to a kind
of frenzy by the terrible slaughter through which we had
passed. He was very unfit, in my opinion, to perform the
duty that had been intrusted to him.

There was riot and confusion enough in the treasury, but
no violence that I saw. The men (if I may use such an ex-
pression) disgraced themselves good-humoredly. All sorts
of rough jests and catch-words were bandied about among
them ; and the story of the Diamond turned up again un-
expectedly, in the form of a mischievous joke. "Who's got
the Moonstone?" was the rallying cry which perpetually
caused the plundering as soon as it was stopped in one place
to break out in another. While I was still vainly trying to
establish order I heard a frightful yelling on the other side
of the court-yard, and at once ran toward the cries, in dread
of finding some new outbreak of the pillage in that direction.

6

THE MOONSTONE

I got to an open door, and saw the bodies of two Indians
(by their dress, as I guessed, officers of the palace) lying
across the entrance, dead.

A cry inside hurried me into a room, which appeared to
serve as an armory. A third Indian, mortally wounded, was
sinking at the feet of a man whose back was toward me. The
man turned at the instant when I came in, and I saw John
Herncastle, with a torch in one hand and a dagger dripping
with blood in the other. A stone, set like a pommel, in the
end of the dagger's handle, flashed in the torch-light, as he
turned on me, like a gleam of fire. The dying Indian sank
to his knees, pointed to the dagger in Herncastle's hand, and
said, in his native language : "The Moonstone will have its
vengeance yet on you and yours !" He spoke those words,
and fell dead on the floor.

Before I could stir in the matter the men who had followed
me across the court-yard crowded in. My cousin rushed to
meet them, like a madman. "Clear the room !" he shouted
to me, "and set a guard on the door !" The men fell back as
he threw himself on them with his torch and his dagger. I
put two sentinels of my own company, on whom I could rely,
to keep the door. Through the remainder of the night I saw
no more of my cousin.

Early in the morning, the plunder still going on, General
Baird announced publicly by beat of drum that any thief
detected in the fact, be he whom he might, should be hung.
The provost marshal was in attendance to prove that the
general was in earnest; and in the throng that followed the
proclamation Herncastle and I met again.

He held out his hand as usual, and, said, "Good-morn-
ing."

I waited before I gave him my hand in return.

"Tell me first," I said, "how the Indian in the armory met
his death, and what those last words meant when he pointed
to the dagger in your hand."

"The Indian met his death, as I suppose, by a mortal
wound," said Herncastle. "What his last words meant I
know no more than you do."

I looked at him narrowly. His frenzy of the previous day
had all calmed down. I determined to give him another
chance.

THE MOONSTONE

"Is that all you have to tell me ?" I asked.

He answered, "That is all."

I turned my back on him ; and we have not spoken since.

IV.

I BEG it to be understood that what I write here about
my cousin (unless some necessity should arise for making it
public) is for the information of the family only. Herncastle
has said nothing that can justify me in speaking to our com-
manding officer. He has been taunted more than once about
the Diamond, by those who recollect his angry outbreak be-
fore the assault ; but, as may easily be imagined, his own re-
membrance of the circumstances under which I surprised him
in the armory has been enough to keep him silent. It is re-
ported that he means to exchange into another regiment,
avowedly for the purpose of separating himself and me.

Whether this be true or not, I can not prevail upon my-
self to become his accuser — and I think with good reason.
If I made the matter public, I have no evidence but moral
evidence to bring forward. I have not only no proof that
he killed the two men at the door ; I can not even declare
that he killed the third man inside — for I can not say that
my own eyes saw the deed committed. It is true that I heard
the dying Indian's words ; but if those words were pro-
nounced to be the ravings of delirium, how could I contra-
dict the assertion from my own knowledge? Let our rela-
tives, on either side, form their own opinion on what I have
written, and decide for themselves whether the aversion I
now feel toward this man is well or ill founded.

Although I attach no sort of credit to the fantastic Indian
legend of the gem, I must acknowledge, before I conclude,
that I am influenced by a certain superstition of my own in
this matter. It is my conviction, or my delusion, no matter
which, that crime brings its own fatality with it. I am not
only persuaded of Herncastle's guilt ; I am even fanciful
enough to believe that he will live to regret it, if he keeps
the Diamond; and that others will live to regret taking it
from him, if he gives the Diamond away.

8

THE MOONSTONE

THE STORY

FIRST PERIOD. LOSS OF THE DIAMOND (1848)

The Events related by Gabriel Betteredge, house-steward in the
Service of Julia, Lady Verinder.

CHAPTER I.

IN the first part of Robinson Crusoe, at page one hundred
and twenty-nine, you will find it thus written :

"Now I saw, though too late, the Folly of beginning a
Work before we count the Cost, and before we judge rightly
of our own Strength to go through with it."

Only yesterday I opened my Robinson Crusoe at that place.
Only this morning — May twenty-first, eighteen hundred and
fifty — came my lady's nephew, Mr. Franklin Blake, and held
a short conversation with me, as follows :

"Betteredge," says Mr. Franklin, "I have been to the law-
yer's about some family matters; and, among other things,
we have been talking of the loss of the Indian Diamond, in
my aunt's house in Yorkshire, two years since. The lawyer
thinks, as I think, that the whole story ought, in the inter-
ests of truth, to be placed on record in writing — and the
sooner the better."

Not perceiving his drift yet, and thinking it always de-
sirable for the sake of peace and quietness to be on the law-
yer's side, I said I thought so too. Mr. Franklin went on :

"In this matter of the Diamond," he said, "the characters
of innocent people have suffered under suspicion already —
as }'OU know. The memories of innocent people may suffer,
hereafter, for want of a record of the facts to which those
who come after us can appeal. There can be no doubt that
this strange family story of ours ought to be told. And I

THE MOONSTONE

think, Betteredge, the lawyer and I together have hit on the
right way of telling it."

Very satisfactory to both of them, no doubt. But I failed
to see what I myself had to do with it, so far.

"We have certain events to relate," Mr, Eranklin pro-
ceeded ; "and we have certain persons concerned in those
events who are capj^'ole of relating them. Starting from these
plain facts, the lawyer's idea is that we should all write the
story of the Moonstone in turn — as far as our own personal
experience extends, and no further. We must begin by show-
ing how the Diamond first fell into the hands of my uncle
Herncastle, when he was serving in India fifty years since.
This prefatory narrative I have already got by me in the
form of an old family paper, which relates the necessary par-
ticvilars on the authority of an eye-witness. The next thing
to do is to tell how the Diamond found its way into my
aunt's house in Yorkshire, two years since, and how it came
to be lost in little more than twelve hours afterward. No-
body knows as much as you do, Betteredge, about what went
on in the house at that time. So you must take the pen in
hand, and start the story."

In those terms I was informed of what my personal con-
cern was with the matter of the Diamond. If you are curi-
ous to know what course I took under the circumstances, I
beg to inform you that I did what you would probably have
done in my place. I modestly declared myself to be quite
unequal to the task imposed upon me — and I privately felt,
all the time, that I was quite clever enough to perform it, if
I only gave my own abilities a fair chance. Mr. Franklin,
I imagine, must have seen my private sentiments in my face.
He declined to believe in my modesty ; and he insisted on
giving my abilities a fair chance.

Two hours have passed since Mr. Franklin left me. As
soon as his back was turned I went to my writing-desk to
start the story. There I have sat helpless (in spite of my
abilities) ever since, seeing what Robinson Crusoe saw, as
quoted above, namely : the folly of beginning a work before
we count the cost, and before we judge rightly of our own
strength to go through wdth it. Please to remember, I opened

THE MOONSTONE

the book by accident, at that bit, only the day before I rashly
undertook the business now in hand ; and, allow me to ask —
if that isn't prophecy, what is?

I am not superstitious ; I have read a heap of books in my
time ; I am a scholar in my own way. Though turned sev-
enty, I possess an active memory, and legs to correspond.
You are not to take it, if you please, as the saying of an igno-
rant man, when I express my opinion that such a book as
Robinson Crusoe never was written, and never will be writ-
ten again. I have tried that book for years — generally in
combination with a pipe of tobacco — and I have found it
my friend in need in all the necessities of this mortal life.
When my spirits are bad — Robinson Crusoe. When I want
advice — Robinson Crusoe. In past times, when my wife
plagued me ; in present times, when I have had a drop too
much — Robinson Crusoe. I have worn out six stout Rob-
inson Crusoes with hard work in my service. On my lady's
last birthday she gave me a seventh. I took a drop too
much on the strength of it ; and Robinson Crusoe put me
right again. Price four shillings and sixpence, bound in blue,
with a picture into the bargain.

Still, this don't look much like starting the story of the
Diamond — does it? I seem to be wandering off in search
of Lord knows what, Lord knows where. We will take a
new sheet of paper, if you please, and begin over again, with
my best respects to you.

CHAPTER H.

I SPOKE of my lady a line or two back. Now the Dia-
mond could never have been in our house, where it was
lost, if it had not been made a present of to my lady's daugh-
ter; and my lady's daughter would never have been in exist-
ence to have the present, if it had not been for my lady who,
with pain and travail, produced her into the world. Conse-
quently, if we begin with my lady, we are pretty sure of be-
ginning far enough back. And that, let me tell you, wdien

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THE MOONSTONE

you have got such a job as mine on hand, is a real comfort
at starting.

If you know any thing of the fashionable world you have
heard tell of the three beautiful Miss Herncastles, — Miss
Adelaide, Miss Caroline, and Miss Julia — this last being the
youngest and the best of the three sisters, in my opinion ;
and I had opportunities of judging, as you shall presently
see. I went into the service of the old lord, their father
(thank God, we have got nothing to do with hhn in this
business of the Diamond ; he had the longest tongue and the
shortest temper of any man, high or low, I ever met with) —
I say, I went into the service of the old lord, as page-boy in
waiting on the three honorable young ladies, at the age of
fifteen years. There I lived till Miss Julia married the late
Sir John Verinder. An excellent man, who only wanted
somebody to manage him ; and, between ourselves, he found
somebody to do it ; and what is more, he throve on it, and
grew fat on it, and lived happy and died easy on it, dating
from the day when my lady took him to church to be mar-
ried to the day when she relieved him of his last breath and
closed his eyes forever.

I have omitted to state that I went with the bride to the
bride's husband's house and lands down here. "Sir John,"
she said, "I can't do without Gabriel Betteredge." "My
lady," says Sir John, "I can't do without him, either." That
was his way with her — and that was how I went into his
service. It was all one to me where I went, so long as my
mistress and I were together.

Seeing that my lady took an interest in the out-of-door
work, and the farms, and such like, I took an interest in them
too — with all the more reason that I was a small farmer's
seventh son myself. My lady got me put under the bailiff,
and I did my best, and gave satisfaction, and got promotion
accordingly. Some years later, on the Monday as it might
be, my lady says, "Sir John, your bailiff is a stupid old man.
Pension him liberally, and let Gabriel Betteredge have his
place." On the Tuesday as it might be. Sir John says, "My
lady, the bailiff is pensioned liberally ; and Gabriel Better-
edge has got his place." You hear more than enough of
married people living together miserably. Here is an ex-

14

THE MOONSTONE

ample to the contrary. Let it be a warning to some of you,
and an encouragement to others. In the meantime, I will
go on with my story.

Well, there I was in clover, you will say. Placed in a
position of trust and honor, with a little cottage of my own
to live in, with my rounds on the estate to occupy me in the
morning and my accounts in the afternoon, and my pipe and
my Robinson Crusoe in the evening — what more could I pos-
sibly want to make me happy? Remember what Adam
wanted when he was alone in the Garden of Eden ; and if you
don't blame it in Adam, don't blame it in me.

The woman I fixed my eye on was the woman who kept
house for me at my cottage. Her name was Selina Goby.
I agree with the late William Cobbett about picking a wife.
See that she chews her food well and sets her foot down firmly
on the ground when she walks, and you're all right. Selina
Goby was all right in both these respects, which was one rea-
son for marrying her. I had another reason, likewise, en-
tirely of my own discovering. Selina, being a single woman,
made me pay so much a week for her board and services.
Selina, being my wife, couldn't charge for her board, and
would have to give me her services for nothing. That was
the point of view I looked at it from. Economy — with a dash
of love. I put it to my mistress, as in duty bound, just as I
have put it to myself.

r "1 have been turning Selina Goby over in my mind," I

I said, "and I think, my lady, it will be cheaper to marry her

I than to keep her,"

^ My lady burst out laughing, and said she didn't know
which to be most shocked at, my language or my principles.
Some joke tickled her, I suppose, of the sort that you can't
take unless you are a person of quality. Understanding noth-
ing myself but that I was free to put it next to Selina, I went
and put it accordingly. And what did Selina say ? Lord !
how little you must know of women, if you ask that. Of
course, she said, "Yes."

As my time drew nearer, and there got to be talk of my
having a new coat for the ceremony, my mind began to mis-
give me. I have compared notes with other men as to what
they felt while they were in my interesting situation ; and

15

THE MOONSTONE

they have all acknowledged that, about a week before it hap-
pened, they privately wished themselves out of it. I went
a trifle further than that myself; I actually rose up, as it
were, and tried to get out of it. Not for nothing ! I was
too just a man to expect she would let me off for nothing.
Compensation to the woman when the man gets out of it is
one of the laws of England. In obedience to the laws, and
after turning it over carefully in mind, I offered Selina Goby
a feather-bed and fifty shillings to be off the bargain. You
will hardly believe it, but it is nevertheless true — she was
fool enough to refuse.

After that it was all over with me, of course. I got the
new coat as cheap as I could, and I went through all the rest
of it as cheap as I could. We were not a happy couple, and
not a miserable couple. We were six of one, and half a
dozen of the other. How it was, I don't understand ; but we
always seemed to be getting, with the best of motives, in one
another's way. When I wanted to go up stairs, there was
my wife coming down ; or when my wife wanted to go down,
there was I coming up. That is married life, according to my
experience of it.

After five years of misunderstandings on the stairs, it
pleased an all-wise Providence to relieve us of each other
by taking my wife. I was left with my little girl Penelope,
and with no other child. Shortly afterward Sir John died,
and my lady was left with her little girl Miss Rachel, and
no other child. I have written to very poor purpose of my
lady, if you require to be told that my little Penelope was
taken care of under my good mistress's own eye, and was
sent to school, and taught, and made a sharp girl, and pro-
moted, when old enough, to be Miss Rachel's own maid.

As for me, I went on with my business as bailiff year after
year up to Christmas, 1847, when there came a change in
my life. On that day my lady invited herself to a cup of
tea alone with me in my cottage. She remarked that reck-
oning from the year when I started as page-boy in the time
of the old lord, I had been more than fifty years in her ser-
vice, and she put into my hands a beautiful waistcoat of wool
that she had worked herself, to keep me warm in the bitter
winter weather.

16

THE MOONSTONE

I received this magnificent present quite at a loss to find
words to thank my mistress with for the honor she had done
me. To my great astonishment, it turned out, however, that
the waistcoat was not an honor, but a bribe. My lady had
discovered that I was getting old before I had discovered it
myself, and she had come to my cottage to wheedle me, if I
may use such an expression, into giving up my hard, out-of-
door work as bailiff, and taking my ease for the rest of my
days as steward in the house. I made as good a fight of it
against the indignity of taking my ease as I could. But my
mistress knew the weak side of me; she put it as a favor to
herself. The dispttte between us ended, after that, in my
wiping my eyes, like an old fool, with my new woolen waist-
coat, and saying I would think about it.

The perturbation in my mind, in regard to thinking about
it, being truly dreadful after my lady had gone away, I ap-
plied the remedy which I have never yet found to fail me in
cases of doubt and emergency. I smoked a pipe and took a
turn at Robinson Crusoe. Before I had occupied myself with
that extraordinary book five minutes I came on a comforting
bit (page one hundred and fifty-eight), as follows: "To-day
we love what to-morrow we hate." I saw my way clear
directly. To-day I was all for continuing to be farm-bailiff;
to-morrow, on the authority of Robinson Crusoe, I should be
all the other way. Take myself to-morrow while in to-mor-
row's humor, and the thing was done. My mind being re-
lieved in this manner, I went to sleep that night in the char-
acter of Lady Verinder's farm-bailiff, and I woke up next
morning in the character of Lady Verinder's hovise-stewardi
All quite comfortable, and all through Robinson Crusoe !

My daughter Penelope has just looked over my shoulder to
see what I have done so far. She remarks that it is beau-
tifully written, and every word of it true. But she points
out one objection. She says, what I have done so far isn't
in the least what I was wanted to do. I am asked to tell the
story of the Diamond, and, instead of that, I have been tell-
ing the story of my own self. Curious, and quite beyond me
to account for. I wonder whether the gentlemen who make
a business and a living out of writing books ever find their

IT

THE MOONSTONE

own selves getting in the way of their subjects Hke me? If
they do, I can feel for them. In the mean time, here is an-
other false start, and more waste of good writing-paper.
What's to be done now ? Nothing that I know of, except for
you to keep your temper, and for me to begin it all over again
for the third time.

CHAPTER III.

THE question of how I am to start the story properly I
have tried to settle in two ways. First, by scratching
my head, which led to nothing. Second, by consulting my
daughter Penelope, which has resulted in an entirely new
idea.

Penelope's notion is that I should set down what happened
regularly day by day, beginning with the day when we got
the news that Mr. Franklin Blake was expected on a visit to
the house. When you come to fix your memory with a date
in this way, it is wonderful what your memory will pick up
for you upon that compulsion. The only difficulty is to fetch
out the dates, in the first place. This Penelope offers to do
for me by looking into her own diary, which she was taught
to keep when she was at school, and which she has gone on
keeping ever since. In answer to an improvement on this
notion, devised by myself, namely, that she should tell the
story instead of me, out of her own diary, Penelope observes,
with a fierce look and a red face, that her journal is for her
own private eye, and that no living creature shall ever know
what is in it but herself. When I inquire what this means,
Penelope says, "Fiddlestick !" / say, "Sweet-hearts."

Beginning, then, on Penelope's plan, I beg to mention that
I was specially called one Wednesday morning into my lady's
own sitting-room, the date being the twenty-fourth of May,
eighteen hundred and forty-eight.

"Gabriel," says my lady, "here is news that will surprise
you. Franklin Blake has come back from abroad. He has
been staying with his father in London, and he is coming to
us to-morrow to stop till next month and keep Rachel's
birthday."

i8

THE MOONSTONE

If I had had a hat in my hand nothing but respect would
have prevented me from throwing that hat up to the ceil-
ing. I had not seen Mr. FrankHn since he was a boy, living
along with us in this house. He was, out of all sight, as I re-
membered him, the nicest boy that ever spun a top or broke
a window. Miss Rachel, who was present and to whom I
made that remark, observed, in return, that she remembered
him as the most atrocious tyrant that ever tortured a doll,
and the hardest driver of an exhausted little girl in string
harness that England could produce. "I burn with indig-
nation and I ache with fatigue," was the way Miss Rachel
summed it up, "when I think of Franklin Blake."

Hearing what I now tell you, you will naturally ask how
it was that Mr. Franklin should have passed all the years,
from the time when he was a boy to the time when he was a
man, out of his own country. I answer, because his father
had the misfortune to be next heir to a Dukedom, and not to
be able to prove it.

In two words, this was how the thing happened :

My lady's eldest sister married the celebrated Mr. Blake
— equally famous for his great riches and his great suit at
law. How many years he went on worrying the tribunals
of his country to turn out the Duke in possession and to put
himself in the Duke's place; how many lawyers' purses he
filled to bursting, and how many otherwise harmless people
he set by the ears together disputing whether he was right
or wrong — is more by a great deal than I can reckon up. His
wife died, and two of his three children died, before the tri-
bunals could make up their minds to show him the door and
take no more of his money. When it was all over, and the
Duke in possession was left in possession, Mr. Blake discov-
ered that the only way of being even with his country for
the manner in which it had treated him was not to let his
country have the honor of educating his son. "How can I
trust my native institutions," was the form in which he put
it, "after the way in which my native institutions have be-
haved to me?" Add to this that Mr. Blake disliked all boys,
his own included, and you will admit that it could only end
in one way. Master Franklin was taken from us in England
and was sent to institutions which his father could trust, in

19

THE MOONSTONE

that superior country, Germany ; Mr. Blake himself, you will
observe, remaining snug in England, to improve his fellow-
countrymen in the Parliament House and to publish a state-
ment on the subject of the Duke in possession, which has
remained an unfinished statement from that day to this.

There ! Thank God, that's told ! Neither you nor I need
trouble our heads any more about Mr. Blake, senior. Leave
him to the Dukedom, and let you and I stick to the Dia-
mond.

The Diamond takes us back to Mr. Franklin, who was the
innocent means of bringing that unlucky jewel into the house.

Our nice boy didn't forget us after he went abroad. He
wrote every now and then ; sometimes to my lady, some-
times to Miss Rachel, and sometimes to me. We had had a
transaction together before he left, which consisted of his
borrowing of me a ball of string, a four-bladed knife, and
seven-and-sixpence in money — the color of which last I have
not seen, and never expect to see, again. His letters to me
chiefly related to borrowing more. I heard, however, from
my lady, how he got on abroad, as he grew in years and
stature. After he had learned what the institutions of Ger-
many could teach him, he gave the French a turn next, and
the Italians a turn after that. They made him among them
a sort of universal genius, as well as I could understand it.
He wrote a little ; he painted a little ; he sang and played and
composed a little — borrowing, as I suspect, in all these cases,
just as he had borrowed from me. His mother's fortune,
seven hundred a year, fell to him when he came of age, and
ran through him as it might be through a sieve. The more
money he had, the more he wanted ; there was a hole in Mr.
Franklin's pocket that nothing would sew up. Wherever
he went the lively, easy way of him made him welcome. He
lived here, there, and everywhere ; his address, as he used to
put it himself, being "Post-office, Europe — to be left till called
for." Twice over he made up his mind to come back to
England and see us ; and twice over (saving your presence)
some unmentionable woman stood in the way and stopped
him. His third attempt succeeded, as you.know already from
what my lady told me. On Thursday, the twenty-fifth of
May, we were to see for the first time what our nice boy had

20

THE MOONSTONE

grown to be as a man. He came of good blood; he had a
high courage ; and he was five-and-twenty years of age, by
our reckoning. Now you know as much of Mr. Franklin
Blake as I did — before Mr. Franklin Blake came down to our
house.

The Thursday was as fine a summer's day as ever you saw ;
and my lady and Miss Rachel, not expecting Mr. Frank-
lin till dinner-time, drove out to lunch with some friends in
the neighborhood.

When they were gone I went and had a look at the bed-
room which had been got ready for our guest, and saw that
all was straight. Then, being butler in my lady's establish-
ment, as well as steward — at my own particular request,
mind, and because it vexed me to see any body but myself
in possession of the key of the late Sir John's cellar — then,
I say, I fetched up some of our famous Latour claret, and set
it in the warm summer air to take off the chill before din-
ner. Concluding to set myself in the warm summer air next
— seeing that what is good for old claret is equally good for
old age — I took up my bee-hive chair to go out into the back
court, when I was stopped by hearing a sound like the soft
beating of a drum on the terrace in front of my lady's resi-
dence.

Going round to the terrace, I found three mahogany-col-
ored Indians, in white linen frocks and trousers, looking up
at the house.

The Indians, as I saw on looking closer, had small hand-
drums slung in front of them. Behind them stood a little,
delicate-looking, light-haired, English boy carrying a bag. I
judged the fellows to be strolling conjurers and the boy with
the bag to be carrying the tools of their trade. One of the
three, who spoke English, and who exhibited, I must own,
the most elegant manners, presently informed me that my
judgment was right. He requested permission to show his
tricks in the presence of the lady of the house.

Now I am not a sour old man. I am generally all for
amusement and the last person in the world to distrust an-
other person because he happens to be a few shades darker
than nivself. But the best of us have our weaknesses — and

THE MOONSTONE

my weakness, when I know a family plate-basket to be out
on a pantry-table, is to be instantly reminded of that basket
by the sight of a strolling stranger whose manners are supe-
rior to my own. I accordingly informed the Indian that the
lady of the house was out, and I warned him and his party
oflF the premises. He made me a beautiful bow in return,
and he and his party went off the premises. On my side, I
returned to my bee-hive chair, and set myself down on the
sunny side of the court, and fell, if the truth must be owned,
not exactly into a sleep, but into the next best thing to it.

I was roused up by my daughter Penelope running out at me
as if the house was on fire. What do you think she wanted?
She wanted to have the three Indian 'jugglers instantly
taken up; for this reason, namely, that they knew who was
coming from London to visit us and that they meant some
mischief to Mr. Franklin Blake.

Mr. Franklin's name roused me. I opened my eyes and
made my girl explain herself.

It appeared that Penelope had just come from our lodge,
where she had been having a gossip with the lodge-keeper's
daughter. The two girls had seen the Indians pass out, after
I had warned them off, followed by their little boy. Taking
it into their heads that the boy was ill used by the foreigners
— for no reason that I could discover, except that he was
pretty and delicate-looking — the girls had stolen along the
inner side of the hedge between us and the road and had
watched the proceedings of the foreigners on the outer side.
These proceedings resulted in the performance of the follow-
ing extraordinary tricks.

They first looked up the road and down the road, and made
sure that they were alone. Then they all three faced about
and stared hard in the direction of our house. Then they
jabbered and disputed in their own language, and looked at
each other like men in doubt. Then they all turned to their
little English boy, as if they expected him to help them. And
then the chief Indian, who spoke English, said to the boy,
"Hold out your hand."

On hearing those dreadful words, my daughter Penelope
said she didn't know what prevented her heart from flying
straight out of her. I thought privately that it might have

22

!

THE MOONSTONE

been her stays. All I said, however, was, "You make my
flesh creep." (Nofa bene: women like these little compli-
ments.)

Well, when the Indian said, "Hold out your hand," the
boy shrank back, and shook his head, and said he didn't like
it. The Indian thereupon asked him, not at all unkindly,
whether he would like to be sent back to London and left
where they had found him, sleeping in an empty basket in a
market — a hungry, ragged and forsaken little boy. This, it
seems, ended the difficulty. The little chap unwillingly held
out his hand. Upon that the Indian took a bottle from his
bosom and poured out of it some black stuff, like ink, into
the palm of the hoy's hand. The Indian — first touching the
boy's head, and making signs over it in the air — then said,
"Look." The boy became quite stiff and stood like a statue,
looking into the ink in the hollow of his hand.

(So far, it seemed to me to be juggling, accompanied by a
foolish waste of ink. I was beginning to feel sleepy again,
when Penelope's next words stirred me up.)

The Indians looked up the road and down the road once
more — and then the chief Indian said these words to the boy,
"See the English gentleman from foreign parts."

The boy said, "I see him."

The Indian said, "Is it on the road to this house, and on
no other, that the English gentleman will pass by us to-day ?"

The boy said, "It is on the road to this house, and on no
other, that the English gentleman will pass by you to-day."

The Indian put a second question — after waiting a little
first. He said, "Has the English gentleman got It about
him ?"

The boy answered — also, after waiting a little first — "Yes."

The Indian put a third and last question, "Will the English
gentleman come here, as he has promised to come, at the
close of day?"

The boy said, "I can't tell."

The Indian asked why.

The boy said, "I am tired. The mist rises in my head,
and puzzles me. I can see no more to-day."

With that the catechism ended. The chief Indian said
something in his own language to the other two, pointing to

^5

THE MOONSTONE

the boy, and pointing toward the town, in which, as we
afterward discovered, they were lodged. He then, after mak-
ing more signs on the boy's head, blew on his forehead, and
so woke him up with a start. After that they all went on
their way toward the town and the girls saw them no more.

Most things, they say, have a moral, if you only look for it.
What was the moral of this?

The moral was, as I thought: First, that the chief juggler
had heard Mr. Franklin's arrival talked of among the ser-
vants out-of-doors, and saw his way to making a little money
by it. Second, that he and his men and boy (with a view to
making the said money) meant to hang about till they saw
my lady drive home, and then to come back, and foretell Mr.
Franklin's arrival by magic. Third, that Penelope had heard
them rehearsing their hocus-pocus, like actors rehearsing a
play. Fourth, that I should do well to have an eye, that
evening, on the plate-basket. Fifth, that Penelope would do
well to cool down, and leave me, her father, to doze ofif again
in the sun.

That appeared to me to be the sensible view. If you know
any thing of the ways of young women, you won't be sur-
prised to hear that Penelope wouldn't take it. The moral
of the thing was serious, according to my daughter. She
particularly reminded me of the Indian's third question : "Has
the English gentleman got It about him?" "Oh, Father!"
says Penelope, clasping her hands, "don't joke about this !
What does 'It' mean?"

"We'll ask Mr. Franklin, my dear," I said, "if you can wait
till Mr. Franklin comes." I winked to show I meant that
in joke. Penelope took it quite seriously. My girl's earnest-
ness tickled me. "What on earth should Mr. Franklin know
about it?" I inquired. "Ask him," says Penelope. "And see
whether he thinks it a laughing matter, too." With that part-
ing shot my daughter left me.

I settled it with myself, when she was gone, that I really
would ask Mr. Franklin — mainly to set Penelope's mind at
rest. What was said between us, when I did ask him, later
on that same day, you will find set out fully in its proper
place. But as I don't wish to raise your expectations and
then disappoint them, I will take leave to warn you here —

24

THE MOONSTONE

before we go any further — that you won't find the ghost of
a joke in our conversation on the subject of the jugglers. To
my great surprise, Mr. FrankHn, Hke Penelope, took the thing
seriously. How seriously, you will understand, when I tell
you that, in his opinion, "It" meant the Moonstone.

CHAPTER IV.

I AM truly sorry to detain you over me and my bee-hive
chair. A sleepy old man, in a sunny back-yard, is not
an interesting object, I am well aware. But things must be
put down in their places, as things actually happened — and
you must please to jog on a little while longer with me, in
expectation of Mr. Franklin Blake's arrival later in the day.
Before I had time to doze off again, after my daughter
Penelope had left me, I was disturbed by a rattling of plates
and dishes in the servants' hall, which meant that dinner
was ready. Taking my own meals in my own sitting-room,
I had nothing to do with the servants' dinner, except to wish
them a good stomach to it all round, previous to composing
myself once more in my chair. I was just stretching my legs,
when out bounced another woman on me. Not my daugh-
ter again ; only Nancy, the kitchen-maid, this time. I was
straight in her way out ; and I observed, as she asked me to
let her by, that she had a sulky face — a thing which, as head
of the servants, I never allow, on principle, to pass me with-
out inquiry.

/ "What are you turning your back on your dinner for?" I
/asked. "What's wrong now, Nancy?"

I Nancy tried to push by without answering; upon which
\l rose up, and took her by the ear. She is a nice, plump
5(Oung lass, and it is customary with me to adopt that manner
of showing that I personally approve of a girl.
"What's wrong now ?" I said, once more.
"Rosanna's late again for dinner," says Nancy. "And I'm
sent to fetch her in. All the hard work falls on my shoulders
in this house. Let me alone, Mr. Betteredge !"

The person here mentioned as Rosanna was our second

?5

THE MOONSTONE

house-maid. Having a kind of pity for our second house-
maid— why, you shall presently know — and seeing in Nancy's
face that she would fetch her fellow-servant in with more
hard words than might be needful under the circumstances,
it struck me that I had nothing particular to do, and that I
might as well fetch Rosanna myself, giving her a hint to
be punctual in future, which I knew she would take kindly
from me.

"Where is Rosanna?" I inquired.

"At the sands, of course," says Nancy, with a toss of her
head. "She had another of her fainting fits this morning,
and she asked to go out and get a breath of fresh air. I
have no patience with her."

"Go back to your dinner, my girl," I said. "I have pa-
tience with her, and I'll fetch her in."

Nancy, who has a fine appetite, looked pleased. When
she looks pleased, she looks nice. When she looks nice, I
chuck her under the chin. It isn't immorality — it's only habit.

Well, I took my stick, and set off for the sands.

No ! it won't do to set off yet. I am sorry again to detain
you ; but you really must hear the story of the sands, and
the story of Rosanna — for this reason, that the matter of the
Diamond touches them both nearly. How hard I try to get
on with my statement without stopping by the way, and how
badly I succeed ! But, there ! — Persons and Things do turn
up so vexatiously in this life, and will in a manner insist
on being noticed. Let us take it easy, and let us take it
short ; we shall be in the thick of the mystery soon, I promise
you !

Rosanna (to put the Person before the Thing, which is but
common politeness) was the only new servant in our house.
About four months before the time I am writing of my lady
had been in London, and had gone over a Reformatory, in-
tended to save forlorn women from drifting back into bad
ways, after they had got released from prison. The matron,
seeing my lady took an interest in the place, pointed out a
girl to her, named Rosanna Spearman, and told her a most
miserable story, which I haven't the heart to repeat here ;
for I don't like to be made wretched without any use, and
no more do you. The upshot of it was, that Rosanna Spear-

?6

THE MOONSTONE

man had been a thief, and not being of the sort that get
up Companies in the City, and rob from thousands, instead
of only robbing from one, the law laid hold of her, and
the prison and the reformatory followed the lead of the law.
The matron's opinion of Rosanna was, in spite of what she
had done, that the girl was one in a thousand, and that she
only wanted a chance to prove herself worthy of any Chris-
tian woman's interest in her. My lady, being a Christian
woman if ever there was one yet, said to the matron upon
that, Rosanna Spearman shall have her chance in my service.
In a week afterward Rosanna Spearman entered this estab-
lishment as our second house-maid.

Not a soul was told the girl's story excepting Miss Rachel
and me. My lady, doing me the honor to consult me about
most things, consulted me about Rosanna. Having fallen a
good deal latterly into the late Sir John's way of always
agreeing with my lady, I agreed with her heartily about
Rosanna Spearman.

A fairer chance no girl could have had than was given to
this poor girl of ours. None of the servants could cast her
past life in her teeth, for none of the servants knew what it
had been. She had her wages and her privileges, like the
rest of them ; and every now and then a friendly word from
my lady, in private, to encourage her. In return she showed
herself, I am bound to say, well worthy of the kind treat-
ment bestowed upon her. Though far from strong, and
troubled occasionally with those fainting fits already men-
tioned, she went about her work modestly and uncomplain-
ingly, doing it carefully and doing it well. But somehow she
failed to make friends among the other women-servants, ex-
cepting my daughter Penelope, who was always kind to
Rosanna, though never intimate with her.

I hardly know what the girl did to ofifend them. There
was certainly no beauty about her to make the others envious ;
she was the plainest woman in the house, with the additional
misfortune of having one shoulder bigger than the other.
What the servants chiefly resented, I think, was her silent
tongue and her solitary ways. She read or worked in leisure
hours when the rest gossiped. And when it came to her turn
to go out, nine times out of ten she quietly put on her bon-

27

THE MOONSTONE

net, and had her turn by herself. She never quarreled, she
never took offense ; she only kept a certain distance, obsti-
nately and civilly, between the rest of them and herself.
Add to this that, plain as she was, there was just a dash of
something that wasn't like a house-maid, and that was like
a lady, about her. It might have been in her voice, or it
might have been in her face. All I can say is that the other
women pounced on it like lightning the first day she came
into the house, and said, which was most unjust, that Rosanna
Spearman gave herself airs.

Having now told the story of Rosanna, I have only to
notice one out of the many queer ways of this strange girl to
get on next to the story of the sands.

Our house is high up on the Yorkshire coast, and close by
the sea. We have got beautiful walks all round us, in every
direction but one. That one I acknowledge to be a horrid
walk. It leads, for a quarter of a mile, through a melancholy
plantation of firs, and brings you out between low cliffs on
the loneliest and ugliest little bay on all our coast.

The sand-hills here run down to the sea, and end in two
spits of rock jutting out opposite each other, till you lose
sight of them in the water. One is called the North Spit,
and one the South. Between the two, shifting backward and
forward at certain seasons of the year, lies the most horrible
quicksand on the shores of Yorkshire. At the turn of the
tide something goes on in the unknown deeps below, which
sets the whole face of the quicksand quivering and trembling
in a manner most remarkable to see, and which has given
to it, among the people in our parts, the name of The Shiver-
ing Sand. A great bank, half a mile out, nigh the mouth
of the bay, breaks the force of the main ocean coming in
from the offing. Winter and summer, when the tide flows
over the quicksand, the sea seems to leave the waves behind
it on the bank, and rolls its waters in smoothly with a heave,
and covers the sand in silence. A lonesome and a horrid
retreat I can tell you ! No boat ever ventures into this bay.
No children from our fishing-village, called Cobb's Hole, ever
come here to play. The very birds of the air, as it seems
to me, give the Shivering Sand a wide berth. That a young
woman, with dozens of nice walks to choose from, and com-

28

THE MOONSTONE

pany to go with her, if she only said "Come !" should prefer
this place, and should sit and work or read in it, all alone,
when it's her turn out, I grant you, passes belief.. It's true,
nevertheless, account for it as you may, that this was Rosanna
Spearman's favorite walk, except when she went once or
twice to Cobb's Hole, to see the only friend she had in our
neighborhood — of whom more anon. It's also true that I
was now setting out for this same place, to fetch the girl in
to dinner, which brings us round happily to our former point,
and starts us fair again on our way to the sands.

I saw no sign of the girl in the plantation. When I got.
out, through the sand-hills, on to the beach, there she was,
in her little straw bonnet, and her plain gray cloak that she
always wore to hide her deformed shoulder as much as might
be — there she was, all alone, looking out on the quicksand
and the sea.

She started when I came up with her, and turned her head
away from me. Not looking me in the face being another
of the proceedings which, as head of the servants, I never
allow, on principle, to pass without inquiry — I turned her
round my way, and saw that she was crying. My bandana
handkerchief — one of six beauties given to me by my lady —
was handy in my pocket. I took it out, and I said to Rosanna,
"Come and sit down, my dear, on the slope of the beach along
with me. I'll dry your eyes for you first, and then I'll make
so bold as to ask what you have been crying about."

When you come to my age you will find sitting down on
the slope of a beach a much longer job than you think it
now. By the time I was settled, Rosanna had dried her own
eyes with a very inferior handkerchief to mine — a cheap cam-
bric. She looked very quiet, and very wretched ; but she sat
down by me like a good girl, when I told her. When you
want to comfort a woman by the shortest way take her on
your knee. I thought of the golden rule. But there ! Ro-
sanna wasn't Nancy, and that's the truth of it !

"Now tell me, my dear," I said, "what are you crying
about ?"

"About the years that are gone, Mr. Betteredge," says
Rosanna, quietly. "My past life still comes back to me some-
times."

29

THE MOONSTONE

"Come, come, my girl," I said, "your past life is all
sponged out. Why can't you forget it?"

She took me by one of the lappets of my coat. I am a
slovenly old man, and a good deal of my meat and drink gets
splashed about on my clothes. Sometimes one of the women,
and sometimes another, cleans me of my grease. The day
before Rosanna had taken out a spot for me on the lappet
of my coat with a new composition warranted to remove any
thing. The grease was gone, but there was a little dull place
left on the nap of the cloth where the grease had been. The
,girl pointed to that place and shook her head.

"The stain is taken ofT," she said.- "But the place shows,
Mr. Betteredge — the place shows !"

A remark which takes a man unawares by means of his
own coat is not an easy remark to answer. Something in
the girl herself, too, made me particularly sorry for her just
then. She had nice brown eyes, plain as she was in other
ways — and she looked at me with a sort of respect for my
happy old age and my good character, as things forever out
of her own reach, which made my heart heavy for our second
house-maid. Not feeling myself able to comfort her, there
was only one thing to do. That thing was — to take her in
to dinner.

"Help me up," I said. "You're late for dinner, Rosanna —
and I have come to fetch you in."

"You, Mr. Betteredge !" says she.

"They told Nancy to fetch you," I said. "But I thought
you might like your scolding better, my dear, if it came
from me."

Instead of helping me up, the poor thing stole her hand
into mine, and gave it a little squeeze. She tried hard to
keep from crying again, and succeeded — for which I re-
spected her. "You're very kind, Mr. Betteredge," she said.
"I don't want any dinner to-day — let me bide a little longer
here."

"What makes you like to be here?" I asked. "What is
it that brings you everlastingly to this miserable place ?"

"Something draws me to it," says the girl, making images
with her finger in the sand. "I try to keep away from it,
and I can't. Sometimes," says she, in a low voice, as if she

30

THE MOONSTONE

was frightened at her own fancy, "sometimes, Mr. Better-
edge, I think that my grave is waiting for me here,"

"There's roast mutton and suet pudding waiting for you !"
says I. "Go in to dinner directly. This is what comes, Ro-
sanna, of thinking on an empty stomach !" I spoke severely,
being naturally indignant, at my time of life, to hear a young
woman of five-and-twenty talking about her latter end !

She didn't seem to hear me ; she put her hand on my
shoulder, and kept me where I was, sitting by her side.

"I think the place has laid a spell on me," she said, "I
dream of it night after night ; I think of it when I sit stitching
at my work. You know I am grateful, Mr. Betteredge —
you know I try to deserve your kindness, and* my lady's con-
fidence in me. But I wonder sometimes whether the life here
is too quiet and too good for such a woman as I am, after
all I have gone through, Mr. Betteredge — after all I have
gone through. It's more lonely to me to be among the other
servants, knowing I am not what they are, than it is to be
here. My lady doesn't know, the mation at the reformatory
doesn't know, what a dreadful reproach honest people are in
themselves to a woman like me. Don't scold me, there's a
dear good man. I do my work, don't I ? Please not to tell
my lady I am discontented — I am not. My mind's unquiet,
sometimes, that's all." She snatched her hand off my shoul-
der, and suddenly pointed down to the quicksand. "Look !"
she said. "Isn't it wonderful ? isn't it terrible ? I have seen
it dozens of times, and it's always as new to me as if I had
never seen it before !"

I looked where she pointed. The tide was on the turn,
and the horrid sand began to shiver. The broad brown face
of it heaved slowly, and then dimpled and quivered all over,
"Do you know what it looks like to me?" cays Rosanna,
catching me by the shoulder again. "It looks as if it had
hundreds of suffocating people under it — all struggling to
get to the surface, and all sinking lower and lower in the
dreadful deeps ! Throw a stone in, Mr. Betteredge ! throw
a stone in, and let's see the sand suck it down !"

Here was unwholesome talk ! Here was an empty stomach
feeding on an unquiet mind ! My answer — a pretty sharp
one, in the poor girl's own interests, I promise you ! — was at

31

THE MOONSTONE

my tongue's end, when it was snapped short off on a sudden
by a voice among the sand-hills shouting for me by my name.
"Betteredge !" cries the voice, "where are you?" "Here!" I
shouted out in return, without a notion in my head who it
was. Rosanna started to her feet, and stood looking toward
the voice. I was just thinking of getting on my own legs
next, when I was staggered by a sudden change in the girl's
face.

Her complexion turned of a beautiful red, which I had
never seen in it before ; she brightened all over with a kind
of speechless and breathless surprise. "Who is it?" I asked.
Rosanna gave me back my own question. "Oh! who is it?"
she said, softly; more to herself than to me. I twisted round
on the sand, and looked behind me. There, coming out on
us from among the hills, was a bright-eyed young gentleman,
dressed in a beautiful fawn-colored suit, with gloves and
hat to match, with a rose in his button-hole, and a smile on his
face that might have set the Shivering Sand itself smiling at
him in return. Before I could get on my legs he plumped
down on the sand by the side of me, put his arm round my
neck, foreign fashion, and gave me a hug that fairly squeezed
the breath out of my body. "Dear old Betteredge !" says he.
"I owe you seven and sixpence. Now do you know who
I am?"

Lord bless us and save us ! Here — four good hours before
we expected him — was Mr. Franklin Blake !

Before I could say a word I saw Mr. Franklin, a little
surprised, to all appearance, look up from me to Rosanna.
Following his lead, I looked at the girl too. She was blushing
of a deeper red than ever : seemingly at having caught Mr.
Franklin's eye, and she turned and left us suddenly, in a
confusion quite unaccountable to my mind, without either
making her courtesy to the gentleman or saying a word to
me — very unlike her usual self; a civiler and better-behaved
servant, in general, you never met with.

"That's an odd girl," says Mr. Franklin. "I wonder what
she sees in me to surprise her ?"

"I suppose, sir," I answered, drolling on our young gentle-
man's Continental education, "it's the varnish from foreign
parts."

32

THE MOONSTONE

I set down here Mr. Franklin's careless question, and my
foolish answer, as a consolation and encouragement to all
stupid people — it being, as I have remarked, a great satis-
faction to our inferior fellow-creatures to find that their bet-
ters are, on occasions, no brighter than they are. Neither Mr.
Franklin, with his wonderful foreign training, nor I, with my
age, experience, and natural mother-wit, had the ghost of an
idea of what Rosanna Spearman's unaccountable behavior
really meant. She was out of our thoughts, poor soul, before
we had seen the last flutter of her little gray cloak among
the sand-hills. And what of that? you will ask naturally
enough. Read on, good friend, as patiently as you can, and
perhaps you will be as sorry for Rosanna Spearman as I was,
when I found out the truth.

CHAPTER V.

THE first thing I did, after we were left together alone,
was to make a third attempt to get up from my seat
on the sand. Mr. Franklin stopped me.

"There is oi\e advantage about this horrid place," he said ;
"we have got it all to ourselves. Stay where you are. Better-
edge ; I have something to say to you."

While he was speaking, I was looking at him, and trying
to see something of the boy I remembered in the man before
me. The man put me out. Look as I might I could see no
more of his boy's rosy cheeks than his boy's trim little jacket.
His complexion had got pale ; his face, at the lower part,
was covered, to my great surprise and disappointment, with a
curly brown beard and mustache. He had a lively touch-
and-go way with him, very pleasant and engaging, I admit;
but nothing to compare with his free-and-easy manners of
other times. To make matters worse, he had promised to be
tall, and had not kept his promise. He was neat, and slim,
and well made ; but he wasn't by an inch or two up to the
middle height. In short, he bafifled me altogether. The years
that had passed had left nothing of his old self, except the
bright, straightforward look in his eyes. There I found our

' 33

THE MOONSTONE

nice boy again, and there I concluded to stop in my investi-
gation.

"Welcome back to the old place, Mr. Franklin," I said.
"All the more welcome, sir, that you have come some hours
before we expected you."

'T have a reason for coming before you expected me," an-
swered Mr. Franklin. "I suspect, Betteredge, that I have
been followed and watched in London for the last three or
four days, and I have traveled by the morning instead of
the afternoon train because I wanted to give a certain dark-
looking stranger the slip."

Those words did more than surprise me. They brought
back to my mind, in a flash, the three jugglers, and Penelope's
notion that they meant some mischief to Mr. Franklin Blake.

"Who's watching you, sir — and why?" I inquired.

"Tell me about the three Indi:.ns you have had at the
house to-day," says Mr. Franklin, without noticing my ques-
tion. 'Tt's just possible, Betteredge, that my stranger and
your three jugglers may turn out to be pieces of the same
puzzle."

"How do you come to know about the jugglers, sir?" I
asked, putting one question on the top of another, which was
bad manners, I own. But you don't expect much from poor
human nature — so don't expect much from me.

"I saw Penelope at the house," says Mr. Franklin ; "and
Penelope told me. Your daughter promised to be a pretty
girl, Betteredge, and she has kept her promise. Penelope
has got a small ear and a small foot. Did the late Mrs. Bet-
teredge possess those inestimable advantages?"

"The late Mrs. Betteredge possessed a good many defects,
sir," says L "One of them, if you will pardon my mentioning
it, was never keeping to the matter in hand. She was more
like a fly than a woman, she couldn't settle on any thing."

"She would just have suited me," says Mr. Franklin. "I
never settle on any thing either. Betteredge, your edge is
better than ever. Your daughter said as much, when I asked
for particulars about the jugglers. 'Father will tell you, sir.
He's a wonderful man for his age ; and he expresses himself
beautifully.' Penelope's own words — blushing divinely. Not
even my respect for you prevented me from — never mind;

34

THE MOONSTONE

I knew her when she was a child, and she's none the worse
for it. Let's be serious. What did the jugglers do?"

I was something dissatisfied with my daughter — not for
letting Air. Franklin kiss her; Mr. Franklin was welcome to
that — but for. forcing me to tell her foolish story at stcond-
hand. However, there was no help for it now but to mention
the circumstances. Mr. Franklin's merriment all died away
as I went on. He sat knitting his eyebrows and twisting his
beard. When I had done, he repeated after me two of the
questions which the chief juggler had put to the boy — seem-
ingly for the purpose of fixing them well in his mind.

" 'Is it on the road to this house, and on no other, that the
English gentleman will pass by us to-day ?' 'Has the English
gentleman got It about him?' I suspect," says Mr. Franklin,
pulling a little sealed paper parcel out of his pocket, "that
'It' means this. And 'this,' Betteredge, means my uncle
Herncastle's famous Diamond."

"Good Lord, sir !" I broke out, "how do you come to be
in charge of the wicked Colonel's Diamond?"

"The wicked Colonel's will has left his Diamond as a
birthday present to my cousin Rachel," says Mr. Franklin.
"And my father, as the wicked Colonel's executor, has given
it in charge to me to bring down here."

If the sea, then oozing in smoothly over the Shivering
Sand, had been changed into dry land before my own eyes,
I doubt if I could have been more surprised than I was when
Mr. Franklin spoke those words.

"The Colonel's Diamond left to Miss Rachel !" says I.
"And your father, sir, the Colonel's executor ! Why, I would
have laid any bet you like, Mr. Franklin, that your father
wouldn't have touched the Colonel with a pair of tongs !"

"Strong language, Betteredge ! What was there against
the Colonel? He belonged to your time, not to mine. Tell
me what you know about him, and I'll tell you how my father
came to be his executor, and more besides. I have made
some discoveries in London about my uncle Herncastle and
his Diamond, which have rather an ugly look to my eyes ;
and I want you to confirm them. You called him the 'wicked
Colonel' just now. Search your memory, my old friend, and
tell me why."

35

THE MOONSTONE

I saw he was in earnest, and I told him.

Here follows the substance of what I said, written out
entirely for your benefit. Pay attention to it, or you will be
all abroad, when we get deeper into the story. Clear your
mind of the children, or the dinner, or the new bonnet, or
what not. Try if you can't forget politics, horses, prices in
the City, and grievances at the club. I hope you won't take
this freedom on my part amiss ; it's only a way I have of
appealing to the gentle reader. Lord ! haven't I seen you
with the greatest authors in your hands, and don't I know
how ready your attention is to wander when it's a book that
asks for it, instead of a person?

I SPOKE, a little way back, of my lady's father, the old lord
with the short temper and the long tongue. He had
five children in all. Two sons to begin with ; then, after a
long time, his wife broke out breeding again, and the three
young ladies came briskly one after the other, as fast as the
nature of things would permit ; my mistress, as before men-
tioned, being the youngest and best of the three. Of the two
sons, the eldest, Arthur, inherited the title and estates. The
second, the Honorable John, got a fine fortune left him by
a relative, and went into the army.

It's an ill bird, they say, that fouls its own nest. I look
on the noble family of the Herncastles as being my nest;
and I shall take it as a favor if I am not expected to enter
into particulars on the subject of the Honorable John. He
was, I honestly believe, one of the greatest blackguards that
ever lived. I can hardly say more or less for him than that.
He went into the army, beginning in the Guards. He had
to leave the Guards before he was two-and-twenty — never
mind why. They are very strict in the army, and they were
too strict for the Honorable John. He went out to India to
see whether they were equally strict there, and to try a little
active service. In the matter of bravery, to give him his due,
he was a mixture of bull-dog and game-cock, with a dash
of the savage. He was at the taking of Seringapatam. Soon
afterward he changed into another regiment, and, in course
of time, changed again into a third. In the third he
got his last step as lieutenant-colonel, and, getting that, got
also a sun-stroke, and came home to England.

36

THE MOONSTONE

He came back with a character that closed the doors of
all his family against him, my lady, then just married, taking
the lead, and declaring, with Sir John's approval, of course,
that her brother should never enter any house of hers. There
was more than one slur on the Colonel that made people shy
of him; but the blot of the Diamond is all I need mention
here.

It was said he had got possession of his Indian jewel by
means which, bold as he was, he didn't dare acknowledge.
He never attempted to sell it — not being in need of money,
and not, to give him his due again, making money an object.
He never gave it away ; he never even showed it to any living
soul. Some said he was afraid of its getting him into a diffi-
culty with the military authorities; others, very ignorant
indeed of the real nature of the man, said he was afraid, if he
showed it, of its costing him his life.

There was perhaps a grain of truth mixed up with this
last report. It was false to say that he was afraid ; but it
was a fact that his life had been twice threatened in India,
and it was firmly believed that the Diamond was at the bot-
tom of it. When he came back to England, and found him-
self avoided by every body, the Diamond was thought to be
at the bottom of it again. The mystery of the Colonel's life
got in the Colonel's way, and outlawed him, as you may say,
among his own people. The men wouldn't let him into their
clubs ; the women — more than one — whom he wanted to
marry, refused him ; friends and relations got too near-
sighted to see him in the street.

Some men in this mess would have tried to set themselves
right with the world. But to give in, even when he was
wrong, and had all society against him, was not the way of
the Honorable John. He had kept the Diamond, in flat de-
fiance of assassination, in India. He kept the Diamond, in
flat defiance of public opinion, in England. There you have
the portrait of the man before you, as in a picture : a character
that braved every thing ; and a face, handsome as it was, that
looked possessed by the devil.

We heard diflferent rumors about him from time to time.
Sometimes they said he was given up to smoking opium, and
collecting old books ; sometimes he was reported to be trying
strange things in chemistry ; sometimes he was seen carousing

37

THE MOONSTONE

and amusing himself among the lowest people in the lowest
slums of London. Anyhow, a solitary, vicious, under-ground
life was the life the Colonel led. Once, and once only, after
his return to England, I myself saw him, face to face.

About two years before the time of which I am now writ-
ing, and about a year and a half before the time of his death,
the Colonel came unexpectedly to my lady's house in London.
It was the night of Miss Rachel's birthday, the twenty-first
of June ; and there was a party in honor of it, as usual. I
received a message from the footman to say that a gentle-
man wanted to see me. Going up into the hall, there I found
the Colonel, wasted, and worn, and old, and shabby, and as
wild and as wicked as ever.

"Go up to my sister," says he ; "and say that I have called
to wish my niece many happy returns of the day,"

He had made attempts by letter, more than once already,
to be reconciled with my lady, for no other purpose, I am
firmly persuaded, than to annoy her. But this w^as the first
time he had actually come to the house. I had it on the tip
of my tongue to say that my mistress had a party that night.
But the devilish look of him daunted me. I went up stairs
with his message, and left him, by his own desire, waiting in
the hall. The servants stood staring at him, at a distance,
as if he was a walking engine of destruction, loaded with
powder and shot, and likely to go ofif among them at a
moment's notice.

My lady has a dash — no more — of the family temper.
"Tell Colonel Herncastle," she said, when I gave her her
brother's message, "that Miss Verinder is engaged, and that
/ decline to see him." I tried to plead for a civiler answer
than that, knowing the Colonel's constitutional superiority to
the restraints which govern gentlemen in general. Quite use-
less ! The family temper flashed out at me directly. "When
I want your advice," says my lady, "you know that I always
ask for it. I don't ask for it now." I went down stairs with
the message, of which I took the liberty of presenting a new
and amended edition of my own contriving, as follows : "My
lady and Miss Rachel regret that they are engaged, Colonel ;
and beg to be excused having the honor of seeing you."

I expected him to break out, even at that polite way of

38

THE MOONSTONE

putting it. To my surprise he did nothing of the sort ; he
alarmed me by taking the thing with an unnatural quiet. His
eyes, of a glittering bright gray, just settled on me for a
moment; and he laughed, not out of himself, like other peo-
ple, but into himself, in a soft, chuckling, horridly mis-
chievous way. "Thank you, Betteredge," he said. "I shall
remember my niece's birthday.'" With that, he turned on
his heel, and walked out of the house.

The next birthday came round, and we heard he was ill
in bed. Six months afterward — that is to say, six months
before the time I am now writing of — there came a letter
from a highly respectable clergyman to my lady. It com-
municated two wonderful things in the way of family news.
First, that the Colonel had forgiven his sister on his death-
bed. Second, that he had forgiven every body else, and had
made a most edifying end. I have myself, in spite of the
bishops and the clergy, an unfeigned respect for the Church ;
but I am firmly persuaded, at the same time, that the devil
remained in undisturbed possession of the Honorable John,
and that the last abominable act in the life of that abomina-
ble man was (saving your presence) to take the clergyman in !

This was the sum total of what I had to tell Mr. Franklin.
I remarked that he listened more and more eagerly the longer
I went on. Also, that the story of the Colonel being sent
away from his sister's door, on the occasion of his niece's
birthday, seemed to strike Mr. Franklin like a shot that had
hit the mark. Though he didn't acknowledge it, I saw that
I had made him uneasy, plainly enough, in his face.

"You have said your say, Betteredge," he remarked. "It's
my turn now. Before, however, I tell you what discoveries
I have made in London, and how I came to be mixed up in
this matter of the Diamond, I want to know one thing. You
look, my old friend, as if you didn't quite understand the
object to be answered by this consultation of ours. Do your
looks belie you?"

"No, sir," I said. "My looks, on this occasion at any rate,
tell the truth."

"In that case," says Mr. Franklin, "suppose I put you up
to my point of view before we go any further. I see three

39

THE MOONSTONE

very serious questions involved in the Colonel's birthday-
gift to my cousin Rachel. Follow me carefully, Betteredge;
and count me off on your fingers, if it will help you," says
Mr. Franklin, with a certain pleasure in showing how clear-
headed he could be, which reminded me wonderfully of old
times when he was a boy. "Question the first : Was the
Colonel's Diamond the object of a conspiracy in India?
Question the second : Has the conspiracy followed the Col-
onel's Diamond to England ? Question the third : Did the
Colonel know the conspiracy followed the Diamond ; and
has he purposely left a legacy of trouble and danger to his
sister, through the innocent medium of his sister's child?
That is what I am driving at, Betteredge. Don't let me
frighten you."

It was all very well to say that, but he had frightened me.

If he was right, here was our quiet English house sud-
denly invaded by a devilish Indian Diamond — bringing after
it a conspiracy of living rogues, set loose on us by the ven-
geance of a dead man. There was our situation, as revealed
to me in Mr. Franklin's last words ! Who ever heard the
like of it — in the nineteenth century, mind ; in an age of prog-
ress and in a country which rejoices in the blessings of the
British constitution? Nobody ever heard the like of it, and,
consequently, nobody can be expected to believe it. I shall
go on with my story, however, in spite of that.

When you get a sudden alarm, of the soft that I had got
now, nine times out of ten the place you feel it in is your
stomach. When you feel it in your stomach your attention
wanders, and you begin to fidget. I fidgeted silently in my
place on the sand. Mr. Franklin noticed me, contending with
a perturbed stomach, or mind, which you please — they mean
the same thing — and, checking himself just as he was start-
ing with his part of the story, said to me, sharply, "What do
you want?"

What did I want? I didn't tell h{)n: but I'll tell you, in
confidence. I wanted a whiff of my pipe, and a turn at Rob-
inson Crusoe.

40

THE MOONSTONE

CHAPTER VI.

KEEPING my private sentiments to myself, I respect-
fully requested Mr. Franklin to go on. Mr. Franklin
replied, "Don't fidget, Betteredge," and went on.

Our young gentleman's first words informed me that his
discoveries, concerning the wicked Colonel and the Diamond,
had begun with a visit which he had paid, before he came
to us, to his father's lawyer at Hampstead. A chance word
dropped by Mr. Franklin, when the two were alone, one day,
after dinner, revealed that he had been charged by his father
with a birthday present to be taken to Miss Rachel. One
thing led to another ; and it ended in the lawyer mentioning
what the present really was, and how the friendly connection
between the late Colonel and Mr. Blake, Senior, had taken
its rise. The facts here are really so extraordinary that I
doubt if I can trust my own language to do justice to them.
I prefer trying to report Mr. Franklin's discoveries, as nearly
as may be, in Mr. Franklin's own words.

"You remember the time, Betteredge," he said, "when my
father was trying to prove his title to that unlucky Dukedom ?
Well ! that was also the time when my uncle Herncastle re-
turned from India. My father discovered that his brother-
in-law was in possession of certain papers which were likely
to be of service to him in his lawsuit. He called on the
Colonel, on pretense of welcoming him back to England. The
Colonel was not to be deluded in that way. 'You want some-
thing,' he said, 'or you would never have compromised your
reputation by calling on me.' My father saw the one chance
for him was to show his hand : he admitted at once that he
wanted the papers. The Colonel asked for a day to consider
his answer. His answer came in the shape of a most extraor-
dinary letter, which my friend the lawyer showed me. The
Colonel began by saying that he wanted something of my
father, and that he begged to propose an exchange of friendly
services between them. The fortune of war, that was the
expression he used, had placed him in possession of one of
the largest Diamonds in the world ; and he had reason to
believe that neither he nor his precious jewel was safe in

41

THE MOONSTONE

any house, in any quarter of the globe, which they occupied
together. Under these alarming circumstances he had deter-
mined to place his Diamond in the keeping of another person.
That person was not expected to run any risk. He might
deposit the precious stone in any place especially guarded and
set apart — like a banker's or jeweler's strong-room — for the
safe custody of valuables of high price. His main personal
responsibility in the matter was to be of the passive kind. • He
was to undertake — either by himself, or by a trustworthy
representative — to receive at a pre-arranged address, on cer-
tain pre-arranged days in every year, a note from the Colonel,
simply stating the fact that he was a living man at that date.
In the event of the date passing over without the note being
received, the Colonel's silence might be taken as a sure token
of the Colonel's death by murder. In that case, and in no '
other, certain sealed instructions relating to the disposal of
the Diamond, and deposited with it, were to be opened, and
followed implicitly. If my father chose to accept this strange
charge, the Colonel's papers were at his disposal in return.
That was the letter."

"What did your father do, sir?" I asked.

"Do?" says Mr. Franklin. "I'll tell you what he did. He
brought the invaluable faculty called common sense to bear
on the Colonel's letter. The whole thing, he declared, was
simply absurd. Somewhere in his Indian wanderings the Col-
onel had picked up with some wretched crystal which he took
for a diamond. As for the danger of his being murdered,
and the precautions devised to preserve his life and his piece
of crystal, this was the nineteenth century, and any man in
his senses had only to apply to the police. The Colonel had
been a notorious opium-eater for years past ; and, if the only
way of getting at the valuable papers he possessed was by
accepting a matter of opium as a matter of fact, my father
was quite willing to take the ridiculous responsibility imposed
upon him — all the more readily that it involved no trouble to
himself. The Diamond and the sealed instructions went into
his banker's strong-room, and the Colonel's letters, period-
ically reporting him a living man, were received and opened
by the lawyer, as my father's representative. No sensible
person, in a similar position, could have viewed the matter

42

THE MOONSTONE

in any other way. Nothing in this world, Betteredge, is prob-
able unless it appeals to our own trumpery experience ; and
we only believe in a romance when we see it in a news-
paper."

It was plain to me from this, that Mr. Franklin thought
his father's notion about the Colonel hasty and wrong.

"What is your own private opinion about the matter, sir?"
I asked.

"Let's finish the story of the Colonel first," says Mr. Frank-
lin. "There is a curious want of system, Betteredge, in the
English mind ; and your question, my old friend, is an in-
stance of it. When we are not occupied in making machinery,
we are, mentally speaking, the most slovenly people in the
universe."

"So much," I thought to myself, "for a foreign education !
He has learned that way of girding at us in France, I sup-
pose."

Mr. Franklin took up the lost thread, and went on.

"My father," he said, "got the papers he wanted, and
never saw his brother-in-law again, from that time. Year
after year, on the pre-arranged days, the pre-arranged letter
came from the Colonel, and was opened by the lawyer. I
have seen the letters, in a heap, all of them written in the
same brief, business-like form of words : 'Sir, — This is to
certify that I am still a living man. Let the Diamond be.
John Herncastle.' That was all he ever wrote, and that came
regularly to the day ; until some six or eight months since,
when the form of the letter varied for the first time. It ran
now : 'Sir, — They tell me I am dying. Come to me, and
help me to make my will.' The lawyer went, and found him.
in the little suburban villa, surrounded by its own grounds,
in which he had lived alone ever since he had left India. He
had dogs, cats, and birds to keep him company ; but no human
being near him, except the person who came daily to do the
housework, and the doctor at the bedside. The will was a
very simple matter. The Colonel had dissipated the greater
part of his fortune in his chemical investigations. His will
began and ended in three clauses, which he dictated from his
bed, in perfect possession of his faculties. The first clause
provided for the safe-keeping and support of his animals.

43

THE MOONSTONE

The second founded a professorship of experimental chem-
istry at a northern university. The third bequeathed the
Moonstone as a birthday present to his niece, on condition
that my father would act as executor. My father at first re-
fused to act. On second thoughts, however, he gave way,
partly because he was assured that the executorship would
involve him in no trouble ; partly because the lawyer sug-
gested, in Rachel's interest, that the Diamond might be worth
something, after all."

"Did the Colonel give any reason, sir," I inquired, "why
he left the Diamond to Miss Rachel ?"

"He not only gave the reason — he had the reason written
in his will," said Mr. Franklin. "I have got an extract,
which you shall see presently. Don't be slovenly-minded,
Betteredge! One thing at a time. You have heard about
the Colonel's will ; now you must hear what happened after
the Colonel's death. It was formally necessary to have the
Diamond valued, before the will could be proved. All the
jewelers consulted, at once confirmed the Colonel's assertion
that he possessed one of the largest diamonds in the world.
The question of accurately valuing it presented some serious
difficulties. Its size made it a phenomenon in the diamond-
market; its color placed it in a category by itself; and, to
add to these elements of uncertainty, there was a defect, in
the shape of a flaw, in the very heart of the stone. Even with
this last serious drawback, however, the lowest of the various
estimates given was twenty thousand pounds. Conceive my
father's astonishment ! He had been within a hair's-breadth
of refusing to act as executor, and of allowing this magnifi-
cent jewel to be lost to the family. The interest he took in
the matter now induced him to open the sealed instructions
which had been deposited with the Diamond. The lawyer
showed this document to me, with the other papers ; and it
suggests, to my mind, a clue to the nature of the conspiracy
which threatened the Colonel's life."

"Then you do believe, sir," I said, "that there w^as a con-
spiracy?"

"Not possessing my father's excellent common sense," an-
swered Mr. Franklin, "I believe the Colonel's life was threat-
ened, exactly as the Colonel said. The sealed instructions,

44

THE MOONSTONE

as I think, explain how it was that he died, after all, quietly
in his bed. In the event of his death by violence, that is to
say, in the absence of the regular letter from him at the ap-
pointed date, my father was then directed to send the Moon-
stone secretly to Amsterdam. It was to be deposited in that
city with a famous diamond-cutter, and it was to be cut up
into from four to six separate stones. The stones were then
to be sold for what they would fetch, and the proceeds were
to be applied to the founding of that professorship of experi-
mental chemistry which the Colonel has since endowed by his
will. Now, Betteredge, exert those sharp wits of yours, and
observe the conclusion to which the Colonel's instructions
point !"

I instantly exerted my wits. They were of the slovenly
English sort ; and they consequently muddled it all until Air.
Franklin took them in hand, and pointed out what they ought
to see.

"Remark," says Mr. Franklin, "that the integrity of the
Diamond, as a whole stone, is here artfully made dependent
on the preservation from violence of the Colonel's life. He
is not satisfied with saying to the enemies he dreads, 'Kill
me — and you will be no nearer to the Diamond than you are
now ; it is where you can't get at it — in the guarded strong-
room of a bank.' He says instead, 'Kill me — and the Dia-
mond will be the Diamond no longer ; its identity will be
destroyed.' What does that mean?"

Here I had (as I thought) a flash of the wonderful foreign
brightness.

"I know !" I said. "It means lowering the value of the
stone, and cheating the rogues in that way !"

"Nothing of the sort," says Mr. Franklin. "I have in-
quired about that. The flawed Diamond, cut up, would
actually fetch more than the Diamond as it now is ; for this
plain reason — that from four to six perfect brilliants might
be cut from it, which would be, collectively, worth more
money than the large — but imperfect — single stone. If rob-
bery for the purpose of gain was at the bottom of the con-
spiracy, the Colonel's instructions absolutely made the Dia-
mond better worth stealing. More money could have been
got for it, and the disposal of it in the diamond-market would

45

THE MOONSTONE

have been infinitely easier, if it had passed through the hands
of the workmen of Amsterdam."

"Lord bless us, sir!" I burst out. "What was the plot
then?"

"A plot organized among the Indians who originally owned
the jewel," says Mr. Franklin — "a. plot with some old Hindoo
superstition at the bottom of it. That is my opinion, con-
firmed by a family paper which I have about me at this
moment."

I saw now why the appearance of the three Indian jugglers
at our house had presented itself to Mr. Franklin in the light
of a circumstance worth noting.

'T don't want to force my opinion on you," Mr. Franklin
went on. "The idea of certain chosen servants of an old
Hindoo superstition devoting themselves, through all diffi-
culties and dangers, to watching the opportunity of recover-
ing their sacred gem, appears to me to be perfectly consistent
with every thing that we know of the patience of Oriental
races, and the influence of Oriental religions. But then I
am an imaginative man ; and the butcher, the baker, and the
tax-gatherer are not the only credible realities in existence
to my mind. Let the guess I have made at the truth in this
matter go for what it is worth, and let us get on to the only
practical question that concerns us. Does the conspiracy
against the Moonstone survive the Colonel's death? And
did the Colonel know it, when he left the birthday gift to his
niece?"

I began to see my lady and Miss Rachel at the end of it
all, now. Not a word he said escaped me.

"I was not very willing, when I discovered the story of
the Moonstone," said Mr. Franklin, "to be the means of
bringing it here. But my friend, the lawyer, reminded me
that somebody must put my cousin's legacy into my cousin's
hands — and that I might as well do it as any body else.
After taking the Diamond out of the bank, I fancied I was
followed in the streets by a shabby, dark-complexioned man.
I went to my father's house to pick up my luggage, and
found a letter there, which unexpectedly detained me in
London. I went back to the bank with the Diamond, and
thought I saw the shabby man again. Taking the Diamond

46

THE MOONSTONE

once more out of the bank this morning, I saw the man for
the third time, gave him the shp, and started, before he re-
covered the trace of me, by the morning instead of the after-
noon train. Here I am, with the Diamond safe and sound —
and what is the first news that meets me? I find that three
stroUing Indians have been at the house, and that my arrival
from London, and something which I am expected to have
about me, are two special objects of investigation to them
when they believe themselves to be alone. I don't waste time
and words on their pouring the ink into the boy's hand, and
telling him to look in it for a man at a distance, and for
something in that man's pocket. The thing, which I have
often seen done in the East, is 'hocus-pocus' in my opinion,
as it is in yours. The present question for us to decide is
whether I am wrongly attaching a meaning to a mere acci-
dent? or whether we really have evidence of the Indians
being on the track of the Moonstone, the moment it is re-
moved from the safe-keeping of the bank ?"

Neither he nor I seemed to fancy dealing with this part
of the inquiry. We looked at each other, and then we looked
at the tide, oozing in smoothly, higher and higher, over the
Shivering Sand.

"What are you thinking of?" says Mr. Franklin, suddenly.

'T was thinking, sir," I answered, "that I should like to
shy the Diamond into the quicksand, and settle the question
in that way."

"If you have got the value of the stone in your pocket,"
answered Mr. Franklin, "say so, Betteredge, and in it goes !"

It's curious to note, when your mind's anxious, how very
far in the way of relief a very small joke will go. We found
a fund of merriment, at the time, in the notion of making
away with Miss Rachel's lawful property, and getting Mr.
Blake, as executor, into dreadful trouble — though where the
merriment was I am quite at a loss to discover now.

Mr. Franklin was the first to bring the talk back to the
talk's proper purpose. He took an envelope out of his pocket,
opened it, and handed to me the paper inside,

"Betteredge," he said, "we must face the question of the
Colonel's motive in leaving this legacy to his niece for my
aunt's sake. Bear in mind how Lady Verinder treated her

47

THE MOONSTONE

brother from the time when he returned to England, to the
time when he told you he should remember his niece's birth-
day. And read that."

He gave me the extract from the Colonel's will. I have
got it by me while I write these words ; and I copy it, as
follows, for your benefit :

"Thirdly, and lastly, I give and bequeath to my niece,
Rachel Verinder, daughter and only child of my sister, Julia
Verinder, widow, the yellow Diamond belonging to me, and
known in the East by the name of The Moonstone — subject
to this condition, that her mother, the said Julia Verinder,
shall be living at the time. And I hereby desire my executor,
in that event, to give my Diamond, either by his own hands
or by the hands of some trustworthy representative whom he
shall appoint, into the personal possession of my said niece
Rachel, on her next birthday after my death, and in the pres-
ence of my sister, the said Julia Verinder. And furthermore,
I desire also that my sister, as aforesaid, may be informed, by
means of a true copy of this, the third and last clause of my
will, that I give the Diamond to her daughter Rachel, in token
of my free forgiveness of the injury which her conduct toward
me has been the means of inflicting on my reputation in my
lifetime ; and especially in proof that I pardon, as becomes a
dying man, the insult offered to me as an officer and a gentle-
man, when her servant, by her orders, closed the door of her
house against me, on the occasion of her daughter's birth-
day."

More words followed these, providing, if my lady was
dead, or if Miss Rachel was dead, at the time of the testa-
tor's decease, for the Diamond being sent to Holland, in
accordance with the sealed instructions originally deposited
with it. The proceeds of the sale were, in that case, to be
added to the money already left by the will for the professor-
ship of chemistry at the university in the north.

I handed the paper back to Mr. Franklin, sorely troubled
what to say to him. Up to that moment my own opinion had
been, as you know, that the Colonel had died as wickedly as
he had lived. I don't say the copy from his will actually con-
verted me from that opinion : I only say it staggered me.

"Well," says Mr. Franklin, "now you have read the Col-

48

THE MOONSTONE

onel's own statement, what do you say? In bringing the
Moonstone to my aunt's house, am I serving his vengeance
bhndfold, or am I vindicating him in the character of a peni-
tent and Christian man?"

"It seems hard to say, sir," I answered, "that he died with
a horrid revenge in his heart, and a horrid He on his Ups.
God alone knows the truth. Don't ask me."

Mr. Frankhn sat twisting and turning the extract from the
will in his fingers, as if he expected to squeeze the truth out
of it in that manner. He altered quite remarkably at the
same time. From being brisk and bright, he now became,
most unaccountably, a slow, solemn, and pondering young
man.

"This question has two sides," he said. "An objective side
and a subjective side. Which are we to take?"

He had had a German education as well as a French. One
of the two had been in undisturbed possession of him, as I
supposed, up to this time. And now, as well as I could make
out, the other was taking its place. It is one of my rules in
life never to notice what I don't understand. I steered a mid-
dle course between the objective side and the subjective side.
In plain English, I stared hard and said nothing.

"Let's extract the inner meaning of this," says Mr. Frank-
lin. "Why did my uncle leave the Diamond to Rachel? Why
didn't he leave it to my aunt?"

"That's not beyond guessing, sir, at any rate," I said.
"Colonel Herncastle knew my lady well enough to know that
she would refuse to accept any legacy that came to her from
him."

"How did he know that Rachel might not refuse to accept
it, too?"

"Is there any young lady in existence, sir, who could resist
the temptation of accepting such a birthday present as The
Moonstone ?"

"That's the subjective view," says Mr. Franklin. "It does
you great credit, Betteredge, to be able to take the subjective
view. But there's another mystery about the Colonel's legacy
which is not accounted for yet. How are we to explain
his only giving Rachel her birthday present conditionally on
her mother being alive?"

49

THE MOONSTONE

"I don't want to slander a dead man, sir," I answered.
"But if he has purposely left a legacy of trouble and danger
to his sister, by the means of her child, it must be a legacy
made conditional on his sister's being alive to feel the vexa-
tion of it."

"Oh ! That's your interpretation of his motive, is it ? The
subjective interpretation again ! Have you ever been in Ger-
many, Betteredge?"

"No, sir. What's your interpretation, if you please?"

"I can see," says Mr. Franklin, "that the Colonel's object
may, quite possibly, have been — not to benefit his niece, whom
he had never even seen — but to prove to his sister that he
had died forgiving her, and to prove it very prettily by means
of a present made to her child. There is a totally different
explanation from yours, Betteredge, taking its rise in a sub-
jective-objective point of view. From all I can see, one inter-
pretation is just as likely to be right as the other."

Having brought matters to this pleasant and comforting
issue, Mr. Franklin appeared to think that he had completed
all that was required of him. He laid down flat on his back
on the sand, and asked what was to be done next.

He had been so clever and clear-headed, before he began
to talk the foreign gibberish, and had so completely taken
the lead in the business up to the present time, that I was
quite unprepared for such a sudden change as he now exhib-
ited in this helpless leaning upon me. It was not till later
that I learned — by assistance of Miss Rachel, who was the
first to make the discovery — that these puzzling shifts and
transformations in Mr. Franklin were due to the effect on
him of his foreign training. At the age when we are all of
us most apt to take our coloring, in the form of a reflection
from the coloring of other people, he had been sent abroad,
and had been passed on, from one nation to another, before
there was time for any one coloring more than another to
settle itself on him firmly. As a consequence of this, he had
come back with so many different sides to his character,
all more or less unfinished, and all more or less jarring with
each other, that he seemed to pass his life in a state of per-
petual contradiction with himself. He could be a busy man,
and a lazy man ; cloudy in the head, and clear in the head ;

5°

THE MOONSTONE

a model of determination, and a spectacle of helplessness, all
together. He had his French side, and his German side, and
his Italian side — the original English foundation showing
through, every now and then, as much as to say, "Here I am,
sorely transmogrified, as you see, but there's something of
me left at the bottom of him still." Miss Rachel used to re-
mark that the Italian side of him was uppermost on those
occasions when he unexpectedly gave in and asked you, in his
nice, sweet-tempered way, to take his own responsibilities on
your shoulders. You will do him no injustice, I think, if you
conclude that the Italian side of him was uppermost now.

"Isn't it your business, sir," I asked, "to know what to do
next? Surely it can't be mine!"

Mr. Franklin did not appear to see the force of my ques-
tion— not being in a position at the time to see any thing but.
the sky over his head.

"I don't want to alarm my aunt without reason," he said.
"And I don't want to leave her without what may be a need-
ful warning. If you were in my place, Betteredge, tell me,
in one word, what would you do ?"

In one word I told him, "Wait."

"With all my heart," says Mr. Franklin. "How long?"

I proceeded to explain myself.

"As I understand it, sir." I said, "somebody is bound to
put this plaguey Diamond into Miss Rachel's hands on her
birthday — and you may as well do it as another. Very good.
This is the twenty-fifth of May, and the birthday is on the
twenty-first of June. We have got close on four weeks before
us. Let's wait and see what happens in that time ; and let's
warn my lady or not, as the circumstances direct us."

"Perfect, Betteredge, as far as it goes !" says ]\Ir. Franklin.
"But, between this and the birthday, what's to be done with
the Diamond ?"

"What your father did with it, to be sure, sir !" I answered.
"Your father put it in the safe-keeping of a bank in London.
You put it in the safe-keeping of the bank at Frizinghall."
Frizinghall was our nearest town, and the Bank of England
wasn't safer than the bank there. "If I were you, sir," I
added, "I would ride straight away with it to Frizinghall be-
fore the ladies come back."

51

THE MOONSTONE

The prospect of doing something — and, what is more, of
doing that something on a horse — brought Mr. Franklin up
like lightning from the flat of his back. He sprang to his
feet, and pulled me up, without ceremony, on to mine. "Bet-
teredge, you are worth your weight in gold," he said. "Come
along, and saddle the best horse in the stables directly !"

Here, God bless it, was the original English foundation
of him showing through all the foreign varnish at last ! Here
was the Master Franklin I remembered, coming out again in
the good old way at the prospect of a ride, and reminding me
of the good old times ! Saddle a horse for him ! I would
have saddled a dozen horses if he could only have ridden
them all !

We went back to the house in a hurry ; we had the fleetest
horse in the stables saddled in a hurry ; and Mr. Franklin
rattled off in a hurry, to lodge the cursed Diamond once more
in the strong-room of a bank. When I heard the last of his
horse's hoofs on the drive, and when I turned about in the
yard and found I was alone again, I felt half inclined to ask
myself if I hadn't waked up from a dream.

CHAPTER VH.

WHILE I was in this bewildered frame of mind, sorely
needing a little quiet time by myself to put me right
again, my daughter Penelope got in my way, just as her late
mother used to get in my way on the stairs, and instantly
summoned me to tell her all that had passed at the conference
between Mr. Franklin and me. Under present circumstances,
the one thing to be done was to clap the extinguisher upon
Penelope's curiosity on the spot. I accordingly replied that
Mr. Franklin and I had both talked of foreign politics till we
could talk no longer, and had then mutually fallen asleep in
the heat of the sun. Try that sort of answer when your wife
or your daughter next worries you with an awkward ques-
tion at an awkward time, and depend on the natural sweet-
ness of women for kissing and making it up again at the next
opportunity.

52

THE MOONSTONE

The afternoon wore on, and my lady and ]\Iiss Rachel
came back.

Needless to say how astonished they were when they heard
that Mr. Franklin Blake had arrived, and had gone off again
on horseback. Needless also to say, that they asked awkward
questions directly, and that the "foreign politics" and the
"falling asleep in the sun" wouldn't serve a second time over
with them. Being at the end of my invention, I said Mr.
Franklin's arrival by the early train was entirely attributable
to one of Mr. Franklin's freaks. Being asked, upon that,
whether his galloping off again on horseback was another of
Mr. Franklin's freaks, I said, "Yes, it was" ; and slipped out
of it — I think very cleverly — in that way.

Having got over my difficulties with the ladies, I found
more difficulties waiting for me when I went back to my own
room. In came Penelope — with the natural sweetness of
women — to kiss and make it up again ; and — with the natural
curiosity of women — to ask another question. This time, she
only wanted me to tell her what was the matter with our
second house-maid, Rosanna Spearman.

After leaving Mr. Franklin and me at the Shivering Sand,
Rosanna, it appeared, had returned to the house in a very
unaccountable state of mind. She had turned, if Penelope
was to be believed, all the colors of the rainbow. She had
been merry without reason, and sad without reason. In one
breath she had asked hundreds of questions about Mr. Frank-
lin Blake, and in another breath she had been angry with
Penelope for presuming to suppose that a strange gentleman
could possess any interest for her. She had been surprised
smiling and scribbling Mr. Franklin's name inside her work-
box. She had been surprised again crying and looking at
her deformed shoulder in the glass. Had she and Mr. Frank-
lin known any thing of each other before to-day? Quite im-
possible! Had they heard any thing of each other? Impos-
sible again ! I could speak to Mr. Franklin's astonishment as
genuine, when he saw how the girl stared at him. Penelope
could speak to the girl's inquisitiveness as genuine, when she
asked the questions about Mr. Franklin. The conference be-
tween us. conducted in this way, was tiresome enough, until
my daughter suddenly ended it by bursting out with what I

53

THE MOONSTONE

thought the most monstrous supposition I had ever heard in
my hfe.

"Father!" says Penelope, quite seriously, "there's only one
explanation of it. Rosanna had fallen in love with Mr.
Franklin Blake at first sight !"

You have heard of beautiful young ladies falling in love
at first sight, and have thought it natural enough. But a
house-maid out of a Reformatory, with a plain face and a
deformed shoulder, falling in love, at first sight, with a gentle-
man who comes on a visit to her mistress's house, match me
that, in the way of an absurdity, out of any story-book in
Christendom, if you can ! I laughed till the tears rolled down
my cheeks. Penelope resented my merriment in rather a
strange way. "I never knew you cruel before, father," she
said, very gently, and went out.

My girl's words fell on me like a splash of cold water. I
was savage with myself, for feeling uneasy in myself the
moment she had spoken them — but so it was. We will change
the subject, if you please. I am sorry I drifted into writing
about it, and not without reason, as you will see when we
have gone on together a little longer.

The evening came, and the dressing-bell for dinner rang,
before Mr. Franklin returned from Frizinghall. I took his
hot water up to his room myself, expecting to hear, after this
extraordinary delay, that something had happened. To my
great disappointment, and no doubt to yours also, nothing
had happened. He had not met with the Indians, either going
or returning. He had deposited the Moonstone in the bank
— describing it merely as a valuable of great price — and he
had got the receipt for it safe in his pocket. I went down
stairs, feeling that this was rather a flat ending, after all our
excitement about the Diamond earlier in the day.

How the meeting between Mr. Franklin and his aunt and
cousin went ofif is more than I can tell you.

I would have given something to have waited at table
that day. But in my position in the household, waiting at
dinner, except on high family festivals, was letting down my
dignity in the eyes of the other servants — a thing which my
lady considered me quite prone enough to do already with-

54

THE MOONSTONE

out seeking occasions for it. The news brought to me from
the upper regions that evening came from Penelope and the
footman. Penelope mentioned that she had never known
Miss Rachel so particular about the dressing of her hair, and
had never seen her look so bright and pretty as she did when
she went down to meet Mr. Franklin in the drawing-room.
The footman's report was, that the preservation of a respect-
ful composure in the presence of his betters, and the waiting
on Mr. Franklin Blake at dinner, were two of the hardest
things to reconcile with each other that had ever tried his
training in service. Later in the evening we heard them sing-
ing and playing duets, Mr. Franklin piping high, Miss Rachel
piping higher, and my lady, on the piano, following them, as
it were, over hedge and ditch, and seeing them safe through
in a manner most wonderful and pleasant to hear through
the open windows, on the terrace at night. Later still, I went
to Mr. Franklin in the smoking-room, with the soda-water
and brandy, and found that Miss Rachel had put the Dia-
mond clean out of his head. "She's the most charming girl
I have seen since I came back to England !" was all I could
extract from him, when I endeavored to lead the conversation
to more serious things.

Toward midnight I went round the house to lock up,
accompanied by my second in command, Samuel, the foot-
man, as usual. When all doors were made fast, except the
side-door that opened on the terrace, I sent Samuel to bed,
and stepped out for a breath of fresh air before I too went
to bed in my turn.

The night was still and close, and the moon was at the full
in the heavens. It was so silent out-of-doors, that I heard
from time to time, very faint and low, the fall of the sea, as
the ground-swell heaved it in on the sand-bank near the
mouth of our little bay. As the house stood, the terrace side
was the dark side; but the broad moonlight showed fair on
the gravel-walk that ran along the next side to the terrace.
Looking this way, after looking up at the sky, I saw the
shadow of a person in the moonlight thrown forward from
behind the corner of the house.

Being old and sly, I forbore to call out ; but being also,
unfortunately, old and heavy, my feet betrayed me on the

55

THE MOONSTONE

gravel. Before I could steal suddenly round the corner, as I
had proposed, I heard lighter feet than mine — and more than
one pair of them, as 1 thought — retreating in a hurry. By
the time I had got to the corner, the trespassers, whoever
they were, had run into the shrubbery at the off-side of the
walk, and were hidden from sight among the thick trees and
bushes in that part of the grounds. From the shrubbery
they could easily make their way over our fence into the
road. If I had been forty years younger I might have had
a chance of catching them before they got clear of our prem-
ises. As it was, I went back to set agoing a younger pair of
legs than mine. Without disturbing any body, Samuel and I
got a couple of guns and went all round the house and through
the shrubbery. Having made sure that no persons were lurk-
ing about anywhere in our grounds, we turned back. Passing
over the walk where I had seen the shadow, I now noticed,
for the first time, a little bright object, lying on the clean
gravel, under the light of the moon. Picking the object up,
I discovered that it was a small bottle, containing a thick,
sweet-smelling liquor, as black as ink.

I said nothing to Samuel. But, remembering what Penel-
ope had told me about the jugglers, and the pouring of the
little pool of ink into the palm of the boy's hand, I instantly
suspected that I had disturbed the three Indians, lurking
about the house, and bent, in their heathenish way, on dis-
covering the whereabouts of the Diamond that night.

CHAPTER VIII.

HERE, for one moment, I find it necessary to call a halt.
On summoning up my own recollections — and on get-
ting Penelope to help me, by consulting her journal — I find
that we may pass pretty rapidly over the interval between
Mr. Franklin Blake's arrival and Miss Rachel's birthday. For
the greater part of that time the days passed and brought
nothing with them worth recording. With your good leave
then, and with Penelope's help, I shall notice certain dates
only in this place, reserving to myself to tell the story day

56

THE MOONSTONE

by day, once more, as soon as we get to the time when the
business of the Moonstone became the chief business of every
body in our house.

This said, we may now go on again — beginning, of course,
with the bottle of sweet-smelhng ink which I found on the
gravel-walk at night.

On the next morning, the morning of the twenty-sixth, I
showed Mr. Franklin this article of jugglery, and told him
what I have already told you. His opinion was, not only
that the Indians had been lurking about after the Diamond,
but also that they were actually foolish enough to believe
in their own magic — meaning thereby the making of signs
on a boy's head, and the pouring of ink into a boy's hand,
and then expecting him to see persons and things beyond
the reach of human vision. In our country, as well as in
the East, Mr. Franklin informed me, there are people who
practice this curious hocus-pocus, without the ink, however;
and who call it by a French name, signifying something like
brightness of sight. "Depend upon it," says Mr. Franklin,
"the Indians took it for granted that we should keep the Dia-
mond here ; and they brought their clairvoyant boy to show
them the way to it, if they succeeded in getting into the house
last night."

"Do you think they'll try again, sir?" I asked.

"It depends," says Mr. Franklin, "on what the boy can
really do. If he can see the Diamond through the iron safe
of the bank at Frizinghall, we shall be troubled with no more
visits from the Indians for the present. If he can't, we shall
have another chance of catching them in the shrubbery before
many more nights are over our heads."

I waited pretty confidently for that latter chance; but,
strange to relate, it never came.

Whether the jugglers heard, in the town, of Mr. Franklin
having been seen at the bank, and drew their conclusions
accordingly ; or whether the boy really did see the Diamond
where the Diamond was now lodged, which I, for one, flatly
disbelieve; or whether, after all, it was a mere effect of
chance, this, at any rate, is the plain truth — not the ghost
of an Indian came near the house again, through the weeks
that passed before Miss Rachel's birthday. The jugglers re-

57

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mained in and about the town plying their trade and Mr.
FrankHn and I remained waiting to see what might happen,
and resolute not to put the rogues on their guard by showing
our suspicions of them too soon. With this report of the
proceedings on either side, ends all that I have to say about
the Indians for the present.

On the twenty-ninth of the month. Miss Rachel and Mr.
Franklin hit on a new method of working their way together
through the time which might otherwise have hung heavy
on their hands. There are reasons for taking particular
notice here of the occupation that amused them. You will
find it has a bearing on something that is still to come.

Gentlefolks in general have a very awkward rock ahead
in life — the rock ahead of their own idleness. Their lives
being, for the most part, passed in looking about them for
something to do, it is curious to see — especially when their
tastes are of what is called the intellectual sort — how often
they drift blindfold into some nasty pursuit. Nine times out
of ten they take to torturing something, or to spoiling some-
thing ; and they firmly believe they are improving their minds,
when the plain truth is, they are only making a mess in the
house. I have seen them, ladies, I am sorry to say, as well
as gentlemen, go out, day after day, for example, with empty
pill-boxes, and catch newts, and beetles, and spiders, and
frogs, and come home and stick pins through the miserable
wretches, or cut them up, without a pang of remorse, into
little pieces. You see my young master, or my young mis-
tress, poring over one of their spiders' insides with a mag-
nifying-glass ; or you meet one of their frogs walking down
stairs without his head ; and when you wonder what this
cruel nastiness means, you are told that it means a taste in
my young master or my young mistress for natural history.
Sometimes, again, you see them occupied for hours together
in spoiling a pretty flower with pointed instruments, out of a
stupid curiosity to know what the flower is made of. Is its
color any prettier, or its scent any sweeter, when you do
know ? But there ! the poor souls must get through the time,
you see — they must get through the time. You dabbled in
nasty mud, and made pies, when you were a child ; and you

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dabble in nasty science, and dissect spiders, and spoil flowers,
when you grow up. In the one case and in the other the
secret of it is that you have got nothing to think of in your
poor empty head, and nothing to do with your poor idle
hands. And so it ends in your spoiling canvas with paints,
and making a smell in the house; or in keeping tadpoles in
a glass box full of dirty water, and turning every body's stom-
ach in the house ; or in chipping off bits of stone here, there,
and everywhere, and dropping grit into all the victuals in the
house; or in staining your fingers in the pursuit of photog-
raphy, and doing justice without mercy on every body's face
in the house. It often falls heavy enough, no doubt, on people
who are really obliged to get their living, to be forced to
work for the clothes that cover them, the roof that shelters
them, and the food that keeps them going. But compare the
hardest day's work you ever did with the idleness that splits
flowers and pokes its way into spiders' stomachs, and thank
your stars that your head has got something it must think of,
and your hands something that they nnisf do.

As for Mr. Franklin and Miss Rachel, they tortured noth-
ing, I am glad to say. They simply confined themselves to
making a mess ; and all they spoiled, to do them justice, was
the paneling of a door.

Mr. Franklin's universal genius, dabbling in every thing,
dabbled in what he called "decorative painting." He had
invented, he informed us, a new mixture to moisten paint
with, which he described as a "vehicle." What it was made
of I don't know. What it did I can tell you in two words —
it stank. Miss Rachel being wild to try her hand at the new
process, Mr. Franklin sent to London for the materials ; mixed
them up, with accompaniment of a smell which made the
very dogs sneeze when they came into the room ; put an
apron and a bib over Miss Rachel's gown, and set her to work
decorating her own little sitting-room — called, for want of
English to name it in, her "boudoir." They began with the
inside of the door. ]\Ir. Franklin scraped ofif all the nice
varnish with pumice-stone, and made what he described as a
surface to work on. Miss Rachel then covered the surface,
under his directions and with his help, with patterns and
devices — griffins, birds, flowers, cupids, and such like — copied

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from designs made by a famous Italian painter, whose name
escapes me — the one, I mean, who stocked the world with
Virgin Marys and had a sweetheart at the baker's. Viewed
as work, this decoration was slow to do and dirty to deal
with. But our young lady and gentleman never seemed to
tire of it. When they were not riding, or seeing company,
or taking their meals, or piping their songs, there they were
with their heads together as busy as bees, spoiling the door.
Who was the poet who said that Satan finds some mischief
still for idle hands to do? If he had occupied my place in
the family, and had seen Miss Rachel with her brush, and
Mr. Franklin with his vehicle, he could have written nothing
truer of either of them than that.

The next date worthy of notice is Sunday, the fourth of
June.

On that evening we, in the servants' hall, debated a domes-
tic question for the first time, which, like the decoration of
the door, has its bearing on something that is still to come.

Seeing the pleasure wdiich Mr. Franklin and Miss Rachel
took in each other's society, and noting what a pretty match
they were in all personal respects, we naturally speculated on
the chance of their putting their heads together with other
objects in view besides the ornamenting of a door. Some of
us said there would be a wedding in the house before the
summer was over. Others, led by me, admitted it was likely
enough Miss Rachel might be married ; but we doubted, for
reasons which will presently appear, whether her bridegroom
would be Mr. Franklin Blake.

That Air. Franklin was in love, on his side, nobody who
saw and heard him could doubt. The difficulty was to fathom
Miss Rachel. Let me do myself the honor of making you
acquainted with her ; after which I will leave you to fathom
her yourself — if you can.

My young lady's eighteenth birthday was the birthday now
coming, on the twenty-first of June. If you happen to like
dark women, who, I am informed, have gone out of fashion
latterly in the gay world, and if you have no particular preju-
dice in favor of size, I answer for Miss Rachel as one of the
prettiest girls your eyes ever looked on. She was small and
slim, but all in fine proportion from top to toe. To see her

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sit down, to see her get up, and especially to see her walk,
was enough to satisfy any man in his senses that the graces
of her figure, if you will pardon me the expression, were in
her flesh, and not in her clothes. Her hair was the blackest
I ever saw. Her eyes matched her hair. Her nose was not
quite large enough, I admit. Her mouth and chin were, to
quote Mr. Franklin, morsels for the gods ; and her complex-
ion, on the same undeniable authority, was as warm as the
sun itself, with this great advantage over the sun, that it was
always in nice order to look at. Add to the foregoing that
she carried her head as upright as a dart, in a dashing,
spirited, thorough-bred way, that she had a clear voice, with
a ring of the right metal in it, and a smile that began very
prettily in her eyes before it got to her lips — and there behold
the portrait of her, to the best of my painting, as large as
hfe!

And what about her disposition next? Had this charming
creature no faults? She had just as many faults as you have,
ma'am — neither more nor less.

To put it seriously, my dear, pretty Miss Rachel, possess-
ing a host of graces and attractions, had one defect, which
strict impartiality compels me to acknowledge. She was un-
like most other girls of her age in this — that she had ideas
of her own, and was stifif-necked enough to set the fashions
themselves at defiance, if the fashions didn't suit her views.
In trifles, this independence of hers was all well enough; but
in matters of importance it carried her, as my lady thought,
and as I thought, too far. She judged for herself, as few
women of twice her age judge in general; never asked your
advice ; never told you beforehand what she was going to
do ; never came with secrets and confidences to any body,
from her mother downward. In little things and great, with
people she loved and with people she hated — and she did both
with equal heartiness — Miss Rachel always went on a way
of her own, sufficient for herself in the joys and the sorrows
of her life. Over and over again I have heard my lady say,
"Rachel's best friend and Rachel's worst enemy are, one and
the other — Rachel herself."

Add one thing more to this, and I have done.

With all her secrecy, and all her self-will, there was not

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so much as the shadow of any thing false in her. I never
remember her breaking her word ; I never remember her
saying "No," and meaning "Yes." I can call to mind, in
her childhood, more than one occasion when the good lit*v!e
soul took the blame, and suffered the punishment, for some
fault committed by a playfellow whom she loved. Nobody
ever knew her to confess to it when the thing was found out,
and she was .charged with it afterward. But nobody ever
knew her to lie about it, either. She looked you straight in
the face and shook her little saucy head, and said, plainly,
"I won't tell you !" Punished again for this, she would own
to being sorry for saying "won't" ; but, bread-and-water not-
withstanding, she never told you. Self-willed — devilish self-
willed sometimes — I grant ; but the finest creature, neverthe-
less, that ever walked the ways of this lower world. Perhaps
you think you see a certain contradiction here ? In that case,
a word in your ear. Study your wife closely for the next
four-and-twenty hours. If your good lady doesn't exhibit
something in the shape of a contradiction in that time, Heaven
help you ! — you have married a monster.

I HAVE now brought you acquainted with Miss Rachel, which
you will find puts us face to face, next, with the question of
that young lady's matrimonial views.

On June the twelfth, an invitation from my mistress was
sent to a gentleman in London, to come and help to keep
Miss Rachel's birthday. This was the fortunate individual
on whom I believed her heart to be privately set ! Like Mr.
Franklin, he was a cousin of hers. His name was Mr. God-
frey Ablewhite.

My lady's second sister — don't be alarmed ; we are not
going very deep into family matters this time — my lady's
second sister, I say, had a disappointment in love ; and taking
a husband afterward, on the neck or nothing principle, made
what they call a misalliance. There was terrible work in the
family when the Honorable Caroline insisted on marrying
plain Mr. Ablewhite, the banker at Frizinghall. He was
very rich and very good-tempered, and he begot a prodigious
large family — all in his favor, so far. But he had presumed
to raise himself from a low station in the world — and that

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was against him. However, time and the progress of modern
enlightenment put things right ; and the misalliance passed
muster very well. We are all getting liberal now ; and, pro-
vided you can scratch me, if I scratch you, what do I care,
in or out of Parliament, whether you are a Dustman or a
Duke? That's the modern way of looking at it — and I keep
up with the modern way. The Ablewhites lived in a fine
house and grounds, a little out of Frizinghall. Very worthy
people, and greatly respected in the neighborhood. We shall
not be much troubled with them in these pages — excepting
Mr. Godfrey, who was Mr. Ablewhite's second son, and who
must take his proper place here, if you please, for Miss
Rachel's sake.

With all his brightness and cleverness and general good
qualities, Mr. Franklin's chance of topping Mr. Godfrey in
our young lady's estimation was, in my opinion, a very poor
chance indeed.

In the first place, Mr. Godfrey was, in point of size, the
finest man by far of the two. He stood over six feet high ;
he had a beautiful red and white color ; a smooth round face,
shaved as bare as your hand ; and a head of lovely long flaxen
hair, falling negligently over the poll of his neck. But why
do I try to give you this personal description of him ? If you
ever subscribed to a Ladies' Charity in London, you know
Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite as well as I do. He was a barrister
by profession ; a ladies' man by temperament ; and a good
Samaritan by choice. Female benevolence and female desti-
tution could do nothing without him. Maternal societies for
confining poor women ; Magdalen societies for rescuing poor
women ; strong-minded societies for putting poor women into
poor men's places, and leaving the men to shift for themselves
— he was vice-president, manager, referee to them all.
Wherever there was a table with a committee of ladies sit-
ting round it in council, there was Mr. Godfrey at the bottom
of the board, keeping the temper of the committee and leading
the dear creatures along the thorny ways of business, hat in
hand. I do suppose this was the most accomplished philan-
thropist, on a small independence, that England ever pro-
duced. As a speaker at charitable meetings the like of him
for drawing your tears and your money was not easy to find.

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He was quite a public character. The last time I was in
London my mistress gave me two treats. She sent me to
the theatre to see a dancing woman who was all the rage;
and she sent me to Exeter Hall to hear Mr. Godfrey. The
lady did it with a band of music. The gentleman did it with
a handkerchief and a glass of water. Crowds at the perform-
ance with the legs. Ditto at the performance with the tongue.
And with all this the sweetest-tempered person — I allude to
Mr. Godfrey — the simplest and pleasantest and easiest to
please, you ever met with. He loved every body. And every
body loved him. What chance had Mr. Franklin — what
chance had any body of average reputation and capacities —
against such a man as this?

On the fourteenth came Mr. Godfrey's answer.

He accepted my mistress's invitation, from the Wednesday
of the birthday to the evening of Friday — when his duties
to the Ladies' Charities would oblige him to return to town.
He also inclosed a copy of verses on what he elegantly called
his cousin's "natal day." Miss Rachel, I was informed, joined
Mr. Franklin in making fun of the verses at dinner : and
Penelope, who was all on Mr. Franklin's side, asked me, in
great triumph, what I thought of that. "Miss Rachel has
led yoii off on a false scent, my dear," I replied ; "but my
nose is not so easily mystified. Wait till Mr. Ablewhite's
verses are followed by Mr. Ablewhite himself."

My daughter replied, that Mr. Franklin might strike in
and try his luck, before the verses were followed by the poet.
In favor of this view, I must acknowledge that Mr. Franklin
left no chance untried of winning Miss Rachel's good graces.

Though one of the most inveterate smokers I ever met
with, he gave up his cigar because she said, one day, she
hated the stale smell of it in his clothes. He slept so badly,
after this effort of self-denial, for want of the composing
effect of the tobacco to which he was used, and came down
morning after morning looking so haggard and worn, that
Miss Rachel herself begged him to take to his cigars again.
No ! he would take to nothing again that would cause her a
moment's annoyance ; he would fight it out resolutely, and
get back his sleep, sooner or later, by main force of patience

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in waiting for it. Such devotion as this, you may say, as
some of them said down stairs, could never fail of producing
the right effect on Miss Rachel — backed up, too, as it was,
by the decorating work every day on the door. All very well
— but she had a photograph of Mr. Godfrey in her bedroom ;
represented speaking at a public meeting, with all his hair
blown out by the breath of his own eloquence, and his eyes,
most lovely, charming the money out of your pockets ! What
do you say to that? Every morning, as Penelope herself
owned to me, there was the man whom women couldn't do
without, looking on, in effigy, while Miss Rachel was having
her hair combed. He would be looking on, in reality, before
long — that was my opinion of it.

June the sixteenth brought an event which made Mr. Frank-
lin's chance look, to my mind, a worse chance than ever.

A strange gentleman, speaking English with a foreign
accent, came that morning to the house and asked to see Mr.
Franklin Blake on business. The business could not possibly
have been connected with the Diamond, for these two reasons
— first, that Mr. Franklin told me nothing about it ; secondly,
that he communicated it, after the strange gentleman had
gone away again, to my lady. She probably hinted some-
thing about it next to her daughter. At any rate. Miss Rachel
was reported to have said some severe things to Mr. Frank-
lin, at the piano that evening, about the people he had lived
among, and the principles he had adopted in foreign parts.
The next day, for the first time, nothing was done toward
the decoration of the door. I suspect some imprudence of
Mr. Franklin's on the Continent — with a woman or a debt
at the bottom of it — had followed him to England. But that
is all guess-work. In this case, not only Mr. Franklin, but
my lady, too, for a wonder, left me in the dark.

On the seventeenth, to all appearance, the cloud passed
away again. They returned to their decorating work on the
door, and seemed to be as good friends as ever. If Penelope
was to be believed, Mr. Franklin had seized the opportunity
of the reconciliation to make an offer to Miss Rachel, and had
neither been accepted nor refused. My girl was sure, from

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signs and tokens which I need not trouble you with, that
her young mistress had fought Mr. FrankUn off by declining
to believe that he was in earnest, and had then secretly, regret-
ted treating him in that way afterward. Though Penelope
was admitted to more familiarity with her young mistress
than maids generally are — for the two had been almost
brought up together as children — still I knew Miss Rachel's
reserved character too well to believe that she would show
her mind to any body in this way. What my daughter told
me on the present occasion was, as I suspected, more what
she wished than what she really knew.

On the nineteenth another event happened. We had the
doctor in the house professionally. He was summoned to
prescribe for a person whom I have had occasion to present
to you in these pages — our second house-maid, Rosanna
Spearman.

This poor girl — who had puzzled me, as you know already,
at the Shivering Sand — puzzled me more than once again in
the interval time of which I am now writing. Penelope's
notion that her fellow-servant was in love with Mr. Franklin,
which my daughter, by my orders, kept strictly secret, seemed
to me just as absurd as ever. But I must own that what I
myself saw, and what my daughter saw also, of our second
house-maid's conduct began to look mysterious, to say the
least of it.

For example, the girl constantly put herself in ]\Ir. Frank-
lin's way — very slyly and quietly, but she did it. He took
about as much notice of her as he took of the cat : it never
seemed to occur to him to waste a look on Rosanna's plain
face. The poor thing's appetite, never much, fell away dread-
fully; and her eyes in the morning showed plain signs of
waking and crying at night. One day Penelope made an
awkward discovery, which we hushed up on the spot. She
caught Rosanna at Mr. Franklin's dressing-table, secretly re-
moving a rose which Miss Rachel had given him to wear
in his button-hole, and putting another rose like it, of her
own picking, in its place. She was, after that, once or twice
impudent to me, when I gave her a well-meant general hint
to be careful in her conduct; and, worse still, she was not

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over-respectful now on the few occasions when Miss Rachel
accidentally spoke to her.

My lady noticed the change, and asked me what I thought
about it. I tried to screen the girl by answering that I
thought she was out of health ; and it ended in the doctor
being sent for, as already mentioned, on the nineteenth. He
said it was her nerves, and doubted if she was fit for service.
My lady offered to remove her for change of air to one of
our farms inland. She begged and prayed, with the tears
in her eyes, to be let to stop ; and in an evil hour I advised my
lady to try her for a little longer. As the event proved, and
as you will soon see, this was the worst advice I could have
given. If I could only have looked a little way into the
future, I would have taken Rosanna Spearman out of the
house, then and there, with my own hand.

On the twentieth, there came a note from Mr. Godfrey. He
had arranged to stop at Frizinghall that night, having oc-
casion to consult his father on business. On the afternoon
of the next day he and his two eldest sisters would ride over
to us on horseback, in good time before dinner. An elegant
little casket in china accompanied the note, presented to Miss
Rachel, with her cousin's love and best wishes. Mr. Frank-
lin had only given her a plain locket not worth half the
money. My daughter Penelope, nevertheless — such is the
obstinacy of women — still backed him to win.

Thanks be to Heaven, we have arrived at the eve of the
birthday at last ! You will own, I think, that I have got
you over the ground, this time, without much loitering by
the way. Cheer up ! I'll ease you with another new chapter
here — and, what is more, that chapter shall take you straight
into the thick of the story.

CHAPTER IX.

JUNE twenty-first, the day of the birthday, was cloudy
and unsettled at sunrise, but toward noon it cleared up
bravely.

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We, in the servants' hall, began this happy anniversary,
as usual, by offering our little presents to Miss Rachel, with
the regular speech delivered annually by me as the chief. I
follow the plan adopted by the Queen in opening Parliament
— namely, the plan of saying much the same thing regularly
every year. Before it is delivered, my speech, like the
Queen's, is looked for as eagerly as if nothing of the kind
had ever been heard before. When it is delivered, and turns
out not to be the novelty anticipated, though they grumble
a little, they look forward hopefully to something newer next
year. An easy people to govern, in the Parliament and in the
Kitchen — that's the moral of it.

After breakfast, Mr. Franklin and I had a private confer-
ence on the subject of the Moonstone — the time having now
come for removing it from the bank at Frizinghall, and
placing it in Miss Rachel's own hands.

Whether he had been trying to make love to his cousin
again, and had got a rebuff — or whether his broken rest,
night after night, was aggravating the queer contradictions
and uncertainties in his character — I don't know. But certain
it is, that Mr, Franklin failed to show himself at his best
on the morning of the birthday. He was in twenty different
minds about the Diamond in as many minutes. For my part,
I stuck fast by the plain facts as we knew them. Nothing
had happened to justify us in alarming my lady on the sub-
ject of the jewel and nothing could alter the legal obligation
that now lay on Mr. Franklin to put it in his cousin's pos-
session. That was my view of the matter ; and, twist and
turn it as he might, he was forced in the end to make it his
view too. We arranged that he was to ride over, after lunch,
to Frizinghall, and bring the Diamond back, with Mr. God-
frey and the two young ladies, in all probability, to keep him
company on the way home again.

This settled, our young gentleman went back to Miss
Rachel.

They consumed the whole morning, and part of the after-
noon, in the everlasting business of decorating the door,
Penelope standing by to mix the colors, as directed ; and my
lady, as luncheon-time drew near, going in and out of the
room, with her handkerchief to her nose, for they used a

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deal of Mr. Franklin's vehicle that day, and trying vainly
to get the two artists away from their work. It was three
o'clock before they took off their aprons, and released Penel-
ope, much worse for the vehicle, and cleaned themselves of
their mess. But they had done what they wanted — they had
finished the door on the birthday, and proud enough they
were of it. The griffins, cupids, and so on, were, I must
own, most beautiful to behold ; though so many in number,
so entangled in flowers and devices, and so topsy-turvy in
their actions and attitudes, that you felt them unpleasantly
in your head for hours after you had done with the pleasure
of looking at them. If I add that Penelope ended her part
of the morning's work by being sick in the back kitchen, it
is in no unfriendly spirit toward the vehicle. No ! no ! It
left off stinking when it dried; and if Art requires this sort
of sacrifice — though the girl is my own daughter — I say, let
Art have them !

Mr. Franklin snatched a morsel from the luncheon-table,
and rode off to Frizinghall — to escort his cousins, as he told
my lady. To fetch the Moonstone, as was privately known
to himself and to me.

This being one of the high festivals on which I took my
place at the sideboard, in command of the attendance at
table, I had plenty to occupy my mind while Mr. Franklin
was away. Having seen to the wine, and reviewed my men
and women who were to wait at dinner, I retired to collect
myself before the company came. A whiff of — you know
what — and a turn at a certain book which I have had occasion
to mention in these pages, composed me, body and mind. I
was aroused from what I am inclined to think must have
been, not a nap, but a reverie, by the clatter of horses' hoofs
outside and going to the door, received a cavalcade compris-
ing Mr. Franklin and his three cousins, escorted by one of
old Mr. Ablewhite's grooms.

Mr. Godfrey struck me, strangely enough, as being like
Mr. Franklin in this respect — that he did not seem to be in
his customary spirits. He kindly shook hands with me as
usual and was most politely glad to see his old friend Better-
edge wearing so well. But there was a sort of cloud over
him, which I couldn't at all account for; and when I asked

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how he had found his father in health, he answered rather
shortly, "Much as usual." However, the two Miss Able-
whites were cheerful enough for twenty, which more than
restored the balance. They were nearly as big as their
brother; spanking, yellow-haired, rosy lasses, overflowing
with superabundant flesh and blood ; bursting from head to
foot with health and spirits. The legs of the poor horses
trembled with carrying them ; and when they jumped from
their saddles, without waiting to be helped, I declare they
bounced on the ground as if they were made of India rubber.
Every thing the Miss Ablewhites said began with a large O ;
every thing they did was done with a bang ; and they giggled
and screamed, in season and out of season, on the smallest
provocation. Bouncers — that's what I call them.

Under cover of the noise made by the young ladies, I had
an opportunity of saying a private word to Mr. Franklin in
the hall.

"Have you got the Diamond safe, sir?"
He nodded, -and tapped the breast-pocket of his coat.
"Have you seen any thing of the Indians ?"
"Not a glimpse." With that answer, he asked for my
lady, and, hearing she was in the small drawing-room, went
there straight. The bell rang, before he had been a minute
in the room, and Penelope was sent to tell Miss Rachel that
Mr. Franklin Blake wanted to speak to her.

Crossing the hall about half an hour afterward I was brought
to a sudden stand-still by an outbreak of screams from the
small drawing-room. I can't say I was at all alarmed ; for
I recognized in the screams the favorite large O of the Miss
Ablewhites. However, I went in, on pretense of asking for
instructions about the dinner, to discover whether any thing
serious had really happened.

There stood Miss Rachel at the table, like a person fasci-
nated, with the Colonel's unlucky Diamond in her hand.
There, on either side of her, knelt the two Bouncers, devour-
ing the jewel with their eyes, and screaming with ecstasy
every time it flashed on them in a new light. There, at the
opposite side of the table, stood Mr. Godfrey, clapping his
hands like a large child, and singing out, softly, "Exquisite!

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exquisite !" There sat Mr. Franklin, in a chair by the book-
case, tugging at his beard, and looking anxiously toward the
window. And there, at the window, stood the object he was
contemplating — my lady, having the extract from the Col-
onel's will in her hand, and keeping her back turned on the
whole of the company.

She faced me when I asked for my instructions, and I saw
the family frown gathering over her eyes, and the family
temper twitching at the corners of her mouth.

"Come to my room in half an hour," she answered. 'T
shall have something to say to you then."

With those words she went out. It was plain enough that
she was posed by the same difficulty which had posed Mr.
Franklin and me in our conference at the Shivering Sand.
Was the legacy of the Moonstone a proof that she had treated
her brother with cruel injustice? or was it a proof that he
was worse than the worst she had ever thought of him?
Serious questions those for my lady to determine ; while her
daughter, innocent of all knowledge of the Colonel's char-
acter, stood there with the Colonel's birthday gift in her
hand.

Before I could leave the room, in my turn. Miss Rachel,
always considerate to the old servant who had been in the
house when she was born, stopped me. "Look, Gabriel !" she
said, and flashed the jewel before my eyes in a ray of sun-
light that poured through the window.

Lord bless us ! it zvas a Diamond ! As large, or nearly, as
a plover's eggl The light that streamed from it was like
the light of the harvest-moon. When you looked down into
the stone, you looked into a yellow deep that drew your eyes
into it so that they saw nothing else. It seemed unfathom-
able; this jewel, that you could hold between your finger and
thumb, seemed unfathomable as the heavens themselves. We
set it in the sun, and then shut the light out of the room,
and it shone awfully out of the depths of its own brightness,
with a moony gleam, in the dark. No wonder Miss Rachel
was fascinated ; no wonder her cousins screamed. The Dia-
mond laid such a hold on me that I burst out with as large an
"O !" as the Bouncers themselves. The only one of us who
kept his senses was Mr. Godfrey. He put an arm round each

7'

THE MOONSTONE

of his sisters' waists, and, looking compassionately backward
and forward between the Diamond and me, said, "Carbon,
Bettercdge ; mere carbon, my good friend, after all !"

His object, I suppose, was to instruct me. All he did,
however, was to remind me of the dinner. I hobbled ofT to
my army of waiters down stairs. As I went out Mr. Godfrey
said, "Dear old Betteredge, I have the truest regard for him !"
He was embracing his sisters and ogling Miss Rachel while
he honored me with that testimony of affection. Something
like a stock of love to draw on there! Mr. Franklin was a
perfect savage by comparison with him.

At the end of half an hour I presented myself, as directed,
in my lady's room.

What passed between my mistress and me on this occasion
was, in the main, a repetition of what had passed between
Mr. Franklin and me at the Shivering Sand — with this dif-
ference, that I took care to keep my own counsel about the
jugglers, seeing that' nothing had happened to justify me in
alarming my lady on this head. When I received my dis-
missal I could see that she took the blackest view possible
of the Colonel's motives, and that she was bent on getting
the Moonstone out of her daughter's possession at the first
opportunity.

On my way back to my own part of the house I was
encountered by Mr. Franklin. He wanted to know if I had
seen any thing of his cousin Rachel. I had seen nothing of
her. Could I tell him where his cousin Godfrey was? I
didn't know, but I began to suspect that Cousin Godfrey
might not be far away from Cousin Rachel. Mr. Franklin's
suspicions apparently took the same turn. He tugged
hard at his beard, and went and shut himself up in the
library with a bang of the door that had a world of mean-
ing in it.

I was interrupted no more in the business of preparing for
the birthday dinner till it was time for me to smarten myself
up for receiving the company. Just as I had got my white
waistcoat on, Penelope presented herself at my toilet, on
pretense of brushing what little hair I have got left, and
improving the tie of my white cravat. Aly girl was in high
spirits, and I saw she had something to say to me. She gave

72

THE MOONSTONE

me a kiss on the top of my bald head, and whispered, "News
for you, father! Miss Rachel has refused him."

"Who's him?" I asked.

"The ladies' committee-man, father," says Penelope. "A
nasty, sly fellow. I hate him for trying to supplant Mr.
Franklin !"

If I had had breath enough I should certainly have pro-
tested against this indecent way of speaking of an eminent
philanthropic character. But my daughter happened to be
improving the tie of my cravat at that moment, and the
whole strength of her feelings found its way into her fingers.
I never was more nearly strangled in my life.

"I saw him take her away alone into the rose-garden,"
says Penelope. "And I waited behind the holly to see how
they came back. They had gone out arm in arm, both
laughing. They came back, walking separate, as grave as
grave could be, and looking straight away from each other
in a manner which there was no mistaking. I never was
more delighted, father, in my life ! There's one woman in
the world who can resist Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, at any
rate; and, if I was a lady, I should be another!"

Here I should have protested again. But my daughter
had got the hair-brush by this time, and the whole strength
of her feelings had passed into that. If you are bald, you
will understand how she scarified me. If you are not, skip
this bit, and thank God you have got something in the way
of a defense between your hair-brush and your head.

"Just on the other side of the holly," Penelope went on,
"Mr. Godfrey came to a stand-still. 'You prefer,' says he,
'that I should stop here as if nothing had happened?' Miss
Rachel turned on him like lightning. 'You have accepted
my mother's invitation,' she said; 'and you are here to meet
her guests. Unless you wish to make a scandal in the house,
you will remain, of course !' She went on a few steps, and
then seemed to relent a little. 'Let us forget what has passed,
Godfrey,' she said, 'and let us remain cousins still.' She gave
him her hand. He kissed it, which / should have considered
taking a liberty, and then she left him. He waited a little
by himself, with his head down, and his heel grinding a hole
slowly in the gravel-walk ; you never saw a man look more

73

THE MOONSTONE

put out in your life. 'Awkward !' he said, between his teeth,
when he looked up, and went on to the house — 'very awk-
ward!' If that was his opinion of himself, he was quite right.
Awkward enough, I'm sure. And the end of it is, father,
what I told you all along," cries Penelope, finishing me off
with a last scarification, the hottest of all, "Mr. Franklin's
the man !"

I got possession of the hair-brush, and opened my lips to
administer the reproof which, you will own, my daughter's
language and conduct richly deserved.

Before I could say a word the crash of carriage-wheels
outside struck in and stopped me. The first of the dinner
company had come. Penelope instantly ran ofif. I put on
my coat, and looked in the glass. My head was as red as
a lobster; but, in other respects, I was as nicely dressed for
the ceremonies of the evening as a man need be. I got into
the hall just in time to annovuice the first two of the guests.
You needn't feel particularly interested about them. Only
the philanthropist's father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Able-
white.

CHAPTER X.

ONE on the top of the other, the rest of the company fol-
lowed the Ablewhites, till we had the whole tale of them
complete. Including the family, they were twenty-four in
all. It was a noble sight to see, when they were settled in
their places round the dinner-table, and the Rector of Frizing-
hall, with beautiful elocution, rose and said grace.

There is no need to worry you with a list of the guests.
You will meet none of them a second time — in my part of the
story at any rate — with the exception of two.

Those two sat on either side of Miss Rachel, who, as queen
of the day, was naturally the great attraction of the party.
On this occasion she was more particularly the centre-point
toward which every body's eyes were directed ; for, to my
lady's secret annoyance, she wore her wonderful birthday
present, which eclipsed all the rest — the Moonstone. It was
without any setting when it had been placed in her hands ;

74

THE MOONSTONE

but that universal genius, Mr, Franklin, had contrived, with
the help of his neat fingers and a little bit of silver wire, to
fix it as a brooch in the bosom of her white dress. Every
body wondered at the prodigious size and beauty of the Dia-
mond, as a matter of course. But the only two of the com-
pany who said any thing out of the common way about it
were those two guests. I have mentioned, who sat by Miss
Rachel on her right hand and her left.

The guest on her left was Mr. Candy, our doctor at Friz-
inghall.

This was a pleasant, companionable little man, with the
drawback, however, I must own, of being too fond, in season
and out of season, of his joke, and of plunging in rather a
headlong manner into talk with strangers, without waiting
to feel his way first. In society he was constantly making
mistakes, and setting people unintentionally by the ears to-
gether. In his medical practice he was a more prudent man ;
picking up his discretion, as his enemies said, by a kind of
instinct, and proving to be generally right where more care-
fully conducted doctors turned out to be wrong. What he
said about the Diamond to Miss Rachel was said, as usual,
by way of a mystification or joke. He gravely entreated her,
in the interests of science, to let him take it home and burn
it. "We will first heat it. Miss Rachel," says the doctor, "to
such and such a degree ; then we will expose it to a current
of air ; and, little by little — pufif ! — we evaporate the Diamond,
and spare you a world of anxiety about the safe-keeping of
a valuable precious stone!" My lady, listening with rather
a care-worn expression on her face, seemed to wish that the
doctor had been in earnest, and that he could have found
Miss Rachel zealous enough in the cause of science to sacrifice
her birthday gift.

The other guest, who sat on my young lady's right hand,
was an eminent public character — being no other than the
celebrated Indian traveler, Mr. Murthwaite, who at risk of
his life had penetrated in disguise where no European had
ever set foot before.

This was a long, lean, wiry, brown, silent man. He had a
weary look and a very steady attentive eye. It was rumored
that he was tired of the humdrum life among the people in

75

THE MOONSTONE

our parts and longing to go back and wander off on the tramp
again in the wild places of the East. Except what he said
to Miss Rachel about her jewel, I doubt if he spoke six words,
or drank so much as a single glass of wine, all through the
dinner. The Moonstone was the object that interested him
in the smallest degree. The fame of it seemed to have
reached him, in some of those perilous Indian places where
his wanderings had lain. After looking at it silently for so
long a time that Miss Rachel began to get confused, he said
to her, in his cool, immovable way, "If you ever go to India,
Miss Verinder, don't take your uncle's birthday gift with you.
A Hindoo diamond is sometimes a part of a Hindoo religion.
I know a certain city, and a certain temple in that city, where,
dressed as you are now, your life would not be worth five
minutes' purchase." Miss Rachel, safe in England, was
quite delighted to hear of her danger in India. The Bouncers
were more delighted still : they dropped their knives and forks
with a crash, and burst out together vehemently, "Oh ! how
interesting!" My lady fidgeted in her chair, and changed
the subject.

As the dinner got on I became aware, little by little, that this
festival was not prospering as other like festivals had pros-
pered before it.

Looking back at the birthday now, by the light of what
happened afterward, I am half inclined to think that the
cursed Diamond must have cast a blight on the whole com-
pany. I plied them well with wine ; and, being a privileged
character, followed the unpopular dishes round the table,
and whispered to the company, confidentially, "Please to
change your mind, and try it ; for I know it will do you
good." Nine times out of ten they changed their minds —
out of regard for their old original Betteredge, they w^ere
pleased to say — but all to no purpose. There were gaps of
silence in the talk, as the dinner got on. that made me feel
personally uncomfortable. When they did use their tongues
again, they used them, innocently, in the most unfortunate
manner and to the worst possible purpose. Mr. Candy, the
doctor, for instance, said more unlucky things than I ever
knew him to say before. Take one sample of the way in

76

THE MOONSTONE

which he went on, and you will understand what I had to
put up with at the sideboard, officiating as I was in the char-
acter of a man who had the prosperity of the festival at
heart.

One of our ladies present at dinner was worthy Mrs,
Threadgall, widow of the late Professor of that name. Talk-
ing of her deceased husband perpetually, this good lady never
mentioned to strangers that he ivas deceased. She thought,
I suppose, that every able-bodied adult in England ought to
know as much as that. In one of the gaps of silence some-
body mentioned the dry and rather nasty subject of human
anatomy; whereupon good Mrs. Threadgall straightway
brought in her late husband as usual, without mentioning that
he was dead. Anatomy she described as the Professor's
favorite recreation in his leisure hours. As ill luck would
have it, Mr. Candy, sitting opposite, who knew nothing of
the deceased gentleman, heard her. Being the most polite
of men, he seized the opportunity of assisting the Professor's
anatomical amusements on the spot.

"They have got some remarkably fine skeletons lately at
the College of Surgeons," says Mr. Candy, across the table,
in a loud, cheerful voice. *T strongly recommend the Pro-
fessor, ma'am, when he next has an hour to spare, to pay
them, a visit."

You might have heard a pin fall. The company, out of
respect to the Professor's memory, all sat speechless. I was
behind Mrs. Threadgall at the time, plying her confidentially
with a glass of hock. She dropped her head, and said, in a
very low voice, "My beloved husband is no more."

Unlucky Mr. Candy, hearing nothing, and miles away from
suspecting the truth, went on across the table louder and
politer than ever.

"The Professor may not be aware," says he, "that the card
of a member of the College will admit him, on any day but
Sunday, between the hours of ten and four."

Mrs. Threadgall dropped her head right into her tucker,
and, in a lower voice still, repeated the solemn words, "My
beloved husband is no more."

I winked hard at Mr. Candy across the table. Miss Rachel
touched his arm. My lady looked unutterable things at him.

77

THE MOONSTONE

Quite useless ! On he went, with a cordiality that there was
no stopping anyhow. "I shall be delighted," says he, "to
send the Professor my card, if you will oblige me by men-
tioning his present address?"

"His present address, sir, is the grave," says Mrs. Thread-
gall, suddenly losing her temper, and speaking with an
emphasis and fury that made the glasses ring again. "The
Professor has been dead these ten years !"

"Oh, good heavens !" says Mr. Candy. Excepting the
Bouncers, who burst out laughing, such a blank now fell on
the company that they might all have been going the way
of the Professor, and hailing, as he did, from the direction
of the grave.

So much for Mr. Candy. The rest of them were nearly
as provoking in their different ways as the doctor himself.
When they ought to have spoken, they didn't speak ; or when
they did speak, they were perpetually at cross-purposes. Mr.
Godfrey, though so eloquent in public, declined to exert him-
self in private. Whether he was sulky, or whether he was
bashful, after his discomfiture in the rose-garden, I can't say.
He kept all his talk for the private ear of the lady who sat
next to him. She was one of his committee-women — a spiri-
tually-minded person, with a fine show of collar-bone, and a
pretty taste in champagne ; liked it dry, you understand, and
plenty of it. Being close behind these two at the sideboard,
I can testify, from what I heard pass between them, that the
company lost a good deal of very improving conversation,
which I caught up while drawing the corks, and carving the
mutton, and so forth. What they said about their charities
I didn't hear. When I had time to listen to them, they had
got a long way beyond their women to be confined, and their
women to be rescued, and were buckling to on serious sub-
jects. Religion (I understood them to say, between the corks
and the carving) meant love. And love meant religion. And
earth was heaven a little the worse for wear. And heaven
was earth, done up again to look like new. Earth had some
very objectionable people in it ; but, to make amends for that,
all the women in heaven would be members of a prodigious
committee that never quarreled, wdth all the men in atten-
dance on them as ministering angels. Beautiful ! beautiful '

78

.L

THE MOONSTONE

But why the mischief did Mr. Godfrey keep it all to his lady
and himself?

Mr. Franklin again — surely, you will say, Mr. Franklin
stirred the company up into making a pleasant evening of it?

Nothing of the sort ! He had quite recovered himself, and
he was in wonderful force and spirits, Penelope having in-
formed him, I suspect, of Mr. Godfrey's reception in the rose-
garden. But, talk as he might, nine times out of ten he
pitched on the wrong subject, or he addressed himself to the
wrong person ; the end of it being that he offended some, and
puzzled all of them. That foreign training of his — those
French and German and Italian sides of him, to which I
have already alluded, came out, at my lady's hospitable board,
in a most bewildering manner.

What do you think, for instance, of his discussing the
lengths to which a married woman might let her admiration
go for a man who was not her husband, and putting it in his
clear-headed witty French way to the maiden aunt of the
Vicar of Frizinghall? What do you think, when he shifted
to the German side, of his telling the lord of the manor, while
that great authority on cattle was quoting his experience in
the breeding of bulls, that experience, properly understood,
counted for nothing, and that the proper way to breed bulls
was to look deep into your own mind, evolve out of it the
idea of a perfect bull, and produce him? What do you say,
when our county member, growing hot at cheese and salad
time, about the spread of democracy in England, burst out
as follows : "If we once lose our ancient safeguards, Mr.
Blake, I beg to ask you, what have we got left?" — what do
you say to Mr. Franklin answering, from the Italian point
of view : "We have got three things left, sir — Love, Music,
and Salad"? He not only terrified the company with such
outbreaks as these, but, when the English side of him turned
up in due course, he lost his foreign smoothness ; and, getting
on the subject of the medical profession, said such downright
things in ridicule of doctors, that he actually put good-
humored little Mr. Candy in a rage.

The dispute between them began in Mr. Franklin being
led — I forget how — to acknowledge that he had latterly slept
very badly at night. Mr. Candy thereupon told him that his

79

THE MOONSTONE

nerves were all out of order, and that he ought to go through
a course of medicine immediately. Mr. Franklin replied
that a course of medicine and a course of groping in the
dark, meant, in his estimation, one and the same thing. Mr.
Candy, hitting back smartly, said that Mr. Franklin himself
was, constitutionally speaking, groping in the dark after sleep,
and that nothing but medicine could help him to find it. Mr.
Franklin, keeping the ball up on his side, said he had often
heard of the blind leading the blind, and now, for the first
time, he knew what it meant. In this way they kept it going
briskly, cut and thrust, till they both of them got hot — Mr.
Candy, in particular, so completely losing his self-control, in
defense of his profession, that my lady was obliged to inter-
fere, and forbid the dispute to go on. This necessary act of
authority put the last extinguisher on the spirits of the com-
pany. The talk spurted up again here and there, for a minute
or two at a time ; but there was a miserable lack of life and
sparkle in it. The Devil, or the Diamond, possessed that
dinner party ; and it was a relief to every body when my
mistress rose, and gave the ladies the signal to leave the
gentlemen over their wine.

I HAD just ranged the decanters in a row before old Mr. Able-
white, who represented the master of the house, when there
came a sound from the terrace which startled me out of my
company manners on the instant. Mr. Franklin and I looked
at each other ; it was the sound of the Indian drum. As I
live by bread, here were the jugglers returning to us with
the return of the Moonstone to the house !

As they rounded the corner of the terrace, and came in
sight, I hobbled out to warn them off. But, as ill-luck would
have it, the two Bouncers were beforehand with me. They
whizzed out on to the terrace like a couple of sky-rockets,
wild to see the Indians exhibit their tricks. The other ladies
followed ; the gentlemen came out on their side. Before you
could say "Lord, bless us !" the rogues were making their
salams ; and the Bouncers were kissing the pretty little boy.

Mr. Franklin got on one side of Miss Rachel, and I put
myself behind her. If our suspicions were right, there she

80

THE MOONSTONE

stood, innocent of all knowledge of the truth, showing the
Indians the Diamond in the bosom of her dress !

I can't tell you what tricks they performed, or how they
did it. What with the vexation about the dinner, and what
with the provocation of the rogues coming back just in the
nick of time to see the jewel with their own eyes, I own I
lost my head. The first thing that I remember noticing was
the sudden appearance on the scene of the Indian traveler,
Mr. Murthwaite. Skirting the half-circle in which the gentle-
folks stood or sat, he came quietly behind the jugglers, and
spoke to them on a sudden in the language of their own
country.

If he had pricked them with a bayonet, I doubt if the
Indians could have started and turned on him with more
tigerish quickness than they did on hearing the first words
that passed his lips. The next moment they were bowing and
salaming to him in their most polite and snaky way. After
a few words in the unknown tongue had passed on either
side, Mr. Murthwaite withdrew as quietly as he had ap-
proached. The chief Indian, who acted as an interpreter,
thereupon wheeled about again toward the gentlefolks. I
noticed that the fellow's coffee-colored face had turned gray
since Mr. Murthwaite had spoken to him. He bowed to my
lady, and informed her that the exhibition was over. The
Bouncers, indescribably disappointed, burst out with a loud
"Oh !" directed against Mr. Murthwaite for stopping the per-
formance. The chief Indian laid his hand humbly on his
breast, and said the second time that the juggling was over.
The little boy went round with the hat. The ladies withdrew
to the drawing-room ; and the gentlemen, excepting Mr.
Franklin and Mr. Murthwaite, returned to their wine. I and
the footman followed the Indians, and saw them safe off the
premises.

Going back by way of the shrubbery, I smelled tobacco,
and found Mr. Franklin and Mr. Murthwaite, the latter
smoking a cheroot, walking slowly up and down among the
trees. Mr. Franklin beckoned to me to join them.

"This," says Mr. Franklin, presenting me to the great
traveler, "is Gabriel Betteredge, the old servant and friend
« 8i

THE MOONSTONE

of our family of whom I spoke to you just now. Tell him,
if you please, what you have just told me."

Mr. Murthwaitc took his cheroot out of his mouth and
leaned, in his weary way, against the trunk of a tree.

"Mr. Betteredge," he began, "those three Indians are no
more jugglers than you and I are."

Here was a new surprise ! I naturally asked the traveler
if he had ever met with the Indians before.

"Never," says Mr. Murthwaite ; "but I know what Indian
juggling really is. All you have seen to-night is a very bad
and clumsy imitation of it. Unless, after long experience, I
am utterly mistaken, those men are high-caste Brahmans. I
charged them with being disguised, and you f-.w how it told
on them, clever as the Hindoo people are in concealing their
feelings. There is a mystery about their conduct that I can't
explain. They have doubly sacrificed their caste — first, in
crossing the sea; secondly, in disguising themselves as jug-
glers. In the land they live in that is a tremendous sacrifice
to make. There must be some very serious motive at the
bottom of it, and some justification of no ordinary kind to
plead for them, in recovery of their caste, when they return
to their own country."

I was struck dumb. Mr. Murthwaite went on with his
cheroot. Mr. Franklin, after what looked to me like a little
private veering about between the different sides of his char-
acter, broke the silence as follows, speaking in his nice Italian
manner, with his solid English foundation showing through :

"I feel some hesitation, Mr. Murthwaite, in troubling you
with family matters, in which you can have no interest, and
which I am not very willing to speak of out of our own circle.
But, after what you have said, I feel bound, in the interests
of Lady Verinder and her daughter, to tell you something
which may possibly put the clue into your hands. I speak
to you in confidence ; you will oblige me, I am sure, by not
forgetting that?"

With this preface he told the Indian traveler (speaking
now in his clear-headed French way) all that he had told
me at the Shivering Sand. Even the immovable Mr.
Murthwaite was so interested in what he heard that he let
his cheroot go out. x

82

i

THE MOONSTONE

"Now," says Mr. Franklin, when he had done, "what does
your experience say?"

"My experience," answered the traveler, "says that you
have had more narrow escapes of your life, Mr. Franklin
Blake, than I have had of mine; and that is saying a great
deal."

It was Mr. Franklin's turn to be astonished now.

"Is it really as serious as that ?" he asked.

"In my opinion it is," answered Mr. Murthwaite. "I can't
doubt, after what you have told me, that the restoration of
the Moonstone to its place on the forehead of the Indian idol,
is the motive and the justification of that sacrifice of caste
which I alluded to just now. Those men will wait their
opportunity with the patience of cats, and will use it with the
ferocity of tigers. Flow you have escaped them I can't
imagine," says the eminent traveler, lighting his cheroot
again, and staring hard at Mr. Franklin. "You have been
carrying the Diamond backward and forward, here and in
London, and you are still a living man ! Let us try and
account for it. It was daylight, both times, I suppose, when
you took the jewel out of the bank in London?"

"Broad daylight," says Mr. Franklin.

"And plenty of people in the streets?"

"Plenty."

"You settled, of course, to arrive at Lady Verinder's house
at a certain time? It's a lonely country between this and
the station. Did you keep your appointment ?"

"No. I arrived four hours earlier than my appointment."

"I beg to congratulate you on that proceeding! When
did you take the Diamond to the bank at the town here?"

"I took it an hour after I had brought it to this house —
and three hours before any body was prepared for seeing me
in these parts."

"I beg to congratulate you again ! Did you bring it back
here alone?"

"No. I happened to ride back with my cousins and the
groom."

"I beg to congratulate you for the third time ! If you ever
feel inclined to travel beyond the civilized limits, Mr. Blake,
let me know, and I will go with you. You are a lucky man."

83

THE MOONSTONE

Here I struck in. This sort of thing didn't at all square
with my English ideas.

"You don't really mean to say, sir," I asked, "that they
would have taken Mr. Franklin's life, to get their Diamond,
if he had given them the chance?"

"Do you smoke, Mr. Betteredge?" says the traveler.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you care much for the ashes left in your pipe when
you empty it?"

"No, sir."

"In the country those men came from they care just as
much about killing a man as you care about emptying the
ashes out of your pipe. If a thousand lives stood between
them and the getting back of their Diamond — and if they
thought they could destroy those lives without discovery —
they would take them all. The sacrifice of caste is a serious
thing in India, if you like. The sacrifice of life is nothing
at afl."

I expressed my opinion upon this that they were a set of
murdering thieves. Mr. Murthwaite expressed his opinion
that they were a wonderful people. Mr. Franklin, expressing
no opinion at all, brought us back to the matter in hand.

"They have seen the Moonstone on Miss Verinder's dress,"
he said. "What is to be done?"

"What your uncle threatened to do," answered Mr.
Murthwaite. "Colonel Herncastle understood the people he
had to deal with. Send the Diamond to-morrow, under guard
of more than one man, to be cut up at Amsterdam. Make
half a dozen diamonds of it instead of one. There is an end
of its sacred identity as The Moonstone — and there is an end
of the conspiracy."

Mr. Franklin turned to me.

"There is no help for it," he said. "We must speak to
Lady Verinder to-morrow."

"What about to-night, sir?" I asked. "Suppose the Indians
come back?"

Mr. Murthwaite answered me before ]\Ir. Franklin could
speak.

"The Indians won't risk coming back to-night," he said.
"The direct way is hardly ever the way they take to any thing

84

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THE MOONSTONE

— let alone a matter like this, in which the slightest mistake
might be fatal to their reaching their end."

"But suppose the rogues are bolder than you think, sir?"
I persisted.

"In that case," says Mr. ]\Iurthwaite, "let the dogs loose.
Have you got any big dog in the yard ?"

"Two, sir. A mastiff and a blood-hound."

"They will do. In the present emergency, Mr. Betteredge,
the mastiff and the blood-hound have one great merit — they
are not likely to be troubled with your scruples about the
sanctity of human life."

The strumming of the piano reached us from the drawing-
room as he fired that shot at me. He threw away his cheroot,
and took Mr. Franklin's arm, to go back to the ladies. I
noticed that the sky was clouding over fast as I followed
them to the house. Mr. Murthwaite noticed it too. He
looked round at me in his dry, drolling way, and said :

"The Indians will want their umbrellas, Mr. Betteredge,
to-night !"

It was all very well for him to joke. But I was not an
eminent traveler; and my way in this world had not led me
into playing ducks and drakes with my own life among
thieves and murderers in the outlandish places of the earth.
I went into my own little room, and sat down in my chair
in a perspiration, and wondered helplessly what was to be
done next. In this anxious frame of mind other men might
have ended by working themselves up into a fever; / ended
in a different way. I lit my pipe, and took a turn at Robinson
Crusoe.

Before I had been at it five minutes I came to this amazing
bit — page one hundred and sixty-one — as follows :

"Fear of Danger is ten thousand times more terrifying
than Danger itself, when apparent to the Eyes ; and we find
the Burden of Anxiety greater, by much, than the Evil which
we are anxious about."

The man who doesn't believe in Robinson Crusoe after that
is a man with a screw loose in his understanding, or a man
lost in the mist of his own self-conceit ! Argument is thrown
away upon him ; and pity is better reserved for some person
with a livelier faith.

85

THE MOONSTONE

I was far on with my second pipe, and still lost in admira-
tion of that wonderful book, when Penelope (who had been
handing round the tea) came in with her report from the
drawing-room. She had left the Bouncers singing a duet —
words beginning with a large *'0," and music to correspond.
She had observed that my lady made mistakes in her game
of whist for the first time in our experience of her. She had
seen the great traveler asleep in a corner. She had over-
heard Mr. Franklin sharpening his wits on Mr. Godfrey, at
the expense of Ladies' Charities in general ; and she had
noticed that Mr. Godfrey hit him back again rather more
smartly than became a gentleman of his benevolent character.
She had detected Miss Rachel, apparently engaged in appeas-
ing Mrs. Threadgall by showing her some photographs, and
really occupied in stealing looks at Mr. Franklin, which no
intelligent lady's-maid could misinterpret for a single instant.
Finally, she had missed Mr. Candy, the doctor, who had
mysteriously disappeared from the drawing-room, and had
then mysteriously returned, and entered into conversation
with Mr. Godfrey. Upon the whole, things were prospering
better than the experience of the dinner gave us any right
to expect. If we could only hold on for another hour, old
Father Time would bring up their carriages, and relieve us
of them altogether.

Every thing wears off in this world ; and even the com-
forting effect of Robinson Crusoe wore off after Penelope
left me. I got fidgety again, and resolved on making a survey
of the grounds before the rain came. Instead of taking the
footman, whose nose was human, and therefore useless in any
emergency, I took the blood-hound with me. His nose for
a stranger was to be depended on. We went all round the
premises, and out into the road — and returned as wise as
we went, having discovered no such thing as a lurking human
creature anywhere. I chained up the dog again for the
present ; and, returning once more by way of the shrubbery,
met two of our gentlemen coming out toward me from the
drawing-room. The two were Mr. Candy and Mr. Godfrey,
still, as Penelope had reported them, in conversation together,
and laughing softly over some pleasant conceit of their own.
I thought it rather odd that those two should have run up

86

I

THE MOONSTONE

a friendship together — but passed on, of course, without
appearing to notice them.

The arrival of the carriages was the signal for the arrival
of the rain. It poured as if it meant to pour all night. With
the exception of the doctor, whose gig was waiting for him,
the rest of the company went home snugly under cover in
close carriages. I told Mr. Candy that I was afraid he would
get wet through. He told me, in return, that he wondered I
had arrived at my time of life without knowing that a doctor's
skin was water-proof. So he drove away in the rain, laugh-
ing over his own little joke ; and so we got rid of our dinner
company.

The next thing to tell is the story of the night.

CHAPTER XI.

WHEN the last of the guests had driven away I went
back into the inner hall, and found Samuel at the side-
table, presiding over the brandy and soda-water. My lady
and Miss Rachel came out of the drawing-room, followed
by the two gentlemen. Mr. Godfrey had some brandy and
soda-water. Mr. Franklin took nothing. He sat down, look-
ing dead tired ; the talking on this birthday occasion had, I
suppose, been too much for him.

My lady, turning round to wish them good-night, looked
hard at the wicked Colonel's legacy shining in her daughter's
dress.

"Rachel," she asked, "where are you going to put your
Diamond to-night?"

Miss Rachel was in high good spirits, just in that humor
for talking nonsense, and perversely persisting in it as if it
was sense, which you may sometimes have observed in young
girls when they are highly wrought up, at the end of an
exciting day. First, she declared she didn't know- where to
put the Diamond. Then she said, "On my dressing-table,
of course, along with the other things." Then she remem-
bered that the Diamond might take to shining of itself, with
its awful moony light, in the dark, and that would terrify her

87

THE MOONSTONE

in the dead of night. Then she bethought herself of an Indian
cabinet which stood in her sitting-room, and instantly made
up her mind to put the Indian diamond in the Indian cabinet
for the purpose of permitting two beautiful native produc-
tions to admire each other. Having let her little flow of non-
sense run on as far as that point, her mother interposed and
stopped her.

"My dear ! your Indian cabinet has no lock to it," says my
lady.

"Good heavens, mamma !" cries Miss Rachel, "is this a
hotel ? Are there thieves in the house ?"

Without taking notice of this fantastic way of talking, my
lady wished the gentlemen good-night. She next turned to
Miss Rachel, and kissed her. "Why not let nie keep the
Diamond for you to-night?" she asked.

Miss Rachel received that proposal as she might, ten years
since, have received a proposal to part her from a new doll.
My lady saw there was no reasoning with her that night.
"Come into my room, Rachel, the first thing to-morrow morn-
ing," she said. "I shall have something to say to you." With
those last words she left us slowly ; thinking her own thoughts,
and, to all appearance, not best pleased with the way by which
they were leading her.

Miss Rachel was the next to say good-night. She shook
hands first with Mr. Godfrey, who was standing at the other
end of the hall, looking at a picture. Then she turned back
to Mr. Franklin, still sitting weary and silent in a corner.

What words passed between them I can't say. But stand-
ing near the old oak frame which holds our large looking-
glass, I saw her, reflected in it, slyly slipping the locket which
Mr. Franklin had given to her out of the bosom of her dress,
and showing it to him for a moment, with a smile which
certainly meant something out of the common, before she
tripped off to bed. This incident staggered me a little in the
reliance I had previously felt on my own judgment. I began
to think that Penelope might be right about the state of her
young lady's- affections after all.

As soon as Miss Rachel left him eyes to see with, Mr.
Franklin noticed me. His variable humor, shifting about
every thing, had shifted about the Indians already.

THE MOONSTONE

"Betteredge," he said, "I am half inclined to think I took
Mr. Murthvvaite too seriously when we had that talk in the
shrubbery. I wonder whether he has been trying any of his
traveler's tales on us? Do you really mean to let the dogs
loose ?"

"I'll relieve them of their collars, sir," I answered, "and
leave them free to take a turn in the night, if they smell a
reason for it."

"All right," says Mr. Franklin. "We'll see what is to be
done to-morrow. I am not at all disposed to alarm my aunt,
Betteredge, without a very pressing reason for it. Good-
night."

He looked so worn and pale as he nodded to me, and took
his candle to go up stairs, that I ventured to advise his having
a drop of brandy-and-water, by way of night-cap. Mr. God-
frey, walking toward us from the other end of the hall,
backed me. He pressed Mr. Franklin, in the friendliest man-
ner, to take something before he went to bed.

I only note these trifling circumstances, because, after all
I had seen and heard that day, it pleased me to observe that
our two gentlemen were on just as good terms as ever. Their
warfare of words, heard by Penelope in the drawing-room,
and their rivalry for the best place in Miss Rachel's good
graces, seemed to have set no serious difference between them.
But there ! they were both good-tempered, and both men of
the world. And there is certainly this merit in people of
station, that they are not nearly so quarrelsome among each
other as people of no station at all.

Mr. Franklin declined the brandy-and-water, and went up
stairs with Mr. Godfrey, their rooms being next door to each
other. On the landing, however, either his cousin persuaded
him, or he veered about and changed his mind as usual.
"Perhaps I may want it in the night," he called down to me.
"Send up some brandy into my room."

I sent up Samuel with the brandy-and-water; and then
went out and unbuckled the dogs' collars. They both lost
their heads with astonishment on being set loose at that time
of night, and jumped upon me like a couple of puppies!
However, the rain soon cooled them down again : they lapped
a drop of water each, and crept back into their kennels. As

THE MOONSTONE

I went into the house I noticed signs in the sky which
betokened a break in the weather for the better. For the
present, it still poured heavily, and the ground was in a per-
fect sop.

Samuel and I went all over the house, and shut up as usual.
I examined every thing myself, and trusted nothing to my
deputy on this occasion. All was safe and fast when I
rested my old bones in bed, between midnight and one in the
morning.

The worries of the day had been a little too much for me,
I suppose. At any rate, I had a touch of Mr. Franklin's
malady that night. It was sunrise before I fell off at last
into a sleep. All the time I lay awake the house was as
quiet as the grave. Not a sound stirred but the splash of
the rain, and the sighing of the wind among the trees as a
breeze sprang up with the morning.

About half-past seven I woke, and opened my window on a
fine sunshiny day. The clock had struck eight, and I
was just going out to chain vip the dogs again, when I
heard a sudden whisking of petticoats on the stairs be-
hind me.

I turned about, and there was Penelope flying down after
me like mad. "Father !" she screamed, "come up stairs, for
God's sake ! The Diamond is gone!"

"Are you out of your mind?" I asked her.

"Gone!" says Penelope. "Gone, nobody knows how!
Come up and see."

She dragged me after her into her young lady's sitting-
room, which opened into her bedroom. There, on the thresh-
old of her bedroom door, stood Miss Rachel, almost as white
in the face as the white dressing-gown that clothed her.
There also stood the two doors of the Indian cabinet, wide
open. One of the drawers inside was pulled out as far as it
would go.

"Look !" says Penelope. "I myself saw Miss Rachel put
the Diamond into that drawer last night."

I went to the cabinet. The drawer was empty.

"Is this true, miss?" I asked.

With a look that was not like herself, with a voice that

9^

THE MOONSTONE

was not like her own, Miss Rachel answered, as my daughter
had answered :

"The Diamond is gone."

Having said those words, she withdrew into her bedroom,
and shut and locked the door.

Before we knew which way to turn next my lady came
in, hearing my voice in her daughter's sitting-room, and won-
dering what had happened. The news of the loss of the
Diamond seemed to petrify her. She went straight to Miss
Rachel's bedroom and insisted on being admitted. Miss
Rachel let her in.

The alarm, running through the house like fire, caught the
two gentlemen next.

Mr. Godfrey was the first to come out of his room. All
he did when he heard what had happened was to hold up
his hands in a state of bewilderment, which didn't say much
for his natural strength of mind. Mr. Franklin, whose clear
head I had confidently counted on to advise us, seemed to
be as helpless as his cousin when he heard the news in hi&
turn. For a wonder, he had had a good night's rest at last ;
and the unaccustomed luxury of sleep had, as he said him-
self, apparently stupefied him. However, when he had swal-
lowed his cup of coffee — which he always took, on the foreign
plan, some hours before he ate any breakfast — his brains
brightened ; the clear-headed side of him turned up, and he
took the matter in hand, resolutely and cleverly, much as
follows :

He first sent for the servants, and told them to leave all
the lower doors and windows, with the exception of the
front door, which I had opened, exactly as they had been
left when we locked up overnight. He next proposed to his
cousin and me to make quite sure, before we took any further
steps, that the Diamond had not accidentally dropped some-
where out of sight — say at the back of the cabinet, or down
behind the table on which the cabinet stood. Having searched
in both places, and found nothing — having also questioned
Penelope, and discovered from her no more than the little
she had already told me — Mr. Franklin suggested next ex-
tending our inquiries to Miss Rachel, and sent Penelope to
knock at her bedroom door.

91

THE MOONSTONE

My lady answered the knock and closed the door behind
her. The moment after we heard it locked inside by Miss
Rachel. My mistress came out among us, looking sorely
puzzled and distressed. "The loss of the Diamond seems to
have quite overwhelmed Rachel," she said, in reply to Mr.
Franklin. "She shrinks, in the strangest manner, from speak-
ing of it, even to me. It is impossible you can see her for
the present."

Having added to our perplexities by this account of Miss
Rachel, my lady, after a little effort, recovered her usual
composure, and acted with her usual decision.

"1 suppose there is no help for it?" she said, quietly. "I
suppose I have no alternative but to send for the police?"

"And the first thing for the police to do," added Mr.
Franklin, catching her up, "is to lay hands on the Indian
jugglers who performed here last night."

My lady and Mr. Godfrey (not knowing what Mr. Frank-
lin and I knew) both started, and both looked surprised.
■ "I can't stop to explain myself now," Mr. Franklin went
on. "I can only tell you that the Indians have certainly
stolen the Diamond. Give me a letter of introduction," says
he, addressing my lady, "to one of the magistrates at Frizing-
hall — merely telling him that I represent your interests and
wishes, and let me ride off with it instantly. Our chance of
catching the thieves may depend on our not wasting one un-
necessary minute." (Nota bene: Whether it was the French
side or the English, the right side of Mr. Franklin seemed
to be uppermost now. The only question was, How long
would it last?)

He put pen, ink, and paper before his aunt, who, as it
appeared to me, wrote the letter he wanted a little unwill-
ingly. If it had been possible to overlook such an event as
the loss of a jewel worth twenty thousand pounds, I believe —
with my lady's opinion of her late brother, and her distrust
of his birthday-gift — it would have been privately a relief
to her to let the thieves get ofif with the Moonstone scot-free.

I went out with Mr. Franklin to the stables, and took the
opportunity of asking him how the Indians, whom I sus-
pected, of course, as shrewdly as he did, could possibly have
got into the house.

92

THE MOONSTONE

"One of them might have sHpped into the hall, in the con-
fusion, when the dinner-company were going away," says
Mr. Franklin. "The fellow may have been under the sofa
while my aunt and Rachel were talking about where the Dia-
mond was to be put for the night. He would only have to
wait till the house was quiet, and there it would be in the
cabinet, to be had for the taking." With those words he
called to the groom to open the gate, and galloped off.

This seemed certainly to be the only rational explanation.
But how had the thief contrived to make his escape from
the house? I had found the front door locked and bolted,
as I had left it at night, when I went to open it, after getting
up. As for the other doors and windows, there they were
still, all safe and fast, to speak for themselves. The dogs,
too? Suppose the thief had got away by dropping from one
of the upper windows, how had he escaped the dogs? Had
he come provided for them with drugged meat? As the
doubt crossed my mind, the dogs themselves came galloping
at me round a corner, rolling each other over on the wet
grass, in such lively health ind spirits that it was with no
small difficulty I brought them to reason, and chained them
up again. The more I turned it over in my mind, the less
satisfactory Mr. Franklin's explanation appeared to be.

We had our breakfast — whatever happens in a house, rob-
bery or murder, it doesn't matter, you must have your break-
fast. When we had done, my lady sent for me ; and I found
myself compelled to tell her all that I had hitherto concealed,
relating to the Indians and their plot. Being a woman of
high courage, she soon got over the first startling effect of
what I had to communicate. Her mind seemed to be far
more perturbed about her daughter than about the heathen
rogues and their conspiracy. "You know how odd Rachel
is, and how differently she behaves sometimes from other
girls," my lady said to me. "But I have never, in all my
experience, seen her so strange and so reserved as she is now.
The loss of her jewel seems almost to have turned her brain.
Who would have thought that horrible Diamond could have
laid such a hold on her in so short a time?"

It was certainly strange. Taking toys and trinkets in
general, Miss Rachel was nothing like so mad after them as

93

THE MOONSTONE

most young girls. Yet there she was, still locked up incon-
solably in her bedroom. It is but fair to add that she was
not the only one of us in the house who was thrown out of
the regular groove. Mr. Godfrey, for instance — though pro-
fessionally a sort of consoler-general — seemed to be at a loss
where to look for his own resources. Having no company to
amuse him, and getting no chance of trying what his ex-
perience of women in distress could do toward comforting
Miss Rachel, he wandered hither and thither about the house
and garden in an aimless, uneasy way. He was in two dif-
ferent minds about what it became him to do, after the
misfortune that had happened to us. Ought he to relieve the
family, in their present situation, of the responsibility of him
as a guest? or ought he to stay on the chance that even his
humble services might be of some use? He decided ulti-
mately that the last course was perhaps the most customary
and considerate course to take, in such a very peculiar case
of family distress as this was. Circumstances try the metal
a man is really made of. Mr. Godfrey, tried by circum-
stances, showed himself of weaker metal than I had thought
i*im to be. As for the women servants — excepting Rosanna
y/Spearman, who kept by herself — they took to whispering
I together in corners and staring at nothing suspiciously, as is
I the manner of that weaker half of the human family, when
Vany thing extraordinary happens^TTf^aTTouse! T*Tn5'Self ac-
Nvuowledged to having been fidgety and ill-tempered. The
cursed Moonstone had turned us all upside down.

A little before eleven Mr. Franklin came back. The reso-
lute side of him had, to all appearance, given way, in the
interval since his departure, under the stress that had been
laid on it. He had left us at a gallop ; he came back to
us at a walk. When he went away he was made of iron.
When he returned he was stuffed with cotton, as limp as limp
could be.

"Well !" says my lady, "are the police coming?"

"Yes," says Mr. Franklin ; "they said they w^ould follow
me in a fly. Superintendent Seegrave, of your local police
force, and two of his men. A mere form ! The case is hope-
less."

"What! have the Indians escaped, sir?" I asked.

94

THE MOONSTONE

"The poor ill-used Indians have been most unjustly put in
prison," says Mr. Franklin. "They are as innocent as the
babe unborn. My idea that one of them was hidden in the
house has ended, like all the rest of my ideas, in smoke. It's
been proved," says Mr. Franklin, dwelling with great relish
on his own incapacity, "to be simply impossible."

After astonishing us by announcing this totally new turn
in the matter of the Moonstone, our young gentleman, at his
aunt's request, took a seat, and explained himself.

It appeared that the resolute side of him had held out as
far as Frizinghall. He had put the whole case plainly before
the magistrate, and the magistrate had at once sent for the
police. The first inquiries instituted about the Indians showed
that they had not so much as attempted to leave the town.
Further questions addressed to the police proved that all three
had been seen returning to Frizinghall with their boy, on
the previous night betvv'een ten and eleven — which, regard
being had to hours and distances, also proved that they had
walked straight back after performing on our terrace. Later
still, at midnight, the police having occasion to search the
common lodging-house where they lived, had seen them all
three again, and their little boy with them as usual. Soon
after midnight I myself had safely shut up the house. Plainer
evidence than this, in favor of the Indians, there could not
well be. The magistrate said there was not even a case of
suspicion against them, so far. But, as it was just possible,
when the police came to investigate the matter, that discov-
eries afifecting the jugglers might be made, he would con-
trive, by committing them as rogues and vagabonds, to keep
them at our disposal, under lock and key, for a week. They
had ignorantly done something, I forgot what, in the town
which barely brought them within the operation of the law.
Every human institution, Justice included, will stretch a little,
if you only pull it the right way. The worthy magistrate
was an old friend of my lady's — and the Indian lot were
"committed" for a week, as soon as the court opened that
morning.

Such was Mr. Franklin's narrative of events at Frizing-
hall. The Indian clue to the mystery of the lost jewel was
now, to all appearance, a clue that had broken in our hands.

95

THE MOONSTONE

If the jugglers were innocent, who, in the name of wonder,
had taken the Moonstone out of Miss Rachel's drawer?

Ten minutes later, to our infinite relief, Superintendent
Seegrave arrived at the house. He reported passing Mr.
Franklin on the terrace, sitting in the sun, I suppose with the
Italian side of him uppermost ; and warning the police, as
they went by, that the investigation was hopeless, before the
investigation had begun.

For a family in our situation, the Superintendent of the
Frizinghall police was the most comforting officer you could
wish to see. Mr. Seegrave was tall and portly and military
in his manners. He had a fine commanding voice and a
mighty resolute eye and a grand frock-coat which buttoned
beautifully up to his leather stock. "Fm the man you want!"
was written all over his face ; and he ordered his two inferior
policemen about with a severity which convinced us all that
there was no trifling with him.

He began by going round the premises, outside and in ;
the result of that investigation proving to him that no thieves
had broken in upon us from outside, and that the robbery,
consequently, must have been committed by some person in
the house. I leave you to imagine the state the servants were
in when this official announcement first reached their ears.
The Superintendent decided to begin by examining the bou-
doir; and, that done, to examine the servants next. At the
same time he posted one of his men on the staircase which
led to the servants' bedrooms, with instructions to let nobody
in the house pass him till further orders.

At this latter proceeding the weaker half of the human
family went distracted on the spot. They bounced out of
their corners ; whisked up stairs in a body to Miss Rachel's
room, Rosanna Spearman being carried away among them
this time ; burst in on Superintendent Seegrave ; and all look-
ing equally guilty, summoned him to say which of them he
svispected, at once,

Mr. Superintendent proved equal to the occasion — he
looked at them with his resolute eye and he cowed them with
his military voice. "Now, then, you women, go down stairs
again, every one of you. I won't have you here. Look !"
says Mr. Superintendent, suddenly pointing to a little smear

96

THE MOONSTONE

of the decorative painting on Miss Rachel's door — at the
outer edge, just under the lock. "Look what mischief the
petticoats of some of you have done already. Clear out ! clear
out !" Rosanna Spearman, who was nearest to him, and
nearest to the little smear on the door, set the example of
obedience, and slipped off instantly to her work. The rest
followed her out. The Superintendent finished his examina-
tion of the room ; and, making nothing of it, asked me who
had first discovered the robbery. My daughter had first dis-
covered it. My daughter was sent for.

Mr. Superintendent proved to be a little too sharp with
Penelope at starting. "Now, young woman, attend to me —
and mind you speak the truth." Penelope fired up instantly,
"Fve never been taught to tell lies, Mr. Policeman ! — and if
father can stand there and hear me accused of falsehood and
thieving, and my own bedroom shut against me, and my
character taken away, which is all a poor girl has left, he's
not the good father I take him for !" A timely word from
me put Justice and Penelope on a pleasanter footing together.
The questions and answers went swimmingly, and ended in
nothing worth mentioning. My daughter had seen Miss
Rachel put the Diamond in the drawer of the cabinet, the last
thing at night. She had gone in with Miss Rachel's cup of
tea, at eight the next morning, and had found the drawer
open and empty. Upon that she had alarmed the house —
and there was an end of Penelope's evidence.

Mr. Superintendent next asked to see Miss Rachel herself.
Penelope mentioned his request through the door. The
answer reached us by the same road, "I have nothing to tell
the policemen — I can't see any body." Our experienced offi-
cer looked equally surprised and offended when he heard
that reply. I told him my young lady was ill, and begged him
to wait a little and see her later. We thereupon went down
stairs again ; and were met by Mr. Godfrey and Mr. Franklin
crossing the hall.

The two gentlemen, being inmates of the house, were sum-
moned to say if they could throw any light on the matter.
Neither of them knew any thing about it. Had they heard
any suspicious noises during the previous night? They had
heard nothing but the pattering of the rain. Had I, lying
7 97

THE MOONSTONE

awake longer than either of them, heard nothing either?
Nothing ! Released from examination, Mr. Franklin, still
sticking to the helpless view of our difficulty, whispered to
me : "That man will be of no earthly use to us. Superin-
tendent Seegrave is an ass." Released in his turn, Mr. God-
frey whispered to me, "Evidently a most competent person.
Betteredge, I have the greatest faith in him !" Many men,
many opinions, as one of the ancients said, before my time,

Mr, Superintendent's next proceeding took him back to
the "boudoir" again, with my daughter and me at his heels.
His object was to discover whether any of the furniture had
been moved during the night out of its customary place —
his previous investigation in the room having, apparently,
not gone quite far enough to satisfy his mind on this point.

While we were still poking about among the chairs and
tables the door of the bedroom was suddenly opened. After
having denied herself to every body, Miss Rachel, to our
astonishment, walked into the midst of us of her own accord.
She took up her garden hat from a chair and then went
straight to Penelope with this question :

"Mr. Franklin Blake sent you with a message to me this
morning?"

"Yes, miss."

"He wished to speak to me, didn't he?"

"Yes, miss."

"Where is he now?"

Hearing voices on the terrace below, I looked out of win-
dow, and saw the two gentlemen walking up and down
together. Answering for my daughter, I said, "Mr. Franklin
is on the terrace, miss."

Without another word, without heeding Mr. Superinten-
dent, who tried to speak to her, pale as death, and wrapped
up strangely in her own thoughts, she left the room, and went
down to her cousins on the terrace.

It showed a want of due respect, it showed a breach of
good manners, on my part ; but, for the life of me, I couldn't
help looking out of window when Miss Rachel met the gentle-
men outside. She went up to Mr. Franklin without appear-
ing to notice Mr. Godfrey, who thereupon drew back and
left them by themselves. What she said to Mr. Franklin

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appeared to be spoken vehemently. It lasted but for a short
time; and, judging by what I saw of his face from the win-
dow, seemed to astonish him beyond all power of expression.
While they were still together my lady appeared on the ter-
race. Miss Rachel saw her — said a few last words to Mr,
Franklin — and suddenly went back into the house again,
before her mother came up with her. My lady, surprised
herself, and noticing Mr. Franklin's surprise, spoke to him.
Mr. Godfrey joined them, and spoke also. Mr. Franklin
walked away a little, between the two, telling them what had
happened, I suppose ; for they both stopped short, after taking
a few steps, like persons struck with amazement. I had just
seen as much as this when the door of the sitting-room was
opened violently. Miss Rachel walked swiftly through to
her bedroom, wild and angry, with fierce eyes and flaming
cheeks. Mr. Superintendent once more attempted to ques-
tion her. She turned round on him at her bedroom door,
"I have not sent for you !" she cried out, vehemently, "I don't
want you. My Diamond is lost. Neither you nor any body
will ever find it!" With those words she went in and
locked the door in our faces. Penelope, standing near-
est to it, heard her burst out crying the moment she was
alone again.

In a rage one moment, in tears the next ! What did it
mean?

I told the Superintendent it meant that Miss Rachel's
temper was upset by the loss of her jewel. Being anxious
for the honor of the family, it distressed me to see my young
lady forget herself — even with a police ofiicer — and I made
the best excuse I could, accordingly. In my own private
mind I was more puzzled by Miss Rachel's extraordinary
language and conduct than words can tell. Taking what
she had said at her bedroom door as a guide to guess by, I
could only conclude that she was mortally offended by our
sending for the police and that Mr. Franklin's astonishment
on the terrace was caused by her having expressed herself
to him, as the person chiefly instrumental in fetching the
police, to that effect. If this guess was right, why — having
lost her Diamond — should she object to the presence in the
house of the very people whose business it was to recover

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THE MOONSTONE

it for her? And how, in Heaven's name, could she know
that the Moonstone would never be found again ?

As things stood at present no answer to those questions
was to be hoped for from any body in the house. Mr. Frank-
lin appeared to think it a point of honor to forbear repeating
to a servant — even to so old a servant as I was — what Miss
Rachel had said to him on the terrace. Mr. Godfrey, who,
as a gentleman and a relative, had been probably admitted
into Mr. Franklin's confidence, respected that confidence as
he was bound to do. My lady, who was also in the secret,
no doubt, and who alone had access to Miss Rachel, owned
openly that she could make nothing of her. "You madden
me when you talk of the Diamond !" All her mother's influ-
ence failed to extract from her a word more than that.

Here we were, then, at a dead-lock about Miss Rachel —
and at a dead-lock about the Moonstone. In the first case,
my lady was powerless to help us. In the second, as you
shall presently judge, Mr. Seegrave was fast approaching the
condition of a superintendent at his wit's end.

Having ferreted about all over the "boudoir," without
making any discoveries among the furniture, our experienced
officer applied to me to know whether the servants in general
were or were not acquainted with the place in which the Dia-
mond had been put for the night.

"I knew where it was put, sir," I said, "to begin with,
Samuel, the footman, knew also — for he was present in the
hall when they were talking about where the Diamond was
to be kept that night. My daughter knew, as she has already
told you. She or Samuel may have mentioned the thing to
the other servants — or the other servants may have heard the
talk for themselves, through the side-door of the hall, which
might have been open to the back staircase. For all I can
tell, every body in the house may have known where the jewel
was last night."

My answer presenting rather a wide field for Mr. Superin-
tendent's suspicions to range over, he tried to narrow it by
asking about the servants' characters next.

I thought directly of Rosanna Spearman. But it was
neither my place nor my wish to direct suspicion against a
poor girl whose honesty had been above all doubt as long as

THE MOONSTONE

I had known her. The matron at the Reformatory had re-
ported her to my lady as a sincerely penitent and thoroughly
trustworthy girl. It was the Superintendent's business to
discover reason for suspecting her first — and then, and not
till then, it would be my duty to tell him how she came into
my lady's service. "All our people have excellent characters,"
I said. "And all have deserved the trust their mistress has
placed in them." After that there was but one thing left for
Mr. Seegrave to do — namely, to set to work and tackle the
servants' characters himself.

One after another they were examined. One after another
they proved to have nothing to say — and said it, so far as
the women were concerned, at great length, and with a very
angry sense of the embargo laid on their bedrooms. The
rest of them being sent back to their places down stairs,
Penelope was then summoned and examined separately a
second time.

My daughter's little outbreak of temper in the "boudoir,"
and her readiness to think herself suspected, appeared to
have produced an unfavorable impression on Superintendent
Seegrave. It seemed also to dwell a little on his mind that
she had been the last person who saw the Diamond at night.
When the second questioning was over my girl came back
to me in a frenzy. There was no doubt of it any longer —
the police officer had almost as good as told her she was the
thief ! I could scarcely believe him, taking Mr. Franklin's
view, to be quite such an ass as that. But, though he said
nothing, the eye with which he looked at my daughter was
not a pleasant eye to see. I laughed it off with poor Penelope,
as something too ridiculous to be treated seriously — which
it certainly was. Secretly, I am afraid I was foolish enough
to be angry too. It was a little trying — it was indeed. My
girl sat down in a corner with her apron over her head, quite
broken-hearted. Foolish of her, you will say : she might have
waited till he openly accused her. Well, being a man of just
and equal temper, I admit that. Still Mr. Superintendent
might have remembered — never mind what he might have
remembered. The devil take him !

The next and last step in the investigation brought mat-
ters, as they say, to a crisis. The officer had an interview,

THE MOONSTONE

at which I was present, with my lady. After informing her
that the Diamond must have been taken by somebody in the
house, he requested permission for himself and his men
to search the servants' rooms and boxes on the spot. My
good mistress, like the generous, high-bred woman she was,
refused to let us be treated like thieves. "I will never
consent to make such a return as that," she said, "for
all I owe to the faithful servants who are employed in my
house."

Mr. Superintendent made his bow, with a look in my direc-
tion, which said plainly, "Why employ me if you are to tie
my hands in this way?" As head of the servants, I felt
directly that we were bound, in justice to all parties, not to
profit by our mistress's generosity. "We gratefully thank
your ladyship," I said ; "but we ask permission to do what
is right in this matter by giving up our keys. When Gabriel
Betteredge sets the example," says I, stopping Superin-
tendent Seegrave at the door, "the rest of the servants will
follow, I promise you. There are my keys, to begin with !"
My lady took me by the hand, and thanked me with the
tears in her eyes. Lord ! what would I not have given, at
that moment, for the privilege of knocking Superintendent
Seegrave down !

As I had promised for them, the other servants followed
my lead, sorely against the grain, of course, but all taking
the view that I took. The women were a sight to see, while
the police officers were rummaging among their things. The
cook looked as if she could grill Mr. Superintendent alive on
a furnace, and the other women looked as if they could eat
him when he was done.

The search over, and no Diamond or sign of a Diamond
being found, of course, anywhere. Superintendent Seegrave
retired to my little room to consider with himself what he
was to do next. He and his men had now been hours in the
house, and had not advanced us one inch toward a discovery
of how the Moonstone had been taken, or of whom we were
to suspect as the thief.

While the police officer was still pondering in solitude, I
was sent for to see Mr. Franklin in the library. To my un-
utterable astonishment, just as my hand was on the door it

THE MOONSTONE

was suddenly opened from the inside, and out walked Ro-
sanna Spearman !

After the library had been swept and cleaned in the morn-
ing, neither first nor second house-maid had any business in
that room at any later period of the day. I stopped Rosanna
Spearman, and charged her with a breach of domestic dis-
cipline on the spot.

"What might you want in the library at this time of day?"
I inquired.

"Mr. Franklin Blake dropped one of his rings up stairs,"
says Rosanna ; "and I have been into the library to give it
to him." The girl's face was all in a flush as she made me
that answer ; and she walked away with a toss of her head
and a look of self-importance which I was quite at a loss to
account for. The proceedings in the house had doubtless
upset all the women-servants more or less; but none of them
had gone clean out of their natural characters, as Rosanna,
to all appearance, had now gone out of hers.

I found Mr. Franklin writing at the library-table. He
asked for a conveyance to the railway station the moment I
entered the room. The first sound of his voice informed me
that we now had the resolute side of him uppermost once
more. The man made of cotton had disappeared ; and the
man made of iron sat before me again.

"Going to London, sir?" I asked.

"Going to telegraph to London," says Mr. Franklin. "I
have convinced my aunt that we must have a cleverer head
than Superintendent Seegrave's to help us ; and I have got
her permission to dispatch a telegram to my father. He
knows the Chief Commissioner of Police, and the Commis-
sioner can lay his hand on the right man to solve the mys-
tery of the Diamond. Talking of mysteries, by-the-bye," says
Mr. Franklin, dropping his voice, "I have another word to
say to you before you go to the stables. Don't breathe a
word of it to any body as yet ; but either Rosanna Spear-
man's head is not quite right, or I am afraid she knows more
about the Moonstone than she ought to know."

I can hardly tell whether I was more startled or distressed
at hearing him say that. If I had been younger, I might
have confessed as much to Mr. Franklin. But when you

103

THE MOONSTONE

are old, you acquire one excellent habit. In cases where
you don't see your way clearly, you hold your tongue.

"She came in here with a ring I dropped in my bedroom,"
Mr. Franklin went on. "When I had thanked her, of course
I expected her to go. Instead of that she stood opposite to
me at the table, looking at me in the oddest manner — half
frightened, and half familiar — I couldn't make it out. 'This
is a strange thing about the Diamond, sir,' she said, in a
curiously sudden, headlong way. I said, Yes it was, and
wondered what was coming next. Upon my honor. Better-
edge, I think she must be wrong in the head ! She said, 'They
will never find the Diamond, sir, will they ? No ! nor the
person who took it — I'll answer for that.' She actually nod-
ded and smiled at me ! Before I could ask her what she
meant we heard your step outside. I suppose she was afraid
of your catching her here. At any rate, she changed color
and left the room. What on earth does it mean?"

I could not bring myself to tell him the girl's story even
then. It would have been almost as good as telling him that
she was the thief. Besides, even if I had made a clean breast
of it, and even supposing she was the thief, the reason why
she should let out her secret to Mr. Franklin, of all the
people in the world, would have been still as far to seek as
ever.

"I can't bear the idea of getting the poor girl into a
scrape, merely because she has a flighty way with her, and
talks very strangely," Mr. Fianklin went on. "And yet, if
she had said to the Superintendent what she said to me, fool
as he is, I'm afraid — " He stopped there, and left the rest
unspoken.

"The best way, sir," I said, "will be for me to say two
words privately to my mistress about it at the first oppor-
tunity. My lady has a very friendly interest in Rosanna ;
and the girl may only have been forward and foolish, after
all. When there's a mess of any kind in a house, sir, the
women-servants like to look at the gloomy side — it gives the
poor wretches a kind of importance in their own eyes. If
there's any body ill, trust the women for prophesying that
the person will die. If it's a jewel lost, trust them for
prophesying that it will never be found again,"

104

THE MOONSTONE

This view, which I am bound to say I thought a probable
view myself on reflection, seemed to relieve Mr. Franklin
mightily ; he folded up his telegram and dismissed the sub-
ject. On my way to the stables to order the pony-chaise I
looked in at the servants' hall where they were at dinner.
Rosanna Spearman was not among them. On inquiry I found
that she had been suddenly taken ill, and had gone up stairs
to her own room to lie down.

"Curious ! She looked well enough when I saw her last,"
I remarked.

Penelope followed me out. "Don't talk in that way before
the rest of them, father," she said. "You only make them
harder on Rosanna than ever. The poor thing is breaking
her heart about Mr. Franklin Blake."

Here was another view of the girl's conduct. If it was
possible for Penelope to be right, the explanation of Ro-
sanna's strange language and behavior might have been all
in this — that she didn't care what she said so long as she
could surprise Mr. Franklin into speaking to her. Granting
that to be the right reading of the riddle, it accounted, per-
haps, for her flighty self-conceited manner when she passed
me in the hall. Though he had only said three words still
she had carried her point, and Mr. Franklin had spoken to
her.

I saw the pony harnessed myself. In the infernal net-
work of mysteries and uncertainties that now surrounded us,
I declare it was a relief to observe how well the buckles and
straps understood each other ! When you had seen the pony
backed into the shafts of the chaise you had seen something
there was no doubt about. And that, let me tell you, was
becoming a treat of the rarest kind in our household.

Going round with the chaise to the front door, I found
not only Mr. Franklin, but Mr. Godfrey and Superintendent
Seegrave also, waiting for me on the steps.

Mr. Superintendent's reflections, after failing to find the
Diamond in the servants' rooms or boxes, had led him, it
appeared, to an entirely new conclusion. Still sticking to
his first text, namely, that somebody in the house had stolen
the jewel, our experienced officer was now of opinion that
the thief, he was wise enough not to name poor Penelope,

i°5

THE MOONSTONE

whatever he might privately think of her, had been acting
in concert with the Indians; and he accordingly proposed
shifting his inquiries to the jugglers in the prison at Frizing-
hall. Hearing of this new move, Mr. Franklin had volun-
teered to take the Superintendent back to the town, from
which he could telegraph to London as easily as from our
station. Mr. Godfrey, still devoutly believing in Mr. See-
grave, and greatly interested in witnessing the examination
of the Indians, had begged leave to accompany the officer to
Frizinghall. One of the two inferior policemen was to be
left at the house in case any thing happened. The other was
to go back with the Superintendent to the town. So the four
places in the pony-chaise were just filled.

Before he took the reins to drive off, Mr. Franklin walked
me away a few steps out of hearing of the others.

"I will wait to telegraph to London," he said, "till I see
what comes of our examination of the Indians. My own
conviction is, that this muddle-headed local police officer is
as much in the dark as ever, and is simply trying to gain
time. The idea of any of the servants being in league with
the Indians is a preposterous absurdity, in my opinion. Keep
about the house, Betteredge, till I come back, and try what
you can make of Rosanna Spearman. I don't ask you to do
any thing degrading to your own self-respect, or any thing
cruel toward the girl. I only ask you to exercise your obser-
vation more carefully than usual. We will make as light of
it as we can before my aunt ; but this is a more important
matter than you may suppose."

"It's a matter of twenty thousand pounds, sir," I said,
thinking of the value of the Diamond.

"It's a matter of quieting Rachel's mind," answered Mr.
Franklin, gravely. "I am very uneasy about her."

He left me suddenly, as if he desired to cut short any
further talk between us. I thought I understood why. Fur-
ther talk might have let me into the secret of what Miss
Rachel had said to him on the terrace.

So they drove away to Frizinghall. I was ready enough,
in the girl's own interest, to have a little talk with Rosanna
in private. But the needful opportunity failed to present
itself. She only came down stairs again at tea-time. When

jo6

THE MOONSTONE

she did appear she was flighty and excited, had what they
call an hysterical attack, took a dose of sal volatile by my
lady's order, and was sent back to her bed.

The day wore on to its end drearily and miserably enough,
I can tell you. Miss Rachel still kept her room, declaring
that she was too ill to come down to dinner that day. My
lady was in such low spirits about her daughter that I could
not bring myself to make her additionally anxious by report-
ing what Rosanna Spearman had said to Mr. Franklin.
Penelope persisted in believing that she was to be forthwith
tried, sentenced, and transported for theft. The other women
took to their Bibles and hymn-books and looked as sour as
verjuice over their reading — a result which I have observed,
in my sphere of life, to follow generally on the performance
of acts of piety at unaccustomed periods of the day. As for
me, I hadn't even heart enough to open my Robinson Crusoe.
I went out into the yard, and being hard up for a little cheer-
ful society, set my chair by the kennels and talked to the dogs.

Half an hour before dinner-time the two gentlemen came
back from Frizinghall, having arranged with Superintendent
Seegrave that he was to return to us the next day. They
had called on Mr. Murthwaite, the Indian traveler, at his
present residence, near the town. At Mr. Franklin's request
he had kindly given them the benefit of his knowledge of
the language, in dealing with those two, out of the three
Indians, who knew nothing of English. The examination,
conducted carefully, and at great length, had ended in noth-
ing ; not the shadow of a reason being discovered for suspect-
ing the jugglers of having tampered with any of our servants.
On reaching that conclusion Mr. Franklin had sent his tele-
graphic message to London, and there the matter now rested
till to-morrow came.

So much for the history of the day that followed the birth-
day. Not a glimmer of light had broken in on us so far. A
day or two after, however, the darkness lifted a little. How,
and with what result, you shall presently see.

107

' THE MOONSTONE

CHAPTER XH.

THE Thursday night passed, and nothing happened.
With the Fjiday morning came two pieces of news.

Item the first : The baker's man declared he had met
Rosanna Spearman, on the previous afternoon, with a thick
veil on, walking toward Frizinghall by the foot-path way
over the moor. It seemed strange that any body should be
mistaken about Rosanna, whose shoulder marked her out
pretty plainly, poor thing — but mistaken the man must have
been ; for Rosanna, as you know, had been all the Thursday
afternoon ill up stairs in her room.

Item the second came through the postman. Worthy Mr.
Candy had said one more of his many unlucky things, when
he drove off in the rain on the birthday night, and told me
that a doctor's skin was water-proof. In spite of his skin
the wet had got through him. He had caught a chill that
night and was now down with a fever. The last accounts,
brought by the postman, represented him to be light-headed —
talking nonse^ise as glibly, poor man, in his delirium as he
often talked it in his sober sense. We were all sorry for the
little doctor; but Mr. Franklin appeared to regret his ill-
ness chiefly on Miss Rachel's account. From what he
said to my lady while I was in the room at breakfast-
time, he appeared to think that Miss Rachel — if the sus-
pense about the Moonstone was not soon set at rest —
might stand in urgent need of the best medical advice at our
disposal.

Breakfast had not been over long when a telegram from
Mr. Blake, the elder, arrived in answer to his son. It in-
formed us that he had laid hands, by help of his friend the
Commissioner, on the right man to help us. The name of
him was Sergeant Cuff, and the arrival of him from London
might be expected by the morning train.

At reading the name of the new police officer Mr. Franklin
gave a start. It seems that he had heard some curious anec-
dotes about Sergeant Cuff from his father's lawyer during
his stay in London. "I begin to hope we are seeing the end
of our anxieties already," he said. "If half the stories I have

1 08

THE MOONSTONE

heard are true, when it comes to unraveling a mystery there
isn't the equal in England of Sergeant Cuff!"

We all got excited and impatient as the time drew near
for the appearance of this renowned and capable character.
Superintendent Seegrave returning to us ,at his appointed
time, and hearing that the Sergeant was expected, instantly
shut himself up in a room, with pen, ink, and paper, to make
notes of the report which would be certainly expected from
him. I should have liked to have gone to the station myself
to fetch the Sergeant. But my lady's carriage and horses
were not to be thought of, even for the celebrated Cuff; and
the pony-chaise was required later for Mr. Godfrey. He
deeply regretted being obliged to leave his aunt at such an
anxious time ; and he kindly put off the hour of his departure
till as late as the last train, for the purpose of hearing what
tjie clever London police officer thought of the case. But on
Friday night he must be in town, having a Ladies' Charity,
in difficulties, waiting to consult him on Saturday morning.

When the time came for the Sergeant's arrival I went
down to the gate to look out for him.

A fly from the railway drove up as I reached the lodge;
and out got a grizzled, elderly man, so miserably lean that
he looked as if he had not got an ounce of flesh on his bones
in any part of him. He was dressed all in decent black, with
a white cravat round his neck. His face was as sharp as a
hatchet, and the skin of it was as yellow and dry and withered
as an autumn leaf. His eyes, of a steely, light gray, had a
very disconcerting trick, when they encountered your eyes,
of looking as if they expected something more from you than
you were aware of yourself. His walk was soft ; his voice
was melancholy ; his long lanky fingers were hooked like
claws. He might have been a parson, or an undertaker, or
any thing else you like, except what he really was. A more
complete opposite to Superintendent Seegrave than Sergeant
Cuff, and a less comforting officer to look at for a family in
distress, I defy you to discover, search where you may.

"Is this Ladv Verinder's ?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"I am Sergeant Cuff."

"This way, sir, if you please."

109

THE MOONSTONE

On our road to the house I mentioned my name and posi-
tion in the family, to satisfy him that he might speak to me
about the business on which my lady was to employ him.
Not a word did he say about the business, however, for all
that. He admired the grounds, and remarked that he felt
the sea-air very brisk and refreshing. I privately wondered,
on my side, how the celebrated Cuff had got his reputation.
We reached the house in the temper of two strange dogs,
coupled up together for the first time in their lives by the
same chain.

Asking for my lady and hearing that she was in one of
the conservatories, we went round to the gardens at the back
and sent a servant to seek her. While we were waiting
Sergeant Cuff looked through the evergreen arch on our left,
spied out our rosery, and walked straight in, with the first
appearance of any thing like interest that he had shown yet.
To the gardener's astonishment, and to my disgust, this cele-
brated policeman proved to be quite a mine of learning on the
trumpery subject of rose-gardens.

"Ah, you've got the right exposure here to the south and
sou'west," says the Sergeant, with a wag of his grizzled
head and a streak of pleasure in his melancholy voice. "This
is the shape for a rosery — nothing like a circle set in a square.
Yes, yes ; with walks between all the beds. But they oughtn't
to be gravel-walks like these. Grass, Mr. Gardener — grass-
walks between your roses ; gravel's too hard for them. That's
a sweet pretty bed of white roses and blush roses. They
always mix well together, don't they? Here's the white
musk-rose, Mr. Betteredge — our old English rose holding up
his head along with the best and the newest of them. Pretty
dear !" says the Sergeant, fondling the musk-rose with his
lanky fingers, and speaking to it as if he was speaking to a
child.

This was a nice sort of man to recover Miss Rachel's Dia-
mond, and to find out the thief who stole it !

"You seem to be fond of roses, Sergeant?" I remarked.

"I haven't much time to be fond of any thing," says Ser-
geant Cuff. "But, when I have a moment's fondness to be-
stow, most times, Mr. Betteredge, the roses get it. I began
my life among them in my father's nursery garden, and I

no

THE MOONSTONE

shall end my life among them if I can. Yes, One of these
days, please God, I shall retire from catching thieves, and
try my hand at growing roses. There will be grass-walks,
Mr. Gardener, between my beds," says the Sergeant, on
whose mind the gravel-paths of a rosery seemed to dwell
unpleasantly.

"It seems an odd taste, sir," I ventured to say, "for a man
in your line of life."

"If you will look about you, which most people won't do,"
says Sergeant Cuff, "you will see that the nature of a man's
tastes is, most times, as opposite as possible to the nature of
a man's business. Show me any two things more opposite
one from the other than a rose and a thief, and I'll correct
my tastes accordingly — if it isn't too late at my time of life.
You find the damask-rose a goodish stock for most of the
tender sorts, don't you, Mr. Gardener? Ah! I thought so.
Here's a lady coming. Is it Lady Verinder?"

He had seen her before either I or the gardener had seen
her — though we knew which way to look, and he didn't. I
began to think him rather a quicker man than he appeared
to be at first sight.-

The Sergeant's appearance, or the Sergeant's errand — one
or both — seemed to cause my lady some little embarrassment.
She was, for the first time in all my experience of her, at a
loss what to say at an interview with a stranger. Sergeant
Cuff put her at her ease directly. He asked if any other
person had been employed about the robbery before we sent
for him ; and hearing that another person had been called
in, and was now in the house, begged leave to speak to him
before any thing else was done.

My lady led the way back. Before he followed her, the
Sergeant relieved his mind on the subject of the gravel-
walks by a parting word to the gardener. "Get her ladyship
to try grass," he said, with a sour look at the paths, "No
gravel ! no gravel !"

Why Superintendent Seegrave should have appeared to
be several sizes smaller than life, on being presented to Ser-
geant Cuff, I can't undertake to explain. I can only state
the fact. They retired together ; and remained a weary long
time shut up from all mortal intrusion. When they came

THE MOONSTONE

out Mr. Superintendent was excited and Mr. Sergeant was
yawning.

"The Sergeant wishes to see Miss Verinder's sitting-room,"
says Mr. Seegrave, addressing me with great pomp and
eagerness. "The Sergeant may have some questions to ask.
Attend the Sergeant, if you please !"

While I was being ordered about in this way, I looked
at the great Cuff. The great Cuff, on his side, looked at
Superintendent Seegrave in that quietly expecting way which
I have already noticed. I can't affirm that he was on the
watch for his brother-officer's speedy appearance in the char-
acter of an Ass — I can only say that I strongly suspected it.

I led the way up stairs. The Sergeant went softly all over
the Indian cabinet and all round the "boudoir" ; asking ques-
tions, occasionally only of Mr. Superintendent, and continu-
ally of me, the drift of which I believe to have been equally
unintelligible to both of us. In due time his course brought
him to the door, and put him face to face with the decorative
painting that you know of. He laid one lean inquiring finger
on the small smear, just under the lock, which Superintendent
Seegrave had already noticed when he reproved the women-
servants for all crowding together into the room.

"That's a pity," says Sergeant Cuff. "How did it happen?"

He put the question to me. I answered that the women-
servants had crowded into the room on the previous morn-
ing and that some of their petticoats had done the mischief.
"Superintendent Seegrave ordered them out, sir," I added,
"before they did any more harm."

"Right !" says Mr. Superintendent, in his military way.
"I ordered them out. The petticoats did it. Sergeant — the
petticoats did it."

"Did you notice which petticoat did it?" asked Sergeant
Cuff, still addressing himself, not to his brother-officer, but
to me.

"No, sir."

He turned to Superintendent Seegrave upon that, and said,
"You noticed, I suppose?"

Mr. Superintendent looked a little taken aback ; but he
made the best of it. "I can't charge my memory. Sergeant,"
he said, "a mere trifle — a mere trifle."

THE MOONSTONE

Sergeant Cuff looked at Mr. Seegrave as he had looked at
the gravel-walks in the rosery, and gave us, in his melancholy
way, the first taste of his quality which we had had yet.

"I made a private inquiry last week, Mr. Superintendent,"
he said. "At one end of the inquiry there was a murder,
and at the other end there was a spot of ink on u table-cloth
that nobody could account for. In all my experience along
the dirtiest ways of this dirty little world I have never met
with such a thing as a trifle yet. Before we go a step farther
in this business we must see the petticoat that made the smear,
and we must know for certain when that paint was wet."

Mr, Superintendent — taking his set-down rather sulkily —
asked if he should summon the women. Sergeant Cuff, after
considering a minute, sighed, and shook his head.

*'No," he said, "we'll take the matter of the paint first.
It's a question of Yes or No with the paint — which is short.
It's a question of petticoats with the woman — which is long.
What o'clock was it when the servants were in this room
yesterday morning ? Eleven o'clock — eh ? Is there any body
in the house who knows whether that paint was wet or dry,
at eleven yesterday morning?"

"Her ladyship's nephew, Mr. Franklin Blake, knows," I
said.

"Is the gentleman in the house?"

Mr. Franklin was as close at hand as could be — waiting
for his first chance of being introduced to the great Cuff.
In half a minute he was in the room, and was giving his
evidence as follows :

"That door, Sergeant," he said, "has been painted by Miss
Verinder, under my inspection, with my help, and in a vehicle
of my own composition. The vehicle dries whatever colors
may be used with it in twelve hours."

"Do you remember when the smeared bit was done, sir?"
asked the Sergeant.

"Perfectly," answered Mr. Franklin. "That was the last
morsel of the door to be finished. We wanted to get it done
on Wednesday last, and I myself completed it by three in the
afternoon, or soon after."

"To-day is Friday," said Sergeant Cuff, addressing him-
self to Superintendent Seegrave. "Let us reckon back, sir.
8 112

THE MOONSTONE

At three on the Wednesday afternoon, that bit of painting
was completed. The vehicle dried it in twelve hours — that
is to say, dried it by three o'clock on Thursday morning. At
eleven on Thursday morning you held your inquiry here.
Take three from eleven and eight remains. That paint had
been eight hours dry, Mr. Superintendent, when you supposed
that the women-servants' petticoats smeared it."

First knock-down blow for Mr. Seegrave ! If he had not
suspected poor Penelope, I should have pitied him.

Having settled the question of the paint, Sergeant Cuff,
from the moment, gave his brother-ofificer up as a bad job —
and addressed himself to Mr. Franklin, as the more promising
assistant of the two.

"It's quite on the cards, sir," he said, "that you have put
the clue into our hands."

As the words passed his lips the bedroom door opened,
and Miss Rachel came out among us suddenly.

She addressed herself to the Sergeant, without appearing
to notice, or to heed, that he was a perfect stranger to her.

"Did you say," she asked, pointing to Mr. Franklin, "that
he had put the clue into your hands ?"

"This is Miss Verinder," I whispered, behind the Sergeant.

"That gentleman, miss," says the Sergeant — with his steely-
gray eyes carefully studying my young lady's face — "has
possibly put the clue into our hands."

She turned for one moment, and tried to look at Mr. Frank-
lin. I say tried, for she suddenly looked away again before
their eyes met. There seemed to be some strange disturb-
ance in her mind. She colored up, and then she turned pale
again. With the paleness there came a new look into her
face, a look which it startled me to see.

"Having answered your question, miss," says the Ser-
geant, "I beg leave to make an inquiry in my turn. There
is a smear on the painting of your door here. Do you happen
to know when it was done or who did it?"

Instead of making any reply. Miss Rachel went on with her
questions as if he had not spoken, or as if she had not heard
him.

"Are you another police officer?" she asked.

"I am Sergeant Cuff, miss, of the Detective Police."

114

THE MOONSTONE

"Do you think a young lady's advice worth having?"

"I shall be glad to hear it, miss."

"Do your duty by yourself — and don't allow Mr. Franklin
Blake to help you!"

She said those words so spitefully, so savagely, with such
an extraordinary outbreak of ill-will toward Mr. Franklin,
in her voice and her look, that — though I had known her from
a baby, though I loved and honored her next to my lady
herself — I was ashamed of Miss Rachel for the first time in
my life.

Sergeant Cuff's immovable eyes never stirred from off her
face. "Thank you, miss," he said. "Do you happen to know
any thing about the smear? Might you have done it by acci-
dent yourself?"

"I know nothing about the smear."

With that answer she turned away, and shut herself up
again in her bedroom. This time, I heard her — as Penelope
had heard her before — burst out crying as soon as she was
alone again.

I couldn't bring myself to look at the Sergeant — I looked
at Mr. Franklin, who stood nearest to me. He seemed to be
even more sorely distressed at what had passed than I was.

"I told you I was uneasy about her," he said. "And now
you see why."

"Miss Verinder appears to be a little out of temper about
the loss of her Diamond," remarked the Sergeant. "It's a
valuable jewel. Natural enough ! natural enough !"

Here was the excuse that I had made for her, when she
forgot herself before Superintendent Seegrave, on the pre-
vious day, being made for her over again, by a man who
couldn't have had my interest in making it — for he was a
perfect stranger ! A kind of cold shudder ran through me,
which I couldn't account for at the time. I know now that
I must have got my first suspicion, at that moment, of a new
light, and a horrid light, having suddenly fallen on the case,
in the mind of Sergeant Cuff — purely and entirely in conse-
quence of what he had seen in Miss Rachel, and heard from
Miss Rachel, at that first interview between them.

"A young lady's tongue is a privileged member, sir," says
the Sergeant to Mr. Franklin. "Let us forget what has

"5

THE MOONSTONE

passed and go straight on with this business. Thanks to you,
we know when the paint was dry. The next thing to discover
is when the paint was last seen without that smear. You
have got a head on your shoulders — and you understand what
I mean."

Mr. Franklin composed himself, and came back with an
effort from Miss Rachel to the matter in hand.

'T think I do understand," he said. "The more we narrow
the question of time the more we also narrow the field of
inquiry."

"That's it, sir," said the Sergeant. "Did you notice your
work here on the Wednesday afternoon, after you had done
it?"

Mr. Franklin shook his head and answered, "I can't say
I did."

"Did youf" inquired Sergeant Cuff, turning to me.

"I can't say I did either, sir."

"Who was the last person in the room, the last thing on
Wednesday night?"

"Miss Rachel, I suppose, sir."

Mr. Franklin struck in there, "Or possibly your daughter,
Betteredge." He turned to Sergeant Cuff, and explained
that my daughter was Miss Verinder's maid.

"Mr. Betteredge, ask your daughter to step up. Stop !"
says the Sergeant, taking me away to the window, out of
ear-shot. "Your Superintendent here," he went on, in a
whisper, "has made a pretty full report to me of the manner
in which he has managed this case. Among other things
he has, by his own confession, set the servants' backs up.
It's very important to smooth them down again. Tell your
daughter, and tell the rest of them, these two things with
my compliments : First, that I have no evidence before me,
yet, that the Diamond has been stolen ; I only know that the
Diamond has been lost. Second, that my business here with
the servants is simply to ask them to lay their heads together
and help me to find it."

My experience of the women-servants, when Superinten-
dent Seegrave laid his embargo on their rooms, came in handy
here.

"May I make so bold, Sergeant, as to tell the women a

ii6

THE MOONSTONE

third thing?" I asked. "Are they free, with your compli-
ments, to fidget up and down stairs, and whisk in and out
of their bedrooms, if the fit takes them?"

"Perfectly free," says the Sergeant.

"That will smooth them down, sir," I remarked, "from
the cook to the scullion."

"Go and do it at once, Mr. Betteredge."

I did it in less than five minutes. There was only one diffi-
culty when I came to the bit about the bedrooms. It took a
pretty stiff exertion of my authority, as chief, to prevent the
whole of the female household from following me and Penel-
ope up stairs, in the character of volunteer witnesses in a
burning fever of anxiety to help Sergeant Cuff.

The Sergeant seemed to approve of Penelope. He became
a trifle less dreary ; and he looked much as he had looked
when he noticed the white musk-rose in the flower-garden.
Here is my daughter's evidence, as drawn off from her by
the Sergeant. She gave it, I think, very prettily — but, there !
she is my child all over : nothing of her mother in her ; Lord
bless you, nothing of her mother in her !

Penelope examined : Took a lively interest in the painting
on the door, having helped to mix the colors. Noticed the
bit of work under the lock, because it was the last bit done.
Had seen it, some hours afterward, without a smear. Had
left it, as late as twelve at night, without a smear. Had, at
that hour, wished her young lady good-night in the bedroom ;
had heard the clock strike in the "boudoir;" had her hand
at the time on the handle of the painted door ; knew the paint
was wet, having helped to mix the colors, as aforesaid; took
particular pains not to touch it ; could swear that she held up
the skirts of her dress, and that there was no smear on the
paint then ; could not swear that her dress mightn't have
touched it accidentally in going out ; remembered the dress
she had on, because it was new, a present from Miss Rachel ;
her father remembered, and could speak to it, too ; could,
and would, and did fetch it ; dress recognized by her father
as the dress she wore that night ; skirts examined, a long job
from the size of them ; not the ghost of a paint stain discov-
ered anywhere. End of Penelope's evidence — and very pretty
and convincing, too. Signed, Gabriel Betteredge.

117

THE MOONSTONE

The Sergeant's next proceeding was to question me about
any large dogs in the house who might have got into the
room, and done the mischief with a whisk of their tails.
Hearing that this was impossible, he next sent for a magnify-
ing-glass, and tried how the smear looked, seen that way.
No skin-mark, as of a human hand, printed off on the paint.
All the signs visible — signs which told that the paint had
been smeared by some loose article of somebody's dress touch-
ing it in going by. That somebody, putting together Penel-
ope's evidence and Mr. Franklin's evidence, must have been
in the room and done the mischief, between midnight and
three o'clock on the Thursday morning.

Having brought his investigation to this point. Sergeant
Cuff discovered that such a person as Superintendent See-
grave was still left in the room, upon which he summed up
the proceedings for his brother-officer's benefit, as follows :

"This trifle of yours, Mr. Superintendent," says the Ser-
geant, pointing to the place on the door, "has grown a little
in importance since you noticed it last. At the present stage
of the inquiry there are, as I take it, three discoveries to make,
starting from that smear. Find out, first, whether there is
any article of dress in this house with the smear of the paint
on it. Find out, second, who that dress belongs to. Find
out, third, how the person can account for having been in
this room, and smeared the paint, between midnight and three
in the morning. If the person can't satisfy you, you haven't
far to look for the hand that has got the Diamond. Fll work
this by myself, if you please, and detain you no longer from
your regular business in town. You have got one of your
men here, I see. Leave him here at my disposal, in case I
want him — and allow me to wish you good-morning."

Superintendent Seegrave's respect for the Sergeant was
great ; but his respect for himself was greater still. Hit hard
by the celebrated Cuff, he hit back smartly, to the best of
his ability, on leaving the room.

"I have abstained from expressing any opinion, so far,"
says Mr. Superintendent, with his military voice still in good
working order. "I have now only one remark to offer, on
leaving this case in your hands. There is such a thing. Ser-
geant, as making a mountain out of a mole-hill. Good-
morning,"

ii8

THE MOONSTONE

"There is also such a thing as making nothing out of a
mole-hill, in consequence of your head being too high to see
it." Having returned his brother-officer's compliment in
those terms, Sergeant Cuff wheeled about, and walked away
to the window by himself.

Mr. Franklin and I waited to see what was coming next.
The Sergeant stood at the window, with his hands in his
pockets, looking out, and whistling the tune of the Last Rose
of Summer softly to himself. Later in the proceedings, I
discovered that he only forgot his manners so far as to
whistle, when his mind was hard at work, seeing its way
inch by inch to its own private ends, on which occasions the
Last Rose of Summer evidently helped and encouraged him.
I suppose it fitted in somehow with his character. It re-
minded him, you see, of his favorite roses, and, as he whistled
it, it was the most melancholy tune going.

Turning from the window, after a minute or two, the Ser-
geant walked into the middle of the room, and stopped there,
deep in thought, with his eyes on Miss Rachel's bedroom
door. After a little he roused himself, nodded his head, as
much as to say, "That will do !" and, addressing me, asked for
ten minutes' conversation with my mistress at her ladyship's
earliest convenience.

Leaving the room with this message, I heard Mr. Franklin
ask the Sergeant a question, and stopped to hear the answer
also at the threshold of the door.

"Can you guess yet," inquired Mr. Franklin, "who has
stolen the Diamond?"

"Nobody has stolen the Diamond/' answered Sergeant
Cuff.

We both started at that extraordinary view of the case,
and both earnestly begged him to tell us what he meant.

"Wait a little," said the Sergeant. "The pieces of the
puzzle are not all put together yet."

CHAPTER XHL

I FOUND my lady in her own sitting-room. She started
and looked annoyed when I mentioned that Sergeant Cuff
wished to speak to her.

119

THE MOONSTONE

"Must I see him?" she asked. "Can't you represent me,
Gabriel ?"

I felt at a loss to understand this, and showed it plainly, I
suppose, in my face. My lady was so good as to explain
herself.

"I am afraid my nerves are a little shaken," she said.
"There is something in that police officer from London which
I recoil from — I don't know why. I have a presentiment that
he is bringing trouble and misery with him into the house.
Very foolish and very unlike me — but so it is."

I hardly knew what to say to this. The more I saw of
Sergeant Cuif the better I liked him. My lady rallied a
little after having opened her heart to me — being nat-
urally a woman of a high courage, as I have already told
you.

"If I must see him, I must," she said. "But I can't prevail
on myself to see him alone. Bring him in, Gabriel, and stay
here as long as he stays."

This was the first attack of the megrims that I remembered
in my mistress since the time wdien she was a young girl. I
went back to the "boudoir." Mr. Franklin strolled out into
the garden and joined Mr. Godfrey, whose time for departure
was now drawing near. Sergeant Cuff and I went straight
to my mistress's room.

I declare my lady turned a shade paler at the sight of
him ! She commanded herself, however, in other respects,
and asked the Sergeant if he had any objection to my being
present. She was so good as to add that I was her trusted
adviser as well as her old servant, and that in any thing which
related to the household I was the person whom it might be
most profitable to consult. The Sergeant politely answered
that he would take my presence as a favor, having something
to say about the servants in general, and having found my
experience in that quarter already of some use to him. My
lady pointed to two chairs, and we set in for our conference
immediately.

"I have already formed an opinion on this case," says Ser-
geant Cuff, "which I beg your ladyship's permission to keep
to myself for the present. My business now is to mention
what I have discovered up stairs in ]\Iiss Verinder's sitting"-

120

I

it I

THE MOONSTONE

room, and what I have decided, with your ladyship's leave,
on doing next."

He. then went into the matter of the smear on the paint,
and stated the conclusions he drew from it — just as he had
stated them, only with greater respect of language, to Super-
intendent Seegrave. "One thing," he said, in conclusion,
"is certain. The Diamond is missing out of the drawer in
the cabinet. . Another thing is next to certain. The marks
from the smear on the door must be on some article of dress
belonging to somebody in this house. We must discover
that article of dress before we go a step farther."

"And that discovery," remarked my mistress, "implies, I
presume, the discovery of the thief?"

'T beg your ladyship's pardon — I don't say the Diamond
is stolen. I only say, at present, that the Diamond is missing.
The discovery of the stained dress may lead the way to find-
ing it."

Her ladyship looked at me. "Do you understand this?"
she said.

"Sergeant Cuff understands it, my lady," I answered.

"How do you propose to discover the stained dress?"
inquired my mistress, addressing herself once more to the
Sergeant. "My good servants, who have been with me for
years, have, I am ashamed to say, had their boxes and rooms
searched already by the other officer. I can't and won't per-
mit them to be insulted in that way a second time."

(There was a mistress to serve! There was a woman in
ten thousand, if you like!)

"That is the very point I was about to put to your lady-
ship," said the Sergeant. "The other officer has done a
world of harm to this inquiry by letting the servants see that
he suspected them. If I- give them cause to think themselves
suspected a second time, there's no knowing what obstacles
they may not throw in my way — the women especially. At
the same time, their boxes must be searched again — for this
plain reason, that the first investigation only looked for the
Diamond, and that the second investigation must look for the
stained dress. I quite agree with you, my lady, that the ser-
vants' feelings ought to be consulted. But I am equally clear
that the servants' wardrobes ought to be searched."

121

THE MOONSTONE

This looked very like a dead-lock. My lady said so, in
choicer language than mine.

"I have got a plan to meet the difficulty," said Sergeant
Cuff, "if your ladyship will consent to it. I propose explain-
ing the case to the servants."

"The women will think themselves suspected directly," I
said, interrupting him.

"The women won't, Mr. Betteredge," answered the Ser-
geant, "if I can tell them I am going to examine the ward-
robes of every body — from her ladyship downward — who
slept in the house on Wednesday night. It's a mere formal-
ity," he added, with a side look at my mistress ; "but the
servants will accept it as even dealing between them and
their betters ; and, instead of hindering the investigation, they
will make a point of honor of assisting it."

I saw the truth of that. My lady, after her first surprise
was over, saw the truth of it also.

"You are certain the investigation is necessary?" she said.

"It's the shortest way that I can see, my lady, to the end
we have in view."

My mistress rose to ring the bell for her maid. "You shall
speak to the servants," she said, "with the keys of my ward-
robe in your hand."

Sergeant Cuff stopped her by a very unexpected question.

"Hadn't we better make sure first," he asked, "that the
other ladies and gentlemen in the house will consent, too?"

"The only other lady in the house is Miss Verinder," an-
swered my mistress, with a look of surprise. "The only
gentlemen are my nephews, Mr. Blake and Mr. Ablewhite.
There is not the least fear of a refusal from any of the three."

I reminded my lady here that Mr. Godfrey was going
away. As I said the words Mr. Godfrey himself knocked at
the door to say good-bye, and was followed in by Mr. Frank-
lin, who was going with him to the station. My lady ex-
plained the difficulty. Mr. Godfrey settled it directly. He
called to Samuel, through the window, to take his portman-
teau up stairs again, and he then put the key himself into
Sergeant Cuff's hand. "My luggage can follow me to Lon-
don," he said, "when the inquiry is over." The Sergeant
received the key with a becoming apology. 'T am sorry to

THE MOONSTONE

put you to any inconvenience, sir, for a mere formality; but
the example of their betters will do wonders in reconciling
the servants to this inquiry." Mr. Godfrey, after taking leave
of my lady in a most sympathizing manner, left a farewell
message for Miss Rachel, the terms of which made it clear
to my mind that he had not taken No for an answer, and
that he meant to put the marriage question to her once more,
at the next opportunity. Mr. Franklin, on following his
cousin out, informed the Sergeant that all his clothes were
open to examination, and that nothing he possessed was kept
under lock and key. Sergeant Cuff made his best acknow-
ledgments. His views, you will observe, had been met with
the utmost readiness by my lady, by Mr, Godfrey, and by Mr.
Franklin. There was only Miss Rachel now wanting to fol-
low their lead, before we called the servants together, and
began the search for the stained dress.

My lady's unaccountable objection to the Sergeant seemed
to make our conference more distasteful to her than ever,
as soon as we were left alone again. 'Tf I send you down
Miss Verinder's keys," she said to him, "I presume I shall
have done all yovi want of me for the present."

"I beg your ladyship's pardon," said Sergeant Cuff. "Be-
fore we begin, I should like, if convenient, to have the wash-
ing-book. The stained article of dress may be an article of
linen. If the search leads to nothing, I want to be able to
account next for all the linen in the hovise, and for all the
linen sent to wash. H there is an article missing, there will
be at least a presumption that it has got the paint-stain on
it, and that it has been purposely made away with, yesterday
or to-day, by the person owning it. Superintendent See-
grave," added the Sergeant, turning to me, "pointed the
attention of the women-servants to the smear, when they all
crowded into the room on Thursday morning. That may
turn out, Mr. Bctteredge, to have been one more of Superin-
tendent Seegrave's many mistakes."

My lady desired me to ring the bell and order the washing-
book. She remained with us until it was produced, in case
Sergeant Cuff had any further request to make of her after
looking at it.

The washing-book was brought in by Rosanna Spearman.

123

THE MOONSTONE

The girl had come down to breakfast that morning miserably
pale and haggard, but sufficiently recovered from her illness
of the previous day to do her usual work. Sergeant Cuff
looked attentively at our second house-maid — at her face,
when she came in; at her crooked shoulder, when she went
out.

"Have you anything more to say to me?" asked my lady,
still as eager as ever to be out of the Sergeant's society.

The great Cuff opened the washing-book, understood it
perfectly in half a minute, and shut it up again. "I venture
to trouble your ladyship with one last question," he said.
"Has the young woman who brought us this book been in
your employment as long as the other servants ?"

"Why do you ask?" said my lady.

"The last time I saw her," answered the Sergeant, "she
was in prison for theft."

After that there was no help for it but to tell him the
truth. My mistress dwelt strongly on Rosanna's good con-
duct in her service, and on the high opinion entertained of
her by the matron at the Reformatory. "You don't suspect
her, I hope?" my lady added, in conclusion, very earnestly.

"I have already told your ladyship that I don't suspect
any person in the house of thieving, up to the present time."

After that answer my lady rose to go up stairs, and ask
for Miss Rachel's keys. The Sergeant was beforehand with
me in opening the door for her. He made a very low bow.
My lady shuddered as she passed him.

We waited, and waited, and no keys appeared. Sergeant
Cuff made no remark to me. He turned his melancholy face
to the window ; he put his lanky hands into his pockets, and
he whistled The Last Rose of Summer drearily to himself.

At last Samuel came in, not with the keys, but with a
morsel of paper for me. I got at my spectacles with some
fumbling and difficulty, feeling the Sergeant's dismal eyes
fixed on me all the time. There were two or three lines on
the paper, written in pencil by my lady. They informed me
that Miss Rachel flatly refused to have her wardrobe exam-
ined. Asked for her reasons, she had burst out crying. Asked
again, she had said : "I won't, because I won't. I must yield
to force if you use it. but I will yield to nothing else." I

124

THE MOONSTONE

understood my lady's disinclination to face Sergeant Cuff
with such an answer from her daughter as that. If I had not
been too old for the amiable weakness of youth, I believe I
should have blushed at the notion of facing him myself.

"Any news of Miss Verinder's keys?" asked the Sergeant.

"My young lady refuses to have her wardrobe examined."

"Ah!" said the Sergeant.

His voice was not quite in such a perfect state of discipline
as his face. When he said "Ah!" he said it in the tone of a
man who had heard something which he expected to hear.
He half-angered and half-frightened me — why, I couldn't tell,
but he did it.

"Must the search be given up?" I asked.

"Yes," said the Sergeant, "the search must be given up,
because your young lady refuses to submit to it like the rest.
We must examine all the wardrobes in the house or none.
Send Mr. Ablewhite's portmanteau to London by the next
train, and return the washing-book, with my compliments
and thanks, to the young woman who brought it in."

He laid the washing-book on the table, and, taking out his
penknife, began to trim his nails.

"You don't seem to be much disappointed," I said.

"No," said Sergeant Cuff; "I'm not much disappointed."

I tried to make him explain himself.

"Why should Miss Rachel put an obstacle in your way?"
I inquired. "Isn't it her interest to help you ?"

"Wait a little, Mr. Betteredge— wait a little."

Cleverer heads than mine might have seen his drift. Or a
person less fond of Miss Rachel than I was might have seen
his drift. My lady's horror of him might, as I have since
thought, have meant that she saw his drift, as the Scripture
says, "in a glass darkly." I didn't see it yet — that's all I
know.

"What's to be done next?" I asked.

Sergeant Cuff finished the nail on which he was then at
work, looked at it for a moment with a melancholy interest,
and put up his penknife.

"Come out into the garden," he said, "and let's have a
look at the roses."

"5

THE MOONSTONE

CHAPTER XIV.

THE nearest way to the garden, on going out of my lady's
sitting-room, was by the shrubbery path, which you
already know of. For the sake of your better understanding
of what is now to come, I may add to this, that the shrubbery
path was Mr. Franklin's favorite walk. When he was out
in the grounds, and when we failed to find him anywhere
else, we generally found him here.

I am afraid I must own that I am rather an obstinate old
man. The more firmly Sergeant Cuff kept his thoughts shut
up from me the more firmly I persisted in trying to look in
at them. As we turned into the shrubbery path I attempted
to circumvent him in another way.

"As things are now," I said, "if I was in your place I should
be at my wits' end."

"If you were in my place," answered the Sergeant, "you
would have formed an opinion — and, as things are now, any
doubt you might previously have felt about your own con-
clusions would be completely set at rest. Never mind, for
the present, what those conclusions are, Mr. Betteredge. I
haven't brought you out here to draw me like a badger ; I
have brought you out here to ask for some information. You
might have given it to me, no doubt, in the house, instead
of out of it. But doors and listeners have a knack of getting
together, and, in my line of life, we sometimes cultivate a
healthy taste for the open air."

Who was to circumvent this man? I gave in — and waited
as patiently as I could to hear what was coming next.

"We won't enter into your young lady's motives," the Ser-
geant went on ; "we will only say it's a pity she declines to
assist me, because, by so doing, she makes this investigation
more difficult than it might otherwise have been. We must
now try to solve the mystery of the smear on the door —
which, you may take my word for it, means the mystery of
the Diamond also — in some other way. I have decided to see
the servants, and to search their thoughts and actions, Mr.
Betteredge, instead of searching their wardrobes. Before
I begin, however, I want to ask you a question or two. You

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are an observant man — did you notice any thing strange in
any of the servants, making due allowance, of course, for
fright and fluster, after the loss of the Diamond was found
out ? Any particular quarrel among them ? Any one of them
not in his or her usual spirits ? Unexpectedly out of temper,
for instance ? or unexpectedly taken ill ?"

I had just time to think of Rosanna Spearman's sudden
illness at yesterday's dinner — but not time to make any an-
swer— when I saw Sergeant Cuff's eyes suddenly turn aside
toward the shrubbery ; and I heard him say softly to himself,
"Halloo !"

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"A touch of the rheumatics in my back," said the Sergeant,
in a loud voice, as if he wanted some third person to hear
us. "We shall have a change in the weather before long." ■

A few steps farther brought us to the corner of the house.
Turning off sharp to the right, we entered on the terrace,
and went down, by the steps in the middle, into the garden
below. Sergeant Cuff stopped there, in the open space, where
we could see round us on every side.

"About that young person, Rosanna Spearman ?" he said.
"It isn't very likely, with her personal appearance, that she
has got a lover. But, for the girl's own sake, I must ask
you at once whether she has provided herself with a sweet-
heart, poor wretch, like the rest of them?"

What on earth did he mean, under present circumstances,
by putting such a question to me as that? I stared at him
instead of answering him.

"I saw Rosanna Spearman hiding in the shrubbery as we
went by," said the Sergeant.

"When you said, 'Halloo?'"

"Yes — when I said, 'Halloo.' If there's a sweetheart in
the case, the hidi..g doesn't much matter. If there isn't —
as things are in this house — the hiding is a highly suspicious
circumstance, and it will be my painful duty to act on it
accordingly."

What, in God's name, was I to say to him? I knew the
shrubbery was Mr. Franklin's favorite walk ; I knew he
would most likely turn that way when he came back from
the station ; I knew that Penelope had over and over again

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caught her fellow-servant hanging about there, and had
always declared to me that Rosanna's object was to attract
Mr. Franklin's attention. If my daughter was right, she
might well have been lying in wait for Mr. Franklin's return
when the Sergeant noticed her. I was put between the two
dififiiculties of mentioning Penelope's fanciful notion as if it
was mine, or of leaving an unfortunate creature to suffer the
consequences, the very serious consequences, of exciting the
suspicion of Sergeant Cuff. Out of pure pity for the girl —
on my soul and my character, out of pure pity for the girl
— I gave the Sergeant the necessary explanations, and told
him that Rosanna had been mad enough to set her heart on
Mr. Franklin Blake.

Sergeant Cuff never laughed. On the few occasions when
any thing amused him he curled up a little at the corners of
the lips, nothing more. He curled up now.

"Hadn't you better say she's mad enough to be an ugly
girl and only a servant?" he asked. "The falling in love
with a gentleman of Mr. Franklin Blake's manners and ap-
pearance doesn't seem to me to be the maddest part of her
conduct by any means. However, Fm glad the thing is
cleared up ; it relieves one's mind to have things cleared up.
Yes, Fll keep it a secret, Mr. Betteredge. I like to be tender
to human infirmity — though I don't get many chances of ex-
ercising that virtue in my line of life. You think Mr. Frank-
lin Blake hasn't got a suspicion of the girl's fancy for him?
Ah ! he would have found it out fast enough if she had been
nice-looking. The ugly women have a bad time of it in this
world ; let's hope it will be made up to them in another. You
have got a nice garden there, and a well-kept lawn. See for
yourself how much better the flowers look with grass about
them instead of gravel. No, thank you. I won't take a rose.
It goes to my heart to break them off the stem. Just as it
goes to your heart, you know, when there's something wrong
in the servants' hall. Did you notice any thing you couldn't
account for in any of the servants when the loss of the Dia-
mond was first found out?"

I had got on very fairly well with Sergeant Cuff so far.
But the slyness with which he slipped in that last question
put me on my guard. In plain English, I didn't at all relish

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the notion of helping his inquiries, when those inquiries took
him, in the capacity of snake in the grass, among my fellow-
servants.

"I noticed nothing," I said, "except that we all lost our
heads together, myself included."

"Oh," says the Sergeant, "that's all you have to tell me,
is it?"

I answered, with, as I flattered myself, an unmoved coun-
tenance, "That is all."

Sergeant Cuff's dismal eyes looked me hard in the face.

"Mr. Betteredge," he said, "have you any objection to
oblige me by shaking hands ? I have taken an extraordinary
liking to you."

Why he should have chosen the exact moment when I was
deceiving him to give me that proof of his good opinion is
beyond all comprehension ! I felt a little proud — I really did
feel a little proud of having been one too many at last for
the celebrated Cuff!

We went back to the house ; the Sergeant requesting that
I would give him a room to himself, and then send in the
servants, the indoor servants only, one after another, in the
order of their rank, from first to last.

I showed Sergeant Cuff into my own room, and then called
the servants together in the hall. Rosanna Spearman ap-
peared among them, much as usual. She was as quick in her
way as the Sergeant in his and I suspect she had heard what
he said to me about the servants in general, just before he
discovered her. There she was, at any rate, looking as if
she had never heard of such a place as the shrubbery in her
life.

I sent them in, one by one, as desired. The cook was the
first to enter the Court of Justice, otherwise my room. She
remained but a short time. Report, on coming out : "Ser-
geant Cuff is depressed in his spirits ; but Sergeant Cuff is
a perfect gentleman." My lady's own maid followed. Re-
mained much longer. Report, on coming out: "If Sergeant
Cuff doesn't believe a respectable woman, he might keep his
opinion to himself, at any rate !" Penelope went next. Re-
mained only a moment or two. Report, on coming out : "Ser-
geant Cuff is much to be pitied. He must have been crossed
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THE MOONSTONE

in love, father, when he was a young man." The first house-
maid followed Penelope. Remained, like my lady's maid, a
long time. Report, on coming out : "I didn't enter her
ladyship's service, Mr. Betteredge, to be doubted to my face
by a low police officer !" Rosanna Spearman went next. Re-
mained longer than any of them. No report on coming out
— dead silence, and lips as pale as ashes. Samuel, the foot-
man, followed Rosanna. Remained a minute or two. Re-
port, on coming out : "Whoever blacks Sergeant Cuff's boots
ought to be ashamed of himself." Nancy, the kitchen-maid,
went last. Remained a minute or two. Report, on coming
out: "Sergeant Cuff has a heart; he doesn't cut jokes, Mr.
Betteredge, with a poor hard-working girl."

Going into the Court of Justice, when it was all over, to
hear if there were any further commands for me, I found the
Sergeant at his old trick — looking out of the window and
whistling The Last Rose of Summer to himself.

"Any discoveries, sir?" I inquired.

"If Rosanna Spearman asks leave to go out," said the Ser-
geant, "let the poor thing go ; but let me know first."

I might as well have held my tongue about Rosanna and
Mr. Franklin ! It was plain enough ; the unfortunate girl
had fallen under Sergeant Cuff's suspicions, in spite of all I
could do to prevent it.

"I hope you don't think Rosanna is concerned in the loss
of the Diamond ?" I ventured to say.

The corners of the Sergeant's melancholy mouth curled up,
and he looked hard in my face ; just as he had looked in the
garden.

"I think I had better not tell you, Mr. Betteredge," he said.
"You might lose your head, you know, for the second time."

I began to doubt whether I had been one too many for
the celebrated Cuff, after all ! It was rather a relief to me
that we were interrupted here by a knock at the door and a
message from the cook. Rosanna Spearman had asked to go
out, for the usual reason, that her head was bad, and she
wanted a breath of fresh air. At a sign from the Sergeant,
I said, "Yes." "Which is the servants' way out?" he asked,
when the messenger had gone. I showed him the servants'
way out. "Lock the door of your room," says the Sergeant;

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"and if any body asks for me, say I'm in there, composing
my mind." He curled up again at the corners of the lips,
and disappeared.

Left alone, under those circumstances, a devouring curi-
osity pushed me on to make some discoveries for myself.

It was plain that Sergeant Cuff's suspicions of Rosanna
had been roused by something that he had found out at his
examination of the servants in my room. Now, the only two
servants, excepting Rosanna herself, who had remained under
examination for any length of time were my lady's own maid
and the first house-maid, those two being also the women
who had taken the lead in persecuting their unfortunate
fellow-servant from the first. Reaching these conclusions, I
looked in on them, casually as it might be, in the servants',
hall, and, finding tea going forward, instantly invited myself
to that meal. (For, nota bene, a drop of tea is, to a woman's
tongue, what a drop of oil is to a wasting lamp.)

My reliance on the tea-pot as an ally did not go un-
rewarded. In less than half an hour I knew as much as the
Sergeant himself.

My lady's maid and the house-maid had, it appears, neither
of them believed in Rosanna's illness of the previous day.
These two devils — I ask your pardon, but how else can you
describe a couple of spiteful women? — had stolen up stairs,
at intervals during the Thursday afternoon ; had tried Ro-
sanna's door and found it locked ; had knocked and not been
answered ; had listened and not heard a sound inside. When
the girl had come down to tea, and had been sent up, still
out of sorts, to bed again, the two devils aforesaid had tried
her door once more, and found it locked ; had looked at the
key-hole, and found it stopped up ; had seen a light under the
door at midnight, and had heard the crackling of a fire — a
fire in a servant's bedroom in the month of June ! — at four in
the morning. All this they had told Sergeant Cuff, who, in
return for their anxiety to enlighten him, had eyed them
with sour and suspicious looks, and had shown them plainly
that he didn't believe either one or the other. Hence the un-
favorable reports of him which these two women had brought
out with them from the examination. Hence, also, without
reckoning the influence of the tea-pot, their readiness to let

131

THE MOONSTONE

their tongues run to any length on the subject of the Ser-
geant's ungracious behavior to them.

Having had some experience of the great Cuff's round-
about ways, and having last seen him evidently bent on fol-
lowing Rosanna privately when she went out for her walk,
it seemed clear to me that he had thought it unadvisable to
let the lady's maid and the house-maid know how materially
they had helped him. They were just the sort of women,
if he had treated their evidence as trustworthy, to have been
puffed up by it, and to have said or done something which
would have put Rosanna Spearman on her guard.

I walked out in the fine summer evening, very sorry for the
poor girl, and very uneasy in my mind, generally, at the turn
things had taken. Drifting toward the shrubbery, there I met
Mr. Franklin in his favorite walk. He had been back some
time from the station and had been with my lady, holding
a long conversation with her. She had told him of Miss
Rachel's unaccountable refusal to let her wardrobe be exam-
ined and had put him in such low spirits about my young
lady that he seemed to shrink from speaking on the subject.
The family temper appeared in his face that evening for the
first time in my experience of him.

"Well, Betteredge," he said, "how does the atmosphere of
mystery and suspicion in which we are all living now agree
with you? Do you remember that morning when I first
came here with the Moonstone? I wish to God we had
thrown it into the quicksand !"

After breaking out in that way, he abstained from speak-
ing again until he had composed himself. We walked silently,
side by side, for a minute or two, and then he asked me what
had become of Sergeant Cuff. It was impossible to put Mr.
Franklin off with the excuse of the Sergeant being in my
room, composing his mind. I told him exactly what had
happened, mentioning particularly what my lady's maid and
the house-maid had said about Rosanna Spearman.

Mr. Franklin's clear head saw the turn the Sergeant's sus-
picions had taken, in the twinkling of an eye.

"Didn't you tell me this morning," he said, "that one of
the trades-people declared he had met Rosanna yesterday, on

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the foot-way to Frizinghall, when we supposed her to be ill
in her room?"

"Yes, sir."

"If my aunt's maid and the other woman have spoken the
truth, you may depend upon it the tradesman did meet her.
The girl's attack of illness was a blind to deceive us. She
had some guilty reason for going to the town secretly. The
paint-stained dress is a dress of hers ; and the fire heard crack-
ling in her room at four in the morning was a fire lit to de-
stroy it. Rosanna Spearman has stolen the Diamond. I'll
go in directly, and tell my aunt the turn things have taken."

"Not just yet, if you please, sir," said a melancholy voice
behind us.

We both turned about, and found ourselves face to face
with Sergeant Cuff.

"Why not just yet?" asked Mr. Franklin.

"Because, sir, if you tell her ladyship, her ladyship will tell
Miss Verinder."

"Suppose she does. What then?" Mr. Franklin said those
words with a sudden heat and vehemence, as if the Sergeant
had mortally offended him.

"Do you think it's wise, sir," said Sergeant Cuff, quietly,
"to put such a question as that to me — at such a time as this ?"

There was a moment's silence between them : Mr. Frank-
lin walked close up to the Sergeant. The two looked each
other straight in the face. Mr. Franklin spoke first; drop-
ping his voice as suddenly as he had raised it.

"I suppose you know, Mr. Cuff," he said, "that you are
treading on delicate ground?"

"It isn't the first time, by a good many hvmdreds, that I
find myself treading on delicate ground," answered the other,
just as immovable as ever.

"I am to understand that you forbid me to tell my aunt
what has happened ?"

"You are to understand, if you please, sir, that I throw up
the case, if you tell Lady Verinder, or tell any body, what
has happened until I give you leave."

That settled it. Mr. Franklin had no choice but to submit.
He turned away in anger, and left us.

^33

THE MOONSTONE

I had stood there listening to them, all in a tremble ; not
knowing whom to suspect, or what to think next. In the
midst of my confusion, two things, however, were plain to
me. First, that my young lady was, in some unaccountable
manner, at the bottom of the sharp speeches that had passed
between them. Second, that they thoroughly understood each
other without having previously exchanged a word of expla-
nation on either side.

"Mr. Betteredge," said the Sergeant, "you have done a very
foolish thing in my absence. You have done a Httle detective
business on your own account. For the future, perhaps you
will be so obliging as to do your detective business along
with me."

He took me by the arm and walked me away with him
along the road by which he had come. I dare say I had de-
served his reproof — but I was not going to help him to set
traps for Rosanna Spearman for all that. Thief or no thief,
legal or not legal, I don't care — I pitied her.

"What do you want of me ?" I asked, shaking him ofif, and
stopping short.

"Only a little information about the country round here,"
said the Sergeant.

I couldn't well object to improve Sergeant Cuff in his geog-
raphy.

"Is there any path, in that direction, leading from the sea-
beach to this house?" asked the Sergeant. He pointed, as
he spoke, to the fir-plantation which led to the Shivering
Sand.

"Yes," I said ; "there is a path."

"Show it to me."

Side by side, in the gray of the summer evening. Sergeant
Cuff and I set forth for the Shivering Sand.

CHAPTER XV.

THE Sergeant remained silent, thinking his own thoughts,
till we entered the plantation of firs which led to the
quicksand. There he roused himself, like a man whose mind
was made up, and spoke to me again.

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THE MOONSTONE

"Mr, Betteredge," he said, "as you have honored me by
taking an oar in my boat, and as you may, I think, be of
some assistance to me before the evening is out, I see no use
in our mystifying one another any longer, and I propose to
set you an example of plain-speaking on my side. You are
determined to give me no information to the prejudice of
Rosanna Spearman, because she has been a good girl to you,
and because you pity her heartily. Those humane considera-
tions do you a world of credit, but they happen in this instance
to be humane considerations clean thrown away. Rosanna
Spearman is not in the slightest danger of getting into trouble
— no, not if I fix her with being concerned in the disappear-
ance of the Diamond, on evidence which is as plain as the
nose on your face !"

"Do you mean that my lady won't prosecute?" I asked.

"I mean that your lady can't prosecute," said the Sergeant.
"Rosanna Spearman is simply an instrument in the hands of
another person and Rosanna Spearman will be held harm-
less for that other person's sake."

He spoke like a man in earnest — there was no denying
that. Still, I felt something stirring uneasily against him
in my mind. "Can't you give that other person a name?"
I said.

"Can't you, Mr. Betteredge?"

"No."

Sergeant Cufif stood stock-still, and surveyed me with a
look of melancholy interest.

"It's always a pleasure to me to be tender toward human
infirmity," he said. "I feel particularly tender at the present
moment, Mr. Betteredge, toward you. And you, with the
same excellent motive, feel particularly tender toward Ro-
sanna Spearman, don't you ? Do you happen to know whether
she has had a new outfit of linen lately?"

What he meant by slipping in this extraordinary question
unawares I was at a total loss to imagine. Seeing no pos-
sible injury to Rosanna if I owned the truth, T answered that
the girl had come to us rather sparely provided with linen,
and that my lady, in recompense for her good conduct, I laid
a stress on her good conduct, had given her a new outfit not
a fortnight since.

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THE MOONSTONE

"This is a miserable world," says the Sergeant. "Human
life, Mr. Betteredge, is a sort of target — misfortune is always
firing at it and always hitting the mark. But for that outfit
we should have discovered a new night-gown or petticoat
among Rosanna's things, and have nailed her in that way.
You're not at a loss to follow me, are you ? You have exam-
ined the servants yourself and you know what discoveries
two of them made outside Rosanna's door. Surely you know
what the girl was about yesterday, after she was taken ill?
You can't guess? Oh, dear me, it's as plain as that strip of
light there at the end of the trees. At eleven, on Thursday
morning, Superintendent Seegrave, who is a mass of human
infirmity, points out to all the women servants the smear on
the door. Rosanna has her own reasons for suspecting her
own things ; she takes the first opportunity of getting to her
room, finds the paint stain on her night-gown, or petticoat,
or what not, shams ill, and slips away to the town, gets the
materials for making a new petticoat or night-gown, makes
it alone in her room on the Thursday night, lights a fire — not
to destroy it ; two of her fellow-servants are prying outside
her door, and she knows better than to make a smell of burn-
ing, and to have a lot of tinder to get rid of — lights a fire, I
say, to dry and iron the substitute dress after wringing it out,
keeps the stained dress hidden, probably on her, and is at this
moment occupied in making away with it, in some convenient
place, on that lonely bit of beach ahead of us. I have traced
her this evening to your fishing village and to one particular
cottage which we may possibly have to visit before we go
back. She stopped in the cottage for some time, and she
came out with, as I believe, something hidden under her cloak.
A cloak, on a woman's back, is an emblem of charity — it
covers a multitude of sins. I saw her set off northward along
the coast, after leaving the cottage. Is your sea-shore here
considered a fine specimen of marine landscape, Mr. Better-
edge?"

I answered "Yes," as shortly as might be.

"Tastes differ," says Sergeant Cuff. "Looking at it from
my point of view, I never saw a marine landscape that I
admired less. If you happen to be following another person
along your sea-coast, and if that person happens to look

136

THE MOONSTONE

round, there isn't a scrap of cover to hide you anywhere. I
had to choose between taking Rosanna in custody on sus-
picion, or leaving her, for the time being, with her Httle
game in her own hands. For reasons, which I won't trouble
you with, I decided on making any sacrifice rather than give
the alarm as soon as to-night to a certain person who shall
be nameless between us. I came back to the house to ask
you to take me to the north end of the beach by another way.
Sand — in respect of its printing ofif people's footsteps — is one
of the best detective officers I know. If we don't meet with
Rosanna Spearman by coming round on her this way, the
sand may tell us what she has been at, if the light only lasts
long enough. Here is the sand. If you will excuse my sug-
gesting it — suppose you hold your tongue, and let me go
first?"

If there is such a thing known at the doctor's shop as a
detective fever, that disease had now got fast hold of your
humble servant. Sergeant Cufif went on between the hillocks
of sand, down to the beach. I followed him, with my heart
in my mouth ; and waited at a little distance for what was to
happen next.

As it turned out, I found myself standing nearly in the
same place where Rosanna Spearman and I had been talking
together when Mr. Franklin suddenly appeared before us,
on arriving at our house from London. While my eyes were
watching the Sergeant, my mind wandered away in spite of
me to what had passed on that former occasion between Ro-
sanna and me. I declare I almost felt the poor thing slip her
hand again into mine, and give it a little grateful squeeze to
thank me for speaking kindly to her. I declare I almost
heard her voice telling me again that the Shivering Sand
seemed to draw her to it, against her own will, whenever she
went out — almost saw her face brighten again, as it bright-
ened when she first set eyes upon Mr. Franklin coming briskly
out on us from among the hillocks. My spirits fell lower
and lower as I thought of these things — and the view of the
lonesome little bay, when I looked about to rouse myself,
only served to make me feel more uneasy still.

The l^st of the evening light was fading away ; and over
all the desolate place there hung a still and awful calm. The

137

THE MOONSTONE

heave of the main ocean on the great sand-bank out in the
bay, was a heave that made no sound. The inner sea lay lost
and dim, without a breath of wind to stir it. Patches of nasty
ooze floated, yellow-white, on the dead surface of the water.
Scum and slime shone faintly in certain places, where the last
of the light still caught them on the two great spits of rock
jutting out, north and south, into the sea. It was now the
time of the turn of the tide ; and even as I stood there wait-
ing, the broad brown face of the quicksand began to dimple
and quiver — the only moving thing in all the horrid place.

I saw the Sergeant start as the shiver of the sand caught
his eye. After looking at it for a minute or so he turned and
came back to me.

"A treacherous place, Mr. Betteredge," he said ; "and no
signs of Rosanna Spearman anywhere on the beach, look
where you may."

He took me down lower on the shore, and I saw for my-
self that his footsteps and mine were the only footsteps printed
off on the sand.

"How does the fishing village bear, standing where we are
now?" asked Sergeant Cuff.

"Cobb's Hole," I answered, that being the name of the
place, "bears as near as may be due south."

"I saw the girl this evening, w^alking northward along the
shore, from Cobb's Hole," said the Sergeant. "Consequently,
she must have been walking toward this place. Is Cobb's
Hole on the other side of that point of land there? And can
we get to it — now it's low water — by the beach ?"

I answered "Yes" to both those questions.

"If you'll excuse my suggesting it, we'll step out briskly,"
says the Sergeant. "I want to find the place where she left
the shore before it gets dark."

We had walked, I should say, a couple of hundred yards
toward Cobb's Hole, when Sergeant Cuff suddenly went
down on his knees on the beach, to all appearance seized with
a sudden frenzy for saying his prayers.

"There's something to be said for your marine landscape
here, after all," remarked the Sergeant. "Here are a woman's
footsteps, Mr. Betteredge ! Let us call them Rosanna's foot-
steps, until we find evidence to the contrary that w^e can't

''' X

\^

^i

THE MOONSTONE

resist. Very confused footsteps, you will please to observe —
purposely confused, I should say. Ah, poor soul, she under-
stands the detective virtues of sand as well as I do ! But
hasn't she been in rather too great a hurry to tread out the
marks thoroughly? I think she has. Here's one footstep
going from Cobb's Hole ; and here is another going back to
it. Isn't that the toe of her shoe pointing straight to the
water's edge ? And don't I see two heel-marks farther down
the beach, close at the water's edge also? I don't want to
hurt your feelings, but I'm afraid Rosanna is sly. It looks
as if she had determined to get to that place you and I have
just come from, without leaving any marks on the sand to
trace her by. Shall we say that she walked through the water
from this point till she got to that ledge of rocks behind us,
and came back the same way, and then took to the beach again
where those two heel-marks are still left? Yes, we'll say that.
It seems to fit in with my notion that she had something under
her cloak when she left the cottage. No ! not something to
destroy — for, in that case, where would have been the need
of all these precautions to prevent my tracing the place at
which her walk ended? Something to hide is, I think, the
better guess of the two. Perhaps, if we go on to the cottage,
we may find out what that something is !"

At this proposal my detective fever suddenly cooled. "You
don't want me," I said. "What good can I do?"

"The longer I know you, Mr. Betteredge," said the Ser-
geant, "the more virtues I discover. Modesty — oh, dear me,
how rare modesty is in this world ! and how much of that
rarity you possess ! If I go alone to the cottage the people's
tongues will be tied at the first question I put to them. If I
go with you I go introduced by a justly respected neighbor,
and a flow of conversation is the necessary result. It strikes
me in that light ; how does it strike you ?"

Not having an answer of the needful smartness as ready
as I could have wished, I tried to gain time by asking him
what cottage he wanted to go to.

On the Sergeant describing the place, T recognized it as
a cottage inhabited by a fisherman named Yolland, with his
wife and two grown-up children, a son and a daughter. If
you will look back, you will find that, in first presenting Ro-

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sanna Spearman to your notice, I have described her as occa-
sionally varying her walk to the Shivering Sand by a visit
to some friends of hers at Cobb's Hole. Those friends were
the Yollands — respectable, worthy people, a credit to the
neighborhood. Rosanna's acquaintance with them had begun
by means of the daughter, who was afflicted with a misshapen
foot, and who was known in our parts by the name of Limp-
ing Lucy. The two deformed girls had, I suppose, a kind of
fellow-feeling for each other. Any way, the Yollands and
Rosanna always appeared to get on together, at the few
chances they had of meeting, in a pleasant and friendly man-
ner. The fact of Sergeant Cuff having traced the girl to their
cottage set the matter of my helping his inquiries in quite a
new light. Rosanna had merely gone where she was in the
habit of going; and to show that she had been in company
with the fisherman and his family was as good as to prove
that she had been innocently occupied, so far, at any rate.
It would be doing that girl a service, therefore, instead of
an injury, if I allowed myself to be convinced by Sergeant
Cuff's logic. I professed myself convinced by it accordingly.

We went on to Cobb's Hole, seeing the footsteps on the
sand as long as the light lasted.

On reaching the cottage, the fisherman and his son proved
to be out in the boat ; and Limping Lucy, always weak and
weary, was resting on her bed up stairs. Good Mrs. Yolland
received us alone in her kitchen. When she heard that Ser-
geant Cuff was a celebrated character in London, she clapped
a bottle of Dutch gin and a couple of clean pipes on the table,
and stared as if she could never see enough of him.

I sat quiet in a corner, waiting to hear how the Sergeant
would find his way to the subject of Rosanna Spearman. His
usual roundabout manner of going to work proved, on this
occasion, to be more roundabout than ever. How he man-
aged it is more than I could tell at the time, and more than
I can tell now. But this is certain, he began with the Royal
Family, the Primitive Methodists, and the price of fish ; and
he got from that (in his dismal, under-ground way) to the
loss of the Moonstone, the spitefulness of our first house-
maid, and the hard behavior of the women-servants generally
toward Rosanna Spearman. Having reached his subject in

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THE MOONSTONE

this fashion, he described himself as making his inquiries
about the lost Diamond partly with a view to find it, and
partly for the purpose of clearing Rosanna from the unjust
suspicions of her enemies in the house. In about a quarter
of an hour from the time when we entered the kitchen good
Mrs. Yolland was persuaded that she was talking to Ro-
sanna's best friend, and was pressing Sergeant Cuff to com-
fort his stomach and revive his spirits out of the Dutch bottle.

Being firmly persuaded that the Sergeant was wasting his
breath to no purpose on Mrs. Yolland, I sat enjoying the talk
between them, much as I have sat, in my time, enjoying a
stage play. The great Cuff showed a wonderful patience ;
trying his luck drearily this way and that way, and firing
shot after shot, as it were, at random, on the chance of hitting
the mark. Every thing to Rosanna's credit, nothing to Ro-
sanna's prejudice — that was how it ended, try as he might;
with Mrs. Yolland talking nineteen to the dozen, and placing
the most entire confidence in him. His last effort was made,
when we had looked at our watches, and had got on our legs
previous to taking leave.

"1 shall now wish you good-night, ma'am," says the Ser-
geant. "And I shall only say, at parting, that Rosanna Spear-
man has a sincere well-wisher in myself, your obedient ser-
vant. But, oh dear me ! she will never get on in her present
place : and my advice to her is — leave it."

"Bless your heart alive ! she is going to leave it !" cries
Mrs. Yolland. (Nota bene: I translate Mrs. Yolland out of
the Yorkshire language into the English language. When
I tell you that the all-accomplished Cuff was every now and
then puzzled to understand her until I helped him, you will
draw your own conclusions as to what your state of mind
would be if I reported her in her native tongue.)

Rosanna Spearman going to leave us ! I pricked up my
ears at that. It seemed strange, to say the least of it, that
she should have given no warning, in the first place, to my
lady or to me. A certain doubt came up in my mind whether
Sergeant Cuff's last random shot might not have hit the mark.
I began to question whether my share in the proceedings was
quite as harmless a one as I had thought it. It might be all
jn the way of the Sergeant's business to mystify an honest

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THE MOONSTONE

woman by wrapping her round in a net-work of lies; but it
was my duty to have remembered, as a good Protestant, that
the father of Ues is the Devil — and that mischief and the
Devil are never far apart. Beginning to smell mischief in the
air, I tried to take Sergeant Cuff out. He sat down again
instantly, and asked for a last little drop of comfort out of
the Dutch bottle. Mrs. Yolland sat down opposite to him,
and gave him his nip. I went on to the door, excessively
uncomfortable, and said I thought I must bid them good-
night— and yet I didn't go.

"So she means to leave?" says the Sergeant. "What is
she to do when she does leave ? Sad, sad ! The poor crea-
ture has got no friends in the world except you and me."

"Ah, but she has though !" says Mrs. Yolland. "She came
in here, as I told you, this evening ; and, after sitting and
talking a little with my girl Lucy and me, she asked to go
up stairs by herself into Lucy's room. It's the only room
in our place where there's pen and ink. T want to write a
letter to a friend,' she says, 'and I can't do it for the prying
and the peeping of the servants up at the house.' Who the
letter was written to I can't tell you : it must have been a
mortal long one, judging by the time she stopped up stairs
over it. I ofifered her a postage stamp when she came down.
She hadn't got the letter in her hand, and she didn't accept
the stamp. A little close, poor soul (as you know), about
herself and her doings. But a friend she has got somewhere,
I can tell you ; and to that friend, you may depend upon it,
she will go."

"Soon ?" asked the Sergeant.

"As soon as she can," says Mrs. Yolland.

Here I stepped in again from the door. As chief of my
lady's establishment I couldn't allow this sort of loose talk
about a servant of ours going or not going to proceed any
longer in my presence without noticing it.

"You must be mistaken about Rosanna Spearman," I said.
"If she had been going to leave her present situation she
would have mentioned it, in the first place, to me."

"Mistaken?" cries Mrs. Yolland. "Why. only an hour
ago she bought some things she wanted for traveling — of
my own self, Mr. Betteredge, in this very room. And that

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THE MOONSTONE

reminds me," says the wearisome woman, suddenly begin-
ning to feel in her pocket, "of something I've got it on my
mind to say about Rosanna and her money. Are you either
of you likely to see her when you go back to the house?"

"I'll take a message to the poor thing, with the greatest
pleasure," answered Sergeant Cuff, before I could put in a
word edgewise.

Mrs. Yolland produced out of her pocket a few shillings
and sixpences, and counted them out with a most particular
and exasperating carefulness in the palm of her hand. She
offered the money to the Sergeant, looking mighty loath to
part with it all the while.

"Might I ask you to give this back to Rosanna, with my
love and respects?" says Mrs. Yolland. "She insisted on
paying me for the one or two things she took a fancy to this
evening — and money's welcome enough in our house, I don't
deny it. Still, I'm not easy in my mind about taking the poor
thing's little savings. And to tell you the truth, I don't think
my man would like to hear that I had taken Rosanna Spear-
man's money when he comes back to-morrow morning from
his work. Please say she's heartily welcome to the things
she bought of me — as a gift. And don't leave the money
on the table," says Mrs Yolland, putting it down sud-
denly before the Sergeant, as if it burned her fingers —
"don't, there's a good man ! For times are hard, and flesh is
weak ; and I might feel tempted to put it back in my pocket
again."

"Come along !" I said. "I can't wait any longer : I must
go back to the house."

"I'll follow you directly," says Sergeant Cuff.

For the second time I went to the door ; and for the second
time, try as I might, I couldn't cross the threshold.

"It's a delicate matter, ma'am," I heard the Sergeant say,
"giving money back. You charged her cheap for the things,
I'm sure?"

"Cheap!" said Mrs. Yolland. "Come and judge for vour-
self."

She took up the candle and led the Sergeant to a corner
of the kitchen. For the life of me I couldn't help following
them. Shaken down in the corner was a heap of odds and

143

THE MOONSTONE

ends (mostly old metal) which the fisherman had picked up
at different times from wrecked ships, and which he hadn't
found a market for yet to his own mind. Mrs. Yolland dived
into this rubbish, and brought up an old japanned tin case,
with a cover to it, and a hasp to hang it up by — the sort of
thing they use on board ship for keeping their maps and
charts, and such like, from the wet.

"There !" says she. "When Rosanna came in this evening,
she bought the fellow to that. 'It will just do,' she says,
'to put my cuffs and collars in, and keep them from being
crumpled in my box.' One-and-ninepence, Mr. Cuff. As I
live by bread, not a half-penny more !"

"Dirt cheap !" says the Sergeant, with a heavy sigh.

He weighed the case in his hand. I thought I heard a
note or two of The Last Rose of Summer as he looked at it.
There was no doubt now ! He had made another discovery
to the prejudice of Rosanna Spearman in the place of all
others where I thought her character was safest, and all
through me ! I leave you to imagine what I felt, and how
sincerely I repented having been the medium of introduction
between Mrs. Yolland and Sergeant Cuff.

"That will do," I said. "We really must go."

Without paying the least attention to me, Mrs. Yolland
took another dive into the rubbish, and came up out of it,
this time, with a dog chain.

"Weigh it in your hand, sir," she said, to the Sergeant.
"We had three of these ; and Rosanna has taken two of
them. 'What can you want, my dear, with a couple of dog's
chains?' says I. 'If I join them together they'll go round
my box nicely,' says she. 'Rope's cheapest,' says I. 'Chain's
surest,' says she. 'Who ever heard of a box corded with
chain?' says I. 'Oh, Mrs. Yolland, don't make objections!'
says she ; 'let me have my chains !' A strange girl, Mr. Cuff
— good as gold, and kinder than a sister to my Lucy — but
always a little strange. There ! I humored her. Three-and-
sixpence. On the word of an honest woman, three and six-
pence, Mr. Cuff!"

"Each?" says the Sergeant.

"Both together !" says Mrs. Yolland. "Three-and-sixpence
for the two."

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THE MOONSTONE

"Given away, ma'am," says the Sergeant, shaking his head.
"Clean given away !"

"There's the money," says Mrs. Yolland, getting back side-
ways to the httle heap of silver on the table, as if it drew
her in spite of herself. "The tin case and the dog chains
were all she bought, and all she took away. One-and-nine-
pence and three-and-sixpence — total, five and three. With my
love and respects — and I can't find it in my conscience to take
a poor girl's savings, when she may want them herself."

"I can't find it in my conscience, ma'am, to give the money
back," says Sergeant Cuff. "You have as good as made her
a present of the things — you have indeed,"

"Is that your sincere opinion, sir?" says Mrs. Yolland,
brightening up wonderfully.

"There can't be a doubt about it," answered the Sergeant.
"Ask Mr. Betteredge."

It was no use asking me. All they got out of me was,
"Good-night."

"Bother the money !" says Mrs. Yolland. With those
words she appeared to lose all command over herself; and
making a sudden snatch at the heap of silver, put it back,
holus-bolus, in her pocket. "It upsets one's temper, it does,
to see it lying there, and nobody taking it," cries this un-
reasonable woman, sitting down with a thump, and looking at
Sergeant CuiT, as much as to say, "It's in my pocket again
now — get it out if you can !"

This time I not only went to the door but went fairly out
on the road back. Explain it how you may, I felt as if one
or both of them had mortally offended me. Before I had
taken three steps down the village I heard the Sergeant be-
hind me.

"Thank you for your introduction, Mr. Betteredge," he
said. "I am indebted to the fisherman's wife for an entirely
new sensation. Mrs. Yolland has puzzled me."

It was on the tip of my tongue to have given him a sharp
answer, for no better reason than this — that I was out of
temper with him, because I was out of temper with myself.
But when he owned to being puzzled, a comforting doubt
crossed my mind whether any great harm had been done after
all. T waited in discreet silence to hear more.

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THE MOONSTONE

"Yes," says the Sergeant, as if he was actually reading
my thoughts in the dark. "Instead of putting me on the
scent, it may console you to know, Mr. Betteredge (with your
interest in Rosanna), that you have been the means of throw-
ing me off. What the girl has done to-night is clear enough,
of course. She has joined the two chains, and has fastened
them to the hasp in the tin case. She has sunk the case in
the water or in the quicksand. She has made the loose end
of the chain fast to some place under the rocks, known only
to herself. And she will leave the case secure at its anchorage
till the present proceedings have come to an end ; after which
she can privately pull it up again out of its hiding-place, at
her own leisure and convenience. All perfectly plain so far.
But," says the Sergeant, with the first tone of impatience in
his voice that I had heard yet, "the mystery is — what the
devil has she hidden in the tin case?"

I thought to myself, "The Moonstone !" But I only said
to Sergeant Cuff, "Can't you guess ?"

"It's not the Diamond," says the Sergeant. "The whole
experience of my life is at fault if Rosanna Spearman has got
the Diamond."

On hearing those words the infernal detective fever be-
gan, I suppose, to burn in me again. At any rate, I forgot
myself in the interest of guessing this new riddle. I said
rashly, "The stained dress !"

Sergeant Cuff stopped short in the dark, and laid his hand
on my arm.

"Is any thing thrown into that quicksand of yours ever
thrown up on the surface again ?" he asked.

"Never," I answered. "Light or heavy, whatever goes
into the Shivering Sand is sucked down and seen no more."

"Does Rosanna Spearman know that?"

"She knows it as well as I do."

"Then," says the Sergeant, "what on earth has she got to
do but to tie up a bit of stone in the stained dress and throw
it into the quicksand? There isn't the shadow of a reason
why she should have hidden it — and yet she must have hidden
it. Query," says the Sergeant, walking on again, "is the
paint-stained dress a petticoat or a night-gown ? or is it some-
thing else which there is a reason for preserving at any risk?

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THE MOONSTONE

Mr. Betteredge, if nothing occurs to prevent it, I must go
to Frizinghall to-morrow, and discover what she bought in
the town, when she privately got the materials for making
the substitute dress. It's a risk to leave the house as things
are now — but it's a worse risk still to stir another step in this
matter in the dark. Excuse my being a little out of temper ;
I'm degraded in my own estimation — I have let Rosanna
Spearman puzzle me."

When we got back the servants were at supper. The first
person we saw in the outer yard was the policeman whom
Superintendent Seegrave had left at the Sergeant's disposal.
The Sergeant asked if Rosanna Spearman had returned. Yes.
When? Nearly an hour since. What had she done? She
had gone up stairs to take off her bonnet and cloak — and she
was now at supper quietly with the rest.

Without making any remark Sergeant Cuff walked on,
sinking lower and lower in his own estimation, to the back
of the house. Missing the entrance in the dark, he went on,
in spite of my calling to him, till he was stopped by a wicket-
gate which led into the garden. When I joined him to bring
him back by the right way, I found that he was looking up
attentively at one particular window, on the bedroom floor,
at the back of the house.

Looking up in my turn, I discovered that the object of his
contemplation was the window of Miss Rachel's room, and
that lights were passing backward and forward there as if
something unusual was going on.

"Isn't that Miss Verinder's room ?" asked Sergeant Cuff.

I replied that it was, and invited him to go in with me to
supper. The Sergeant remained in his place, and said some-
thing about enjoying the smell of the garden at night. I left
him to his enjoyment. Just as I was turning in at the door
I heard The Last Rose of Summer at the wicket-gate. Ser-
geant Cuff had made another discovery ! And my young
lady's window was at the bottom of it this time !

That latter reflection took me back again to the Sergeant,
with a polite intimation that I could not find it in my heart
to leave him by himself. "Is there any thing you don't under-
stand up there?" I added, pointing to Miss Rachel's window.

Judging by his voice. Sergeant Cuff had suddenly risen

147

THE MOONSTONE

again to the right place in his own estimation. "You are
great people for betting in Yorkshire, are you not?" he asked.

"Well?" I said. "Suppose we are?"

"If I was a Yorkshireman," proceeded the Sergeant, taking
my arm, "I would lay you an even sovereign, Mr. Betteredge,
that your young lady has suddenly resolved to leave the house.
If I won on that event, I should offer to lay another sovereign
that the idea has occurred to her within the last hour."

The first of the Sergeant's guesses startled me. The sec-
ond mixed itself up somehow in my head with the report
we had heard from the policeman, that Rosanna Spearman
had returned from the sands within the last hour. The two
together had a curious effect on me as we went in to supper.
I shook off Sergeant Cuff's arm, and, forgetting my man-
ners, pushed by him through the door to make rfiy own in-
quiries for myself.

Samuel, the footman, was the first person I met in the
passage.

"Her ladyship is waiting to see you and Sergeant Cuff,"
he said, before I could put any questions to him.

"How long has she been waiting?" asked the Sergeant's
voice behind me.

"For the last hour, sir."

There it was again ! Rosanna had come back ; Miss Rachel
had taken some resolution out of the common ; and my lady
had been waiting to see the Sergeant — all within the last
hour ! It was not pleasant to find these very different persons
and things linking themselves together in this way. I went
on up stairs, without looking at Sergeant Cuff or speaking
to him. My hand took a sudden fit of trembling as I lifted
it to knock at my mistress's door.

"I shouldn't be surprised," whispered the Sergeant over
my shoulder, "if a scandal was to burst up in the house to-
night. Don't be alarmed ! I have put the muzzle on worse
family difficulties than this in my time."

As he said the words I heard my mistress's voice calling
to us to come in.

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THE MOONSTONE

CHAPTER XVI.

WE found my lady with no light in the room but the
reading-lamp. The shade was screwed down so as
to overshadow her face. Instead of looking up at us in her
usual straightforward way, she sat close at the table, and
kept her eyes fixed obstinately on an open book.

"Officer," she said, "is it important to the inquiry you are
conducting to know beforehand if any person now in this
house wishes to leave it?"

"Most important, my lady."

"I have to tell you, then, that Miss Verinder proposes go-
ing to stay with her aunt, Mrs. Ablewhite, of Frizinghall.
She has arranged to leave us the first thing to-morrow
morning."

Sergeant Cuff looked at me. I made a step forward to
speak to my mistress — and, feeling my heart fail me, if I
must own it, took a step back again, and said nothing.

"May I ask your ladyship zvhcn Miss Verinder first thought
of going to her aunt's?" inquired the Sergeant.

"About an hour since," answered my mistress.

Sergeant Cuff looked at me once more. They say old peo-
ple's hearts are not very easily moved. My heart couldn't
have thumped much harder than it did now, if I had been
five-and-twenty again !

"I have no claim, my lady," says the Sergeant, "to control
Miss Verinder's actions. All I can ask you to do is to put
off her departure, if possible, till later in the day. I must
go to Frizinghall myself to-morrow morning — and I shall
be back by two o'clock, if not before. If Miss Verinder can
be kept here till that time, I should wish to sav two words to
her — unexpectedly — before she goes."

My lady directed me to give the coachman her orders that
the carriage was not to come for Miss Rachel until two
o'clock. "Have you more to say?" she asked of the Sergeant,
when this had been done.

"Only one thing, your ladyship. If Miss Verinder is sur-
prised at this change in the arrangements, please not to men-
tion me as being the cause of putting off her journey."

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THE MOONSTONE

My mistress lifted her head suddenly from her book as if
she was going to say something — checked herself by a great
effort — and, looking back again at the open page, dismissed
us with a sign of her hand.

"That's a wonderful woman," said Sergeant Cufif, when we
were out in the hall again. "But for her self-control the
mystery that puzzles you, Mr. Betteredge, would have been
at an end to-night."

At those words the truth rushed at last into my stupid old
head. For the moment I suppose I must have gone clean
out of my senses. I seized the Sergeant by the collar of his
coat and pinned him against the wall.

"Damn you !" I cried out, "there's something wrong about
Miss Rachel — and you have been hiding it from me all this
time !"

Sergeant Cuff looked up at me — flat against the wall —
without stirring a hand or moving a muscle of his melan-
choly face.

"Ah," he said, "you've guessed it at last !"

My hand dropped from his collar, and my head sank on
my breast. Please to remember, as some excuse for my
breaking out as I did, that I had served the family for fifty
years. Miss Rachel had climbed upon my knees, and pulled
my whiskers, many and many a time when she was a child.
Miss Rachel, with all her faults, had been, to my mind, the
dearest and prettiest and best young mistress that ever an old
servant waited on, and loved. I begged Sergeant Cufif's par-
don, but I am afraid I did it with watery eyes, and not in a
very becoming way.

"Don't distress yourself, Mr. Betteredge," says the Ser-
geant, with more kindness than I had any right to expect
from him. "In my line of life, if we were quick at taking
offense we shouldn't be worth salt to our porridge. If it's
any comfort to you, collar me again. You don't in the least
know how to do it ; but I'll overlook your awkwardness in
consideration of your feelings."

He curled up at the corners of his lips, and, in his own
dreary way, seemed to think he had delivered himself of a
very good joke.

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THE MOONSTONE

I led him into my own little sitting-room and closed the
door,

"Tell me the truth, Sergeant," I said. "What do you sus-
pect ? It's no kindness to hide it from me now."

"I don't suspect," said Sergeant Cuff. "I know."

My unlucky temper began to get the better of me again.

"Do you mean to tell me in plain English," I said, "that
Miss Rachel has stolen her own Diamond?"

"Yes," says the Sergeant ; "that is what I mean to tell
you in so many words. Miss Verinder has been in secret
possession of the Moonstone from first to last ; and she has
taken Rosanna Spearman into her confidence because she has
calculated on our suspecting Rosanna Spearman of the theft.
There is the whole case in a nut-shell. Collar me again, Mr.
Betteredge. If it's any vent to your feelings, collar me
again."

God help me ! my feelings were not to be relieved in that
way. "Give me your reasons !" That was all I could say to
him.

"You shall hear my reasons to-morrow," said the Ser-
geant. "If Miss Verinder refuses to put off her visit to her
aunt, which you will find Miss Verinder will do, I shall be
obliged to lay the whole case before your mistress to-morrow.
And as I don't know what may come of it, I shall request
you to be present and to hear what passes on both sides. Let
the matter rest for to-night. No, Mr. Betteredge, you don't
get a word more on the subject of the Moonstone out of me.
There is your table spread for supper. That's one of the
many human infirmities which I always treat tenderly. If
you will ring the bell, I'll say grace. 'For what we are going
to receive — ' "

"I wish you a good appetite to it, Sergeant," I said. "My
appetite is gone. I'll wait and see you served, and then I'll
ask you to excuse me if I go away and try to get the better
of this by myself."

I saw him served with the best of every thing — and I
shouldn't have been sorry if the best of every thing had choked
him. The head gardener, Mr. Begbie, came in at the same
time with his weekly account. The Sergeant got on the sub-

THE MOONSTONE

ject of roses and the merits of grass walks and gravel walks
immediately. I left the two together, and went out with a
heavy heart. This was the first trouble I remember for many
a long year which wasn't to be blown off by a whiff of tobacco,
and which was even beyond the reach of Robinson Crusoe,

Being restless and miserable, and having no particular room
to go to, I took a turn on the terrace, and thought it over in
peace and quietness by myself. It doesn't much matter what
my thoughts were. I felt wretchedly old, and worn out, and
unfit for my place — and began to wonder, for the first time
in my life, when it would please God to take me. With all
this I held firm, notwithstanding, to my belief in Miss Rachel.
If Sergeant Cuff had been Solomon in all his glory, and had
told me that my young lady had mixed herself up in a mean
and guilty plot, I should have had but one answer for Solo-
mon, wise as he was, "You don't know her, and I do."

My meditations were interrupted by Samuel. He brought
me a written message from my mistress.

Going into the house to get a light to read it by, Samuel
remarked that there seemed a change coming in the weather.
My troubled mind had prevented me from noticing it before.
But, now my attention was roused, I heard the dogs uneasy,
and the wind moaning low. Looking up at the sky, I saw
the rack of clouds getting blacker and blacker, and hurrying
faster and faster over a watery moon. Wild weather coming
— Samuel was right, wild weather coming.

The message from my lady informed me that the magis-
trate at Frizinghall had written to remind her about the three
Indians. Early in the coming week the rogues must needs
be released and left free to follow their own devices. If we
had any more questions to ask them, there was no time to
lose. Having forgotten to mention this when she had last
seen Sergeant Cuff, my mistress now desired me to supply
the omission. The Indians had gone clean out of my head,
as they have, no doubt, gone clean out of yours. I didn't
see much use in stirring that subject again. However, I
obeyed my orders on the spot, as a matter of course.

I found Sergeant Cuff and the gardener, with a bottle of
Scotch whisky between them, head over ears in an argument
on the growing of roses. The Sergeant was so deeply inter-

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THE MOONSTONE

ested that he held up his hand and signed to me not to
interrupt the discussion, when I came in. As far as I could
understand it, the question between them was, whether the
white moss-rose did, or did not, require to be budded on the
dog-rose to make it grow well. Mr. Begbie said, "Yes ;" and
Sergeant Cuff said, "No." They appealed to me as hotly as
a couple of boys. Knowing nothing whatever about the
growing of roses, I steered a middle course — just as her
majesty's judges do, when the scales of justice bother them
by hanging, even to a hair. "Gentlemen," I remarked, "there
is much to be said on both sides." In the temporary lull pro-
duced by that impartial sentence I laid my lady's written
message on the table under the eyes of Sergeant Cuff.

I had got by this time as nearly as might be to hate the
Sergeant. But truth compels me to acknowledge that, in
respect of readiness of mind, he was a wonderful man.

In half a minute after he had read the message he had
looked back into his memory for Superintendent Seegrave's
report ; had picked out that part of it in which the Indians
were concerned : and was ready with his answer. A certain
great traveler, who understood the Indians and their lan-
guage, had figured in Mr. Seegrave's report, hadn't he?
Very well. Did I know the gentleman's name and address?
Very well again. Would I write them on the back of my
lady's message? Much obliged to me. Sergeant Cuff would
look that gentleman up when he went to Frizinghall in the
morning.

"Do you expect any thing .to come of it ?" I asked. "Super-
intendent Seegrave found the Indians as innocent as the babe
unborn."

"Superintendent Seegrave has been proved wrong, up to
this time, in all his conclusions," answered the Sergeant. "It
may be worth while to find out to-morrow whether Superin-
tendent Seegrave was wrong about the Indians as well."
With that he turned to Mr. Begbie, and took up the argu-
ment again exactly at the place where it had left off. "This
question between us is a question of soils and seasons, and
patience and pains, Mr. Gardener. Now let me put it to you
from another point of view. You take your white moss-
rose — "

THE MOONSTONE

By that time I had closed the door on them, and was out
of hearing of the rest of the dispute.

In the passage I met Penelope hanging about, and asked
what she was waiting for.

She was waiting for her young lady's bell, when her young
lady chose to call her back to go on with the packing for the
next day's journey. Further inquiry revealed to me that
Miss Rachel had given it as a reason for wanting to go to
her aunt at Frizinghall that the house was unendurable to her
and that she could bear the odious presence of a policeman
under the same roof with herself no longer. On being in-
formed, half an hour since, that her departure would be
delayed till two in the afternoon, she had flown into a violent
passion. My lady, present at the time, had severely rebuked
her, and then, having apparently something to say, which was
reserved for her daughter's private ear, had sent Penelope
out of the room. My girl was in wretchedly low spirits about
the changed state of things in the house. "Nothing goes
right, father ; nothing is like what it used to be. I feel as if
some dreadful misfortune was hanging over us all."

That was my feeling too. But I put a good face on it be-
fore my daughter. Miss Rachel's bell rang while we were
talking. Penelope ran up the back stairs to go on with the
packing. I went by the other way to the hall, to see what
the glass said about the change in the weather.

Just as I approached the swing-door leading into the hall
from the servants' ofifices, it was violently opened from the
other side ; and Rosanna Spearman ran by me, with a miser-
able look of pain in her face and one of her hands pressed
hard over her heart, as if the pang was in that quarter.
"What's the matter, my girl?" I asked, stopping her. "Are
you ill ?" "For God's sake, don't speak to me," she answered
and twisted herself out of my hands, and ran on toward the
servants' staircase. I called to the cook, who was within hear-
ing, to look after the poor girl. Two other persons proved
to be within hearing as well as the cook. Sergeant Cuff
darted softly out of my room, and asked what was the matter.
I answered, "Nothing." Mr. Franklin, on the other side,
pulled open the swing-door, and beckoning me into the hall,
inquired if I had seen any thing of Rosanna Spearman,

THE MOONSTONE

"She has just passed me, sir, with a very disturbed face,
and in a very odd manner."

"I am afraid I am innocently the cause of that disturbance,
Betteredge."

''You, sir!"

'T can't explain it," says Mr. Franklin ; "but if the girl is
concerned in the loss of the Diamond, I do really believe she
was on the point of confessing every thing — to me, of all the
people in the world — not two minutes since."

Looking toward the swing-door, as he said those last words,
I fancied I saw it opened a little way from the inner side.

Was there any body listening? The door fell to before I
could get to it. Looking through, the moment after, I thought
I saw the tails of Sergeant Cuff's respectable black coat dis-
appearing round the corner of the passage. He knew as well
as I did that he could expect no more help from me, now
that I had discovered the turn which his investigations were
really taking. LTnder those circumstances it was quite in his
character to help himself, and to do it by the under-ground
way.

Not feeling sure that I had really seen the Sergeant — and
not desiring to make needless mischief, where, Heaven knows,
there was mischief enough going on already — I told Mr.
Franklin that I thought one of the dogs had got into the
house — and then begged him to describe what had happened
between Rosanna and himself.

"Were you passing through the hall, sir?" I asked. "Did
you meet her accidentally, when she spoke to you?"

Mr. Franklin pointed to the billiard-table.

"I was knocking the balls about," he said, "and trying to
get this miserable business of the Diamond out of my mind.
I happened to look up — and there stood Rosanna Spearman
at the side of me, like a ghost ! Her stealing on me in that
way was so strange that I hardly knew what to do at first.
Seeing a very anxious expression in her face. T asked her if
she wished to speak to me. She answered. 'Yes, if I dare.'
Knowing what suspicion attached to her, I could only put
one construction to such language as that. T confess it made
me uncomfortable. I had no wish to invite the girl's con-
fidence. At the same time, in the difficulties that now beset

15s

THE MOONSTONE

us, I could hardly feel justified in refusing to listen to her,
if she was really bent on speaking to me. It was an awk-
ward position; and I dare say I got out of it awkwardly
enough. I said to her, 'I don't quite understand you. Is there
any thing you want me to do?' Mind, Bettercdge, I didn't
speak unkindly ! The poor girl can't help being ugly — I felt
that at the time. The cue was still in my hand, and I went
on knocking the balls about, to take off the awkwardness of
the thing. As it turned out, I only made matters worse still.
I'm afraid I mortified her without meaning it ! She sud-
denly turned away. 'He looks at the billiard-balls,' I heard
her say. 'Any thing rather than look at me!' Before I could
stop her she had left the hall. I am not quite easy about it,
Betteredge. Would you mind telling Rosanna that I meant
no unkindness? I have been a little hard on her, perhaps,
in my own thoughts — I have almost hoped that the loss of
the Diamond might be traced to her. Not from any ill-will
to the poor girl ; but — " He stopped there, and, going back
to the billiard-table, began to knock the balls about once more.

After what had passed between the Sergeant and me, I
knew what it was that he had left tmspoken as well as he
knew it himself.

Nothing but the tracing of the Moonstone to our second
house-maid could now raise Miss Rachel above the infamous
suspicion that rested on her in the mind of Sergeant Cuff.
It was no longer a question of quieting my young lady's
nervous excitement; it was a question of proving her inno-
cence. If Rosanna had done nothing to compromise herself,
the hope which Mr. Franklin confessed to having felt would
have been hard enough on her in all conscience. But this
was not the case. She had pretended to be ill, and had gone
secretly to Frizinghall. She had been up all night, making
something, or destroying something, in private. And she had
been at the Shivering Sand that evening under circum-
stances which were highly suspicious, to say the least
of them. For all these reasons, sorry as I was for Ro-
sanna, I could not but think that Mr. Franklin's way of
looking at the matter was neither unnatural nor unreason-
able, in Mr. Franklin's position. I said a word to him to that
effect.

156

THE MOONSTONE

"Yes, yes!" he said, in return. "But there is just a chance
— a very poor one, certainly — that Rosanna's conduct may
admit of some explanation which we don't see at present. I
hate hurting a woman's feelings, Betteredge ! Tell the poor
creature what I told you to tell her. And if she wants to
speak to me — I don't care whether I get into a scrape or not
— send her to me in the library." With those kind words he
laid down the cue and left me.

Inquiry at the servants' offices informed me that Rosanna
had retired to her own room. She had declined all offers of
assistance with thanks, and had only asked to be left to rest
in quiet. Here, therefore, was an end of any confession on
her part, supposing she really had a confession to make, for
that night. I reported the result to Mr. Franklin, who, there-
upon, left the library, and went up to bed.

I was putting the lights out, and making the windows fast,
when Samuel came in with news of the two guests whom
I had left in my room. The argument about the white moss-
rose had apparently come to an end at last. The gardener
had gone home, and Sergeant Cuff was nowhere to be found
in the lower regions of the house.

I looked into my room. Quite true — nothing was to be
discovered there but a couple of empty tumblers and a strong
smell of hot grog. Had the Sergeant gone of his own accord
to the bed-chamber that was prepared for him? I went up
stairs to see.

After reaching the second landing, I thought I heard a
sound of quiet and regular breathing on my left-hand side.
My left-hand side led to the corridor which communicated
with Miss Rachel's room. I looked in, and there, coiled up
on three chairs placed right across the passage — there, with
a red handkerchief tied round his grizzled head, and his re-
spectable black coat rolled up for a pillow, lay and slept
Sergeant Cuff !

He woke, instantly and quietly, like a dog, the moment I
approached him.

"Good-night, Mr. Betteredge," he said. "And mind, if
you ever take to growing roses, the white moss-rose is all
the better for not being budded on the dog-rose, whatever the
gardener may say to the contrary !"

157

THE MOONSTONE

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "Why are you not
in your proper bed?"

'T am not in my proper bed," answered the Sergeant, "be-
cause I am one of the many people in this miserable world
who can't earn their money honestly and easily at the same
time. There was a coincidence, this evening, between the
period of Rosanna Spearman's return from the Sands and the
period when Miss Verinder took her resolution to leave the
house. Whatever Rosanna may have hidden, it's clear to my
mind that your young lady couldn't go away until she knew
that it was hidden. The two must have communicated pri-
vately once already to-night. If they try to communicate
again, when the house is quiet, I want to be in the way, and
stop it. Don't blame me for upsetting your sleeping arrange-
ments, Mr. Betteredge — blame the Diamond."

"I wish to God the Diamond had never found its way into
this house !" I broke out.

Sergeant Cuff looked with a rueful face at the three chairs
on which he had condemned himself to pass the night.

"So do I," he said, gravely.

CHAPTER XVn.

NOTHING happened in the night ; and, I am happy to
add, no attempt at communication between Miss Rachel
and Rosanna rewarded the vigilance of Sergeant Cuff.

I had expected the Sergeant to set off for Frizinghall the
first thing in the morning. He waited about, however, as
if he had something else to do first. I left him to his own
devices ; and going into the grounds shortly after, met Mr.
Franklin on his favorite walk by the shrubbery side.

Before we had exchanged two words the Sergeant un-
expectedly joined us. He made up to Mr. Franklin, who
received him, I must own, haughtily enough. "Have you any
thing to say to me?" was all the return he got for politely
wishing Mr. Franklin good-morning.

"I have something to say to you, sir," answered the Ser-
geant, "on the subject of the inquiry I am conducting here.

158

THE MOONSTONE

You detected the turn that inquiry was really taking yester-
day. Naturally enough, in your position, you are shocked
and distressed. Naturally enough, also, you visit your own
angry sense of your own family scandal upon me."

"What do you want?" Mr. Franklin broke in, sharply
enough.

"I want to remind you, sir, that I have at any rate, thus
far, not been proved to be wrong. Bearing that in mind, be
pleased to remember, at the same time, that I am an officer
of the law acting here under the sanction of the mistress of
the house. Under these circumstances, is it, or is it not, your
duty as a good citizen to assist me with any special informa-
tion which you may happen to possess?"

"I possess no special information," says Mr. Franklin.

Sergeant Cuff put that answer by him, as if no answer had
been made.

"You may save my time, sir, from being wasted on an
inquiry at a distance," he went on, "if you choose to under-
stand me and speak out."

"I don't understand you," answered Mr. Franklin; "and I
have nothing to say."

"One of the female servants, I won't mention names, spoke
to you privately, sir, last night."

Once more Mr. Franklin cut him short; once more Mr.
Franklin answered, "I have nothing to say."

Standing by in silence, I thought of the movement in the
swing-door, on the previous evening, and of the coat-tails
which I had seen disappearing down the passage. Sergeant
Cuff had, no doubt, just heard enough before I interrupted
him to make him suspect that Rosanna had relieved her mind
by confessing something to Mr. Franklin Blake.

This notion had barely struck me — when who should ap-
pear at the end of the shrubbery walk but Rosanna Spearman
in her own proper person ! She was followed by Penelope,
who was evidently trying to make her retrace her steps to
the house. Seeing that Mr. Franklin was not alone, Rosanna
came to a stand-still, evidently in great perplexity what to
do next. Penelope waited behind her. Mr. Franklin saw
the girls as soon as I saw them. The Sergeant, with his
devilish cuiming, took on not to have noticed tl'-cm at all.

159

THE MOONSTONE

All this happened in an instant. Before either Mr. Franklin
or I could say a word Sergeant Cuff struck in smoothly, with
an appearance of continuing previous conversation.

"You needn't be afraid of harming the girl, sir," he said,
to Mr. Franklin, speaking in a loud voice, so that Rosanna
might hear him. "On the contrary, I recommend you to
honor me with your confidence, if you feel any interest in
Rosanna Spearman."

Mr. Franklin instantly took on not to have noticed the
girls either. He answered, speaking loudly on his side :

"I take no interest whatever in Rosanna Spearman."

I looked toward the end of the walk. All I saw at the
distance was that Rosanna suddenly turned round the moment
Mr. Franklin had spoken. Instead of resisting Penelope, as
she had done the moment before, she now let my daughter
take her by the arm and lead her back to the house.

The breakfast-bell rang as the two girls disappeared — and
even Sergeant Cuff was now obliged to give it up as a bad
job! He said to me quietly, "I shall go to Frizinghall, Mr.
Betteredge ; and I shall be back before two." He went his
way without a word more — and for some few hours we were
well rid of him.

"You must make it right with Rosanna," Mr. Franklin
said to me when we were alone. "I seem to be fated to say
or do something awkward before that unlucky girl. You
must have seen yourself that Sergeant Cuff laid a trap for
both of us. If he could confuse ntc, or irritate her into
breaking out, either she or I might have said something which
would answer his purpose. On the spur of the moment, I
saw no better way out of it than the way I took. It
stopped the girl from saying any thing, and it showed
the Sergeant that I saw through him. He was evidently
listening, Betteredge, when I was speaking to you last
night."

He had done worse than listen, as I privately thought to
myself. He had remembered my telling him that the girl
was in love with Mr. Franklin ; and he had calculated on that
when he appealed to Mr. Franklin's interest in Rosanna — in
Rosanna's hearing.

"As to listening, sir," I remarked, keeping the other point

i6c

ih

THE MOONSTONE

to myself, "we shall all be rowing in the same boat if this
sort of thing goes on much longer. Prying and peeping and
listening are the natural occupations of people situated as we
are. In another day or two, Mr. Franklin, we shall all be
struck dumb together — for this reason, that we shall all be
listening to surprise each other's secrets, and all know it.
Excuse my breaking out, sir. The horrid mystery hanging
over us in this house gets into my head like liquor, and makes
me wild. I won't forget what you have told me. I'll take the
first opportunity of making it right with Rosanna Spearman."

"You haven't said any thing to her yet about last night,
have you?" Mr. Franklin asked.

"No, sir."

"Then say nothing now. I had better not invite the girl's
confidence, with the Sergeant on the look-out to surprise us
together. My conduct is not very consistent, Betteredge —
is it? I see no way out of this business which isn't dreadful
to think of unless the Diamond is traced to Rosanna. And
yet I can't and won't help Sergeant Cufif to find the girl out."

Unreasonable enough, no doubt. But it was my state of
mind as well. I thoroughly understood him. If you will,
for once in your life, remember that you are mortal, perhaps
you will thoroughly understand him too.

The state of things, indoors and out, while Sergeant Cuff
was on his way to Frizinghall, was briefly this :

Miss Rachel waited for the time when the carriage was to
take her to her aunt's, still obstinately shut up in her own
room. My lady and Mr. Franklin breakfasted together.
After breakfast Mr. Franklin took one of his sudden resolu-
tions and went out precipitately to quiet his mind by a long
walk. I was the only person who saw him go ; and he told
me he should be back before the Sergeant returned. The
change in the weather, foreshadowed overnight, had come.
Heavy rain had been followed, soon after dawn, by high wind.
It was blowing fresh as the day got on. But though the
clouds threatened more than once the rain still held off. It
was not a bad day for a walk, if you were young and strong,
and could breast the great gusts of wind which came sweep-
ing in from the sea.

I attended my lady after breakfast, and assisted her in the
11 i6i

THE MOONSTONE

settlement of our household accounts. She only once alluded
to the matter of the Moonstone, and that was in the way of
forbidding any present mention of it between us. "Wait till
that man comes back," she said, meaning the Sergeant. "We
must speak of it then : we are not obliged to speak of it now."

After leaving my mistress I found Penelope waiting for me
in my room.

"I wish, father, you would come and speak to Rosanna,"
she said. "I am very uneasy about her."

I suspected what was the matter readily enough. But it
is a maxim of mine that men, being superior creatures, are
bound to improve women — if they can. When a woman
wants me to do any thing, my daughter or not it doesn't
matter, I always insist on knowing why. The oftener you
make them rummage their own minds for a reason, the more
manageable you will find them in all the relations of
life. It isn't their fault — poor wretches ! — that they act
first, and think afterward ; it's the fault of the fools who
humor them.

Penelope's reason why, on this occasion, may be given in
her own words. "Fm afraid, father," she said, "Mr. Frank-
lin has hurt Rosanna cruelly without intending it."

"What took Rosanna into the shrubbery walk?" I asked.

"Her own madness," says Penelope ; "I can call it nothing
else. She was bent on speaking to Mr. Franklin this morn-
ing, come what might of it. I did my best to stop her ; you
saw that. If I could only have got her away before she heard
those dreadful words — "

"There ! there !" I said, "don't lose your head. I can't call
to mind that any thing happened to alarm Rosanna."

"Nothing to alarm her, father. But Mr. Franklin said he
took no interest whatever in her — and, oh, he said it in such
a cruel voice !"

"He said it to stop the Sergeant's mouth," I answered.

"I told her that," says Penelope. "But you see, father,
though Mr. Franklin isn't to blame, he's been mortifying and
disappointing her for weeks and weeks past ; and now this
comes on the top of it all ! She has no right, of course, to
expect him to take any interest in her. It's quite monstrous
that she should forget herself and her station in that way.

162

. THE MOONSTONE

But she seems to have lost pride and proper feeUng and every
thing. She frightened me, father, when Mr. Frankhn said
those words. They seemed to turn her into stone. A sudden
quiet came over her, and she has gone about her work ever
since Hke a woman in a dream."

I began to feel a little uneasy. There was something in
the way Penelope put it which silenced my superior sense.
I called to mind, now my thoughts were directed that way,
what had passed between Mr. Franklin and Rosanna over-
night. She looked cut to the heart on that occasion ; and now,
as ill-luck would have it, she had been unavoidably stung
again, poor soul, on the tender place. Sad ! sad ! — all the
more sad because the girl had no reason to justify her, and no
right to feel it.

I had promised Mr. Franklin to speak to Rosanna, and this
seemed the fittest time for keeping my word.

We found the girl sweeping the corridor outside the bed-
rooms, pale and composed, and neat as ever in her modest
print dress. I noticed a curious dimness and dullness in her
eyes — not as if she had been crying, but as if she had been
looking at something too long. Possibly it was a misty
something raised by her own thoughts. There was certainly
no object about her to look at which she had not seen already
hundreds on hundreds of times.

"Cheer up, Rosanna !" I said. "You mustn't fret over
your own fancies. I have got something to say to you from
Mr. Franklin."

I thereupon put the matter in the right view before her, in
the friendliest and most comforting words I could find. My
principles, in regard to the other sex, are, as you may have
noticed, very severe. But somehow or other when I come
face to face with the women, my practice, I own, is not com-
formable.

"Mr. Franklin is very kind and considerate. Please to
thank him." That was all the answer she made me.

My daughter had already noticed that Rosanna went about
her work like a woman in a dream. I now added to this
observation that she also listened and spoke like a woman
in a dream. I doubted if her mind was in a fit condition to
take in what I had said to her.

163

THE MOONSTONE

"Are you quite sure, Rosanna, that you understand me?"
I asked.

"Quite sure."

She echoed me, not hke a Hving woman, but like a creature
moved by machinery. She went on sweeping all the time.
I took away the broom as gently and as kindly as I
could.

"Come, come, my girl !" I said, "this is not like yourself.
You have got something on your mind. I'm your friend —
and I'll stand your friend, even if you have done wrong.
Make a clean breast of it, Rosanna — make a clean breast of
it !"

The time had been, when my speaking to her in that way
would have brought the tears into her eyes. I could see no
change in them now.

"Yes," she said, "I'll make a clean breast of it."

"To my lady?" I asked.

"No."

"To Mr. Franklin ?"

"Yes; to Mr. FrankHn."

I hardly knew what to say to that. She was in no condition
to understand the caution against speaking to him in private,
which Mr. Franklin had directed me to give her. Feeling
my way, little by little, I only told her Mr. Franklin had gone
out for a walk.

"It doesn't matter," she answered. "I sha'n't trouble Mr.
Franklin to-day."

"Why not speak to my lady?" I said. "The way to re-
lieve your mind is to speak to the merciful and Christian
mistress who has always been kind to you."

She looked at me for a moment with a grave and steady
attention, as if she was fixing what I said in her mind. Then
she took the broom out of my hands, and moved off with it
slowly, a little way down the corridor.

"No," she said, going on with her sweeping, and speaking
to herself; "T know a better way of relieving my mind than
that."

"What is it?"

"Please to let me go on with my work."

Penelope followed her, and offered to help her.

164

THE MOONSTONE

She answered, "No. I want to do my work. Thank you,
Penelope." She looked round at me. "Thank you, Mr. Bet-
teredge."

There was no moving her — there was nothing more to be
said. I signed to Penelope to come away with me. We left
her, as we had found her, sweeping the corridor like a woman
in a dream.

"This is a matter for the doctor to look into,-' I said. "It's
beyond me."

My daughter reminded me of Mr. Candy's illness, owing,
as you may remember, to the chill he had caught on the night
of the dinner-party. His assistant — a certain Mr. Ezra Jen-
nings— was at our disposal, to be sure. But nobody knew
much about him in our parts. He had been engaged by Mr.
Candy under rather peculiar circumstances ; and, right or
wrong, we none of us liked him or trusted him. There were
other doctors at Frizinghall. But they were strangers to our
house ; and Penelope doubted, in Rosanna's present state,
whether strangers might not do her more harm than good.

I thought of speaking to my lady. But, remembering the
heavy weight of anxiety which she already had on her mind,
I hesitated to add to all the other vexations this new trouble.
Still, there was a necessity for doing something. The girl's
state was, to my thinking, downright alarming — and my mis-
tress ought to be informed of it. Unwillingly enough I went
to her sitting-room. No one was there. My lady was shut
up with Miss Rachel. It was impossible for me to see her
till she came out again.

I waited in vain till the clock on the front staircase struck
the quarter to two. Five minutes afterward I heard my
name called from the drive outside the house. I knew the
voice directly. Sergeant Cuff had returned from Frizinghall.

CHAPTER XVIII.

GOING down to the front-door I met the Sergeant on the
steps.
It went against the grain with mc, after what had passed
between us, to show him that I felt any sort of interest in

165

THE MOONSTONE

his proceedings. In spite of myself, however, I felt an inter-
est that there was no resisting. My sense of dignity sank
from under me, and out came the words, "What news from
Frizinghall ?"

*T have seen the Indians," answered Sergeant Cuff. "And
I have found out what Rosanna bought privately in the town
on Thursday last. The Indians will be set free on Wednes-
day in next week. There isn't a doubt on my mind, and there
isn't a doubt on Mr. Murthwaite's mind, that they came to
this place to steal the Moonstone. Their calculations were
all thrown out, of course, by what happened in the house on
Wednesday night ; and they have no more to do with the
actual loss of the jewel than you have. But I can tell you one
thing, Mr, Betteredge — if we don't find the Moonstone, they
will. You have not heard the last of the three jugglers yet."

Mr. Franklin came back from his walk as the Sergeant
said those startling words. Governing his curiosity better
than I had governed mine, he passed us without a word, and
went on into the house.

As for me, having already dropped my dignity, I deter-
mined to have the whole benefit of the sacrifice. "So much
for the Indians," I said. "What about Rosanna, next ?"

Sergeant Cuff shook his head.

"The mystery in that quarter is thicker than ever," he
said. "I have traced her to a shop at Frizinghall, kept by a
linen-draper named Maltby. She bought nothing whatever
at any of the other drapers' shops, or at any milliners' or
tailors' shops ; and she bought nothing at Maltby's but a piece
of long cloth. She was very particular in choosing a certain
quality. As to quantity, she bought enough to make a night-
gown."

"Whose night-gown?" I asked.

"Her own, to be sure. Between twelve and three, on the
Thursday morning, she must have slipped down to your
young lady's room to settle the hiding of the Moonstone,
while all the rest of you were in bed. In going back to her
own room her night-gown must have brushed the wet paint
on the door. She couldn't wash out the stain ; and she couldn't
safely destroy the night-gown — without first providing an-
other like it, to make the inventory of her linen complete."

i66

THE MOONSTONE

"What proves that it was Rosanna's night-gown?" I ob-
jected.

"The material she bought for making the substitute dress,"
answered the Sergeant. "If it had been Miss Verinder's
night-gown, she would have had to buy lace, and frilling, and
Lord knows what besides ; and she wouldn't have had time
to make it in one night. Plain long cloth means a plain
servant's night-gown. No, no, Mr. Betteredge — all that is
clear enough. The pinch of the cjuestion is — why, after hav-
ing provided the substitute dress, does she hide the smeared
night-gown, instead of destroying it? If the girl won't speak
out, there is only one way of settling the difficulty. The
hiding-place at the Shivering Sand must be searched — and
the true state of the case will be discovered there."

"How are you to find the place?" I inquired.

"I am sorry to disappoint you," said the Sergeant — "but
that's a secret which I mean to keep to myself."

Not to irritate your curiosity, as he irritated mine, I may
here inform you that he had come back from Frizinghall,
provided with a search-warrant. His experience in such mat-
ters told him that Rosanna was in all probability carrying
about her a memorandum of the hiding-place to guide her,
in case she returned to it, under changed circumstances and
after a lapse of time. Possessed of this memorandum, the
Sergeant would be furnished with all that he could desire.

"Now, Mr. Betteredge," he went on, "suppose we drop
speculation, and get to business. I told Joyce to have an eye
on Rosanna. Where is Joyce?"

Joyce was the Frizinghall policeman, who had been left
by Superintendent Seegrave at Sergeant Cuff's disposal. The
clock struck two as he put the question, and, punctual to the
moment, the carriage came round to take Miss Rachel to her
aunt's.

"One thing at a time," said the Sergeant, stopping me as
I was about to send in search of Joyce. "I must attend to
Miss Verinder first."

As the rain was still threatening, it was the close carriage
that had been appointed to take Miss Rachel to Frizinghall.
Sergeant Cuff beckoned Samuel to come down to him from
the rumble behind.

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"You will see a friend of mine waiting among the trees,
on this side of the lodge-gate," he said. "My friend, with-
out stopping the carriage, will get up into the rumble with
you. You have nothing to do but to hold your tongue, and
shut your eyes. Otherwise, you will get into trouble."

With that advice he sent the footman back to his place.
What Samuel thought, I don't know. It was plain, to my
mind, that Miss Rachel was to be privately kept in view from
the time she left our house — if she did leave it. A watch
set on my young lady ! A spy behind her in the rumble of
her mother's carriage ! I could have cut my own tongue out
for having forgotten myself so far as to speak to Sergeant
Cufif.

The first person to come out of the house was my lady.
She stood aside, on the top step, posting herself there to see
what happened. Not a word did she say, either to the Ser-
geant or to me. With her lips closed, and her arms folded
in the light garden-cloak which she had wrapped round her
on coming into the air, there she stood, as still as a statue,
waiting for her daughter to appear.

In a minute more Miss Rachel came down stairs, very
nicely dressed in some soft yellow stufif that set off her dark
complexion, and clipped her tight, in the form of a jacket,
round the waist. She had a smart little straw-hat on her
head, with a white veil twisted round it. She had primrose-
colored gloves that fitted her hands like a second skin. Her
beautiful black hair looked as smooth as satin under her hat.
Her little ears were like rosy shells — they had a pearl dangling
from each of them. She came swiftly out to us, as straight
as a lily on its stem, and as lithe and supple in every move-
ment she made as a young cat. Nothing that I could dis-
cover was altered in her pretty face but her eyes and her lips.
Her eyes were brighter and fiercer than I liked to see ; and
her lips had so completely lost their color and their smile that
I hardly knew them again. She kissed her mother in a hasty
and sudden manner on the cheek. She said, "Try to forgive
me, mamma — " and then pulled down her veil over her face
so vehemently that she tore it. In another moment she had
run down the steps, and had rushed into the carriage as if
it was a hiding-place.

THE MOONSTONE

Sergeant Cuff was just as quick on his side. He put Sam-
uel back, and stood before Miss Rachel, with the open
carriage-door in his hand, at the instant when she settled
herself in her place.

"What do you want?" says Miss Rachel, from behind her
veil.

'T want to say one word to you, miss," answered the Ser-
geant, "before you go. I can't presume to stop your paying
a visit to your aunt. I can only venture to say that your
leaving us, as things are now, puts an obstacle in the way of
my recovering your Diamond. Please to understand that;
and now decide for yourself whether you go or stay."

Miss Rachel never even answered him. "Drive on, James !"
she called out to the coachman.

Without another word the Sergeant shut the carriage-
door. Just as he closed it Mr. Franklin came running down
the steps. "Good-bye, Rachel," he said, holding out his
hand.

"Drive on !" cried Miss Rachel, louder than ever, and tak-
ing no more notice of Mr. Franklin than she had taken of
Sergeant Cuff.

Mr. Franklin stepped back, thunderstruck, as well he might
be. The coachman, not knowing what to do, looked toward
my lady, still standing immovable on the top step. My lady,
with anger and sorrow and shame all struggling together in
her face, made him a sign to start the horses, and then turned
back hastily into the house. Mr. Franklin, recovering the
use of his speech, called after her, as the carriage drove off,
"Aunt ! you were quite right. Accept my thanks for all your
kindness — and let me go."

My lady turned as though to speak to him. Then, as if
distrusting herself, waved her hand kindly. "Let me see you
before you leave us, Franklin," she said, in a broken voice —
and went on to her own room.

"Do me a last favor, Betteredge," says Mr. Franklin, turn-
ing to me, with the tears in his eyes. "Get me away to the
train as soon as you can !"

He too went his way into the house. For the moment Miss
Rachel had completely unmanned him. Judge from that how
fond he must have been of her !

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Sergeant Cuff and I were left face to face at the bottom
of the steps. The Sergeant stood with his face set toward a
gap in the trees, commanding a view of one of the windings
of the drive which led from the house. He had his hands in
his pockets, and he was softly whistling the Last Rose of
Summer to himself.

"There's a time for every thing," I said, savagely enough.
"This isn't a time for whistling."

At that moment the carriage appeared in the distance,
through the gap, on its way to the lodge-gate. There was
another man besides Samuel plainly visible in the rumble
behind.

"All right !" said the Sergeant to himself. He turned
round to me. "It's no time for whistling, Mr. Betteredge,
as you say. It's time to take this business in hand now with-
out sparing any body. We'll begin with Rosanna Spearman.
Where is Joyce?"

We both called for Joyce, and received no answer. I sent
one of the stable-boys to look for him.

"You heard what I said to Miss Verinder?" remarked the
Sergeant, while we were waiting. "And you saw how she
received it? I tell her plainly that her leaving us will be an
obstacle in the way of my recovering her Diamond — and she
leaves, in the face of that statement! Your young lady has
got a traveling companion in her mother's carriage, Mr. Bet-
teredge— and the name of it is, The Moonstone."

I said nothing. I only held on like death to my belief in
Miss Rachel.

The stable-boy came back, followed — very unwillingly, as
it appeared to me — by Joyce.

"Where is Rosanna Spearman?" asked Sergeant Cuff.

"I can't account for it, sir," Joyce began; "and I am very
sorry. But somehow or other — "

"Before I went to Frizinghall," said the Sergeant, cutting
him short, "I told you to keep your eye on Rosanna Spear-
man, without allowing her to discover that she was being
watched. Do you mean to tell me that you have let her give
you the slip?"

"I am afraid, sir," says Joyce, beginning to tremble, "that
I was perhaps a little too careful not to let her discover me.

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There are such a many passages in the lower parts of this
house — "

"How long is it since you missed her?"

"Nigh on an hour since, sir."

"You can go back to your regular business at Frizing-
hall," said the Sergeant, speaking just as composedly as ever,
in his usual quiet and dreary way. 'T don't think your tal-
ents are at all in our line, Mr. Joyce. Your present form of
employment is a trifle beyond you. Good-morning."

The man slunk off. I find it very difficult to describe how
I was affected by the discovery that Rosanna Spearman was
missing. I seemed to be in fifty different minds about it, all
at the same time. In that state I stood staring at Sergeant
Cuff — and my powers of language quite failed me.

"No, Mr. Betteredge," said the Sergeant, as if he had dis-
covered the uppermost thought in me, and was picking it
out to be answered, before all the rest. "Your young friend,
Rosanna, won't slip through my fingers so easily as you
think. As long as I know where Miss Verinder is, I have
the means at my disposal of tracing Miss Verinder's accom-
plice. I prevented them from communicating last night.
Very good. They will get together at Frizinghall instead
of getting together here. The present inquiry must be simply
shifted, rather sooner than I had anticipated, from this house
to the house at which Miss Verinder is visiting. In the mean
time, I'm afraid I must trouble you to call the servants
together again."

I went round with him to the servants' hall. It is very
disgraceful, but it is none the less true, that I had another
attack of the detective-fever when he said those last words.
I forgot that I hated Sergeant Cuff. I seized him confiden-
tially by the arm, I said, "For goodness' sake, tell us what
you are going to do with the servants now?"

The great Cuff stood stock-still, and addressed himself in
a kind of melancholy rapture to the empty air.

"If this man," said the Sergeant, apparently meaning me,
"only understood the growing of roses, he would be the most
completely perfect character on the face of creation !" After
that strong expression of feeling he sighed, and put his arm
through mine. "This is how it stands," he said, dropping

171

THE MOONSTONE

down again to business. "Rosanna has clone one of two
things. She has either gone direct to Frizinghall, before I
can get there, or she has gone first to visit her hiding-place
at the Shivering Sand. The first thing to find out is, which
of the servants saw the last of her before she left the house."

On instituting this inquiry, it turned out that the last
person who had set eyes on Rosanna was Nancy, the kitchen-
maid.

Nancy had seen her slip out with a letter in her hand,
and stop the butcher's man, who had just been deliv.ering
some meat at the back-door. Nancy had heard her ask the
man to post the letter when he got back to Frizinghall. The
man had looked at the address, and had said it was a round-
about way of delivering a letter, directed to Cobb's Hole, to
post it at Frizinghall — and that, moreover, on a Saturday,
which would prevent the letter from getting to its destination
until Monday morning. Rosanna had answered that the de-
livery of the letter being delayed till Monday was of no
importance. The only thing she wished to be sure of was
that the man would do what she told him. The man had
promised to do it and had driven away. Nancy had been
called back to her work in the kitchen. And no other person
had seen any thing afterward of Rosanna Spearman.

"Well?" I asked, when we were alone again.

"Well," says the Sergeant. "I must go to Frizinghall."

"About the letter, sir?"

"Yes. The memorandum of the hiding-place is in that
letter. I must see the address at the post-office. If it is the
address I suspect, I shall pay our friend Mrs. Yolland another
visit on Alonday next."

I went with the Sergeant to order the pony-chaise. In
the stable-yard we got a new light thrown on the missing
girl.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE news of Rosanna's disappearance had, as it ap-
peared, spread among the outdoor servants. They too
had made their inquiries ; and they had just laid hands on a

172

THE MOONSTONE

quick little imp, nicknamed "Duffy" — who was occasionally
employed in weeding the garden, and who had seen Rosanna
Spearman as lately as half an hour since. Duffy was certain
that the girl had passed him in the fir-plantation, not walking,
but running, in the direction of the sea-shore.

"Does this boy know the coast hereabouts?" asked Ser-
geant Cuff.

"He has been born and bred on the coast," I answered.

"Duffy !" says the Sergeant, "do you want to earn a shil-
ling? If you do, come along with me. Keep the pony-chaise
ready, Mr. Betteredge, till I come back."

He started for the Shivering Sand at a rate that my legs,
though well enough preserved for my time of life, had no
hope of matching. Little Duffy, as the way is with the young
savages in our parts when they are in high spirits, gave a
howl, and trotted off at the Sergeant's heels.

Here, again, I find it impossible to give any thing like a
clear account of the state of my mind in the interval after
Sergeant Cuff had left us. A curious and stupefying rest-
lessness got possession of me. I did a dozen different need-
less things in and out of the house, not one of which I can
now remember. I don't even know how long it was after
the Sergeant had gone to the sands when Duffy came running
back with a message for me. Sergeant Cuff had given the
boy a leaf torn out of his pocket-book, on which was written
in pencil, "Send me one of Rosanna Spearman's boots, and
be quick about it."

I dispatched the first woman-servant I could find to Ro-
sanna's room ; and I sent the boy back to say that I myself
would follow him with the boot.

This, I am well aware, was not the quickest way to take
of obeying the directions which I had received. But I was
resolved to see for myself what new mystification was going
on, before I trusted Rosanna's boot in the Sergeant's hands.
My old notion of screening the girl if I could seemed to have
come back on me again at the eleventh hour. This state of
feeling, to say nothing of the detective-fever, hurried me off,
as soon as the boot was put in my hands, at the nearest ap-
proach to a run which a man turned seventy can reasonably
hope to make.

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As T got near the shore the clouds gathered black and the
rain came down, drifting in great white sheets of water before
the wind. I heard the thunder of the sea on the sand-bank,
at the mouth of the bay. A little farther on I passed the boy
crouching for shelter under the lee of the sand-hills. Then
I saw the raging sea, and the rollers tumbling in on the sand-
bank, and the driven rain sweeping over the waters like a
flying garment, and the yellow wilderness of the beach with
one solitary black figure standing on it — the figure of Ser-
geant Cufif.

He waved his hand toward the north when he first saw
me. "Keep on that side !" he shouted. "And come on down
here to me !"

I went down to him, choking for breath, with my heart
leaping as if it was like to leap out of me. I was past speak-
ing. I had a hundred questions to put to him ; and not one
of them would pass my lips. His face frightened me. I saw
a look in his eyes which was a look of horror. He snatched
the boot out of my hand, and set it in a foot-mark on the
sand, bearing south from us as we stood, and pointing straight
toward the rocky ledge called the South Spit. The mark
was not yet blurred out by the rain — and the girl's boot fitted
it to a hair.

The Sergeant pointed to the boot in the foot-mark, without
saying a word.

I caught at his arm and tried to speak to him, and failed
as I had failed when I tried before. He went on, following
the footsteps down and down to where the rocks and the
sand joined. The South Spit was just awash with the flow-
ing tide ; the waters heaved over the hidden face of the
Shivering Sand. Now this way and now that, with an obsti-
nate silence that fell on you like lead, with an obstinate
patience that was dreadful to see. Sergeant Cufif tried the
boot in the footsteps, and always found it pointing the same
way — straight to the rocks. Hunt as he might, no sign could
he find anywhere of the footsteps walking from them.

He gave it up at last. He looked again at me ; and then
he looked out at the waters before us, heaving in deeper and
deeper over the hidden face of the Shivering Sand. I looked
where he looked — and T saw his thought in his face. A

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THE MOONSTONE

dreadful dumb trembling crawled all over me on a sudden.
I fell upon my knees on the sand.

"She has been back at the hiding-place," I heard the Ser-
geant say to himself. "Some fatal accident has happened to
her on those rocks."

The girl's altered looks, and words, and actions — the
numbed, deadened way in which she listened to me and spoke
to me, when I had found her sweeping the corridor but a few
hours since, rose up in my mind and warned me, even as the
Sergeant spoke, that his guess was wide of the dreadful truth.
I tried to tell him of the fear that had frozen me up. I
tried to say, "The death she has died. Sergeant, was a death
of her own seeking." No ! the words wouldn't come. The
dumb trembling held me in its grip. I couldn't feel the driv-
ing rain. I couldn't see the rising tide. As in the vision of
a dream the poor lost creature came back before me. I saw
her again as I had seen her in the past time — on the morning
when I went to fetch her into the house. I heard her again,
telling me that the Shivering Sand seemed to draw her to it
against her will, and wondering whether her grave was wait-
ing for her there. The horror of it struck at me, in
some unfathomable way, through my own child. My girl
was just her age. My girl, tried as Rosanna was tried,
might have lived that miserable life, and died this dreadful
death.

The Sergeant kindly lifted me up and turned me away
from the sight of the place where she had perished.

With that relief I began to fetch my breath again, and to
see things about me as things really were. Looking toward
the sand-hills, I saw the men-servants from out-of-doors, and
the fisherman named Yolland, all running down to us to-
gether ; and all having taken the alarm, calling out to know
if the girl had been found. In the fewest words the Ser-
geant showed them the evidence of the foot-marks, and told
them that a fatal accident must have happened to her. He
then picked out the fisherman from the rest, and put a ques-
tion to him, turning about again toward the sea : "Tell me
this," he said. "Could a boat have taken her off from that
ledge of rock where her foot-marks stop ?"

The fisherman pointed to the rollers tumbling in on the

175

THE MOONSTONE

sand-bank, and to the great waves leaping up in clouds of
foam against the headlands on either side of us.

"No boat that ever was built," he answered, "could have
got to her through that."

Sergeant Cuff looked for the last time at the foot-marks
on the sand, which the rain was now fast blurring out.

"There," he said, "is the evidence that she can't have left
this place by land. And here," he went on, looking at the
fisherman, "is the evidence that she can't have got away by
sea." He stopped and considered for a minute. "She was
seen running toward this place, half an hour before I got
here from the house," he said to Yolland. "Some time has
passed since then. Call it altogether an hour ago. How high
would the water be at that time on this side of the rocks?"
He pointed to the south side — otherwise, the side which was
not filled up by the quicksand.

"As the tide makes to-day," said the fisherman, "there
wouldn't have been water enough to drown a kitten on that
side of the Spit an hour since."

Sergeant Cufif turned about northward toward the quick-
sand.

"How much on this side?" he asked.

"Less still," answered Yolland. "The Shivering Sand
would have been just awash, and no more."

The Sergeant turned to me, and said that the accident
must have happened on the side of the quicksand. My tongue
was loosened at that. "No accident !" I told him. "When
she came to this place she came, weary of her life, to end it
here."

He started back from me. "How do you know?" he
asked. The rest of them crowded round. The Sergeant re-
covered himself instantly. He put them back from me ; he
said I was an old man ; he said the discovery had shaken me ;
he said, "Let him alone a little." Then he turned to Yolland
and asked, "Is there any chance of finding her when the tide
ebbs again?" And Yolland answered, "None. What the
Sand gets the Sand keeps forever." Having said that, the
fisherman came a step nearer and addressed himself to me.

"Mr. Betteredge," he said, "I have a word to say to you
about the young woman's death. Four foot out, broadwise,

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THE MOONSTONE

along the side of the Spit, there's a shelf of rock about half
fathom down under the sand. My question is — why didn't
she strike that? If she slipped, by accident, from off the
Spit, she fell in, where there's foothold at the bottom, at a
depth that would barely cover her to the waist. She must
have waded out, or jumped out, into the Deeps beyond — or
she wouldn't be missing now. No accident, sir ! The Deeps
of the Quicksand have got her. And they have got her by
her own act."

After that testimony from a man whose knowledge was
to be relied on the Sergeant was silent. The rest of us, like
him, held our peace. With one accord we all turned back
up the slope of the beach.

At the sand-hillocks we were met by the under-groom,
running to us from the house. The lad is a good lad, and
has an honest respect for me. He handed me a little note,
with a decent sorrow in his face. "Penelope sent me with this,
Mr. Betteredge," he said. "She found it in Rosanna's room."

It was her last farewell word to the old man who had done
his best — thank God, always done his best — to befriend her.

"You have often forgiven me, Mr. Betteredge, in past
times. When you next see the Shivering Sand, try to for-
give me once more. I have found my grave where my grave
was waiting for me. I have lived, and died, sir, grateful for
your kindness."

There was no more than that. Little as it was, I hadn't
manhood enough to hold up against it. Your tears come
easy, when you're young, and beginning the world. Your
tears come easy, when you're old, and leaving it. I burst out
crying.

Sergeant Cuff took a step nearer to me — meaning kindly,
I don't doubt. I shrank back from him. "Don't touch me,"
I said. "It's the dread of you that has driven her to it."

"You are wrong, Mr. Betteredge," he answered, quietly.
"But there will be time enough to speak of it when we are
all indoors again."

I followed the rest of them with the help of the under-
groom's arm. Through the driving rain we went back — to
meet the trouble and the terror that were waiting for us at
the house.

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THE MOONSTONE

CHAPTER XX.

THOSE in front had spread the news before us. We
found the servants in a state of panic. As we passed
my lady's door it was thrown open violently from the inner
side. My mistress came out among us, with Mr. Franklin
following and trying vainly to compose her, quite beside her-
self with the horror of the thing.

*'You are answerable for this !" she cried out, threatening
the Sergeant wildly with her hand. "Gabriel ! give that
wretch his money — and release me from the sight of him !"

The Sergeant was the only one among us who was fit to
cope with her — being the only one among us who was in
possession of himself.

"I am no more answerable for this distressing calamity,
my lady, than you are," he said. "If, in half an hour from
this, you still insist on my leaving the house, I will accept
your ladyship's dismissal, but not your ladyship's money."

It was spoken very respectfully, but very firmly at the same
time — and it had its efifect on my mistress as well as on me.
She suffered Mr. Franklin to lead her back into the room.
As the door closed on the two, the Sergeant, looking about
among the women-servants in his observant way, noticed that,
while all the rest were merely frightened, Penelope was in
tears. "When your father has changed his wet clothes," he
said to her, "come and speak to us in your father's room."

Before the half hour was out I had got my dry clothes on,
and had lent Sergeant Cuff such change of dress as he re-
quired. Penelope came in to us to hear what the Sergeant
wanted with her. I don't think I ever felt what a good duti-
ful daughter I had so strongly as I felt it at that moment.
I took her and sat her on my knee — and I prayed God bless
her. She hid her head on my bosom, and put her arms round
my neck — and we waited a little while in silence. The poor
dead girl must have been at the bottom of it, I think, with
my daughter and with me. The Sergeant went to the window
and stood there looking out. I thought it right to thank
him for considering us both in this way — and I did.

People in high life have all the luxuries to themselves—

THE MOONSTONE

among others the luxury of indulging their feelings. People
in low life have no such privilege. Necessity, which spares
our betters, has no pity on us. We learn to put our feelings
back into ourselves, and to jog on with our duties as patiently
as may be. I don't complain of this — I only notice it. Penel-
ope and I were ready for the Sergeant as soon as the Ser-
geant was ready on his side. Asked if she knew what had
led her fellow-servant to destroy herself, my daughter an-
swered, as you will foresee, that it was for love of Mr. Frank-
lin Blake. Asked next if she had mentioned this notion of
hers to any other person, Penelope answered, "I have not
mentioned it, for Rosanna's sake." I felt it necessary to add
a word to this. I said, "And for Mr. Franklin's sake, my
dear, as well. If Rosanna has died for love of him, it is not
with his knowledge or by his fault. Let him leave the house
to-day, if he does leave it, without the useless pain of know-
ing the truth." Sergeant Cuff said, "Quite right," and fell
silent again ; comparing Penelope's notion, as it seemed to
me, with some other notion of his own which he kept to him-
self.

At the end of the half hour my mistress's bell rang.

On my way to answer it, I met Mr. Franklin coming out
of his aunt's sitting-room. He mentioned that her ladyship
was ready to see Sergeant Cuff — in my presence as before —
and he added that he himself wanted to say two words to
the Sergeant first. On our way back to my room he stopped
and looked at the railway time-table in the hall.

"Are you really going to leave us, sir?" I asked. "Miss
Rachel will surely come right again, if you only give her
time."

"She will come right again," answered Mr. Franklin,
"when she hears that I have gone away, and that she will
see me no more."

I thought he spoke in resentment of my young lady's treat-
ment of him. But it was not so. My mistress had noticed,
from the time when the police first came into the house, that
the bare mention of him was enough to set Miss Rachel's
temper in a flame. He had been too fond of his cousin to
like to confess this to himself, until the truth had been forced
on him when she drove off to her aunt's. His eyes once

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THE MOONSTONE

opened in that cruel way which you know of, Mr. Franklin
had taken his resolution — the one resolution which a man of
any spirit could take — to leave the house.

What he had to say to the Sergeant was spoken in my
presence. He described her ladyship as willing to acknow-
ledge that she had spoken overhastily. And he asked if Ser-
geant Cuff would consent — in that case — to accept his fee,
and to leave the matter of the Diamond where the matter
stood now. The Sergeant answered, "No, sir. My fee is
paid me for doing my duty. I decline to take it until my duty
is done."

"I don't understand you," says Mr. Franklin.

"I'll explain myself, sir," says the Sergeant. "When I
came here I undertook to throw the necessary light on the
matter of the missing Diamond. I am now ready, and wait-
ing, to redeem my pledge. When I have stated the case to
Lady Verinder as the case now stands, and when I have told
her plainly what course of action to take for the recovery of
the Moonstone, the responsibility will be off my shoulders.
Let her ladyship decide, after that, whether she does, or does
not, allow me to go on. I shall then have done what I under-
took to do — and Fll take my fee."

In those words Sergeant Cuff reminded us that, even in
the Detective Police, a man may have a reputation to lose.

The view he took was so plainly the right one that there
was no more to be said. As I rose to conduct him to my
lady's room, he asked if Mr. Franklin wished to be present.
Mr. Franklin answered, "Not unless Lady Verinder desires
it." He added, in a whisper to me, as I was following the
Sergeant out, "I know what that man is going to say about
Rachel ; and I am too fond of her to hear it and keep my
temper. Leave me by myself."

I left him, miserable enough, leaning on the sill of my win-
dow, with his face hidden in his hands — and Penelope peeping
through the door, longing to comfort him. In ]\Ir. Frank-
lin's place, I should have called her in. When you are ill-
used by one woman there is great comfort in telling it to
another — because, nine times out of ten, the other always
takes your side. Perhaps, when my back was turned, he did
call her in? In that case it is only doing my daughter jus-

z8o

THE MOONSTONE

tice to declare that she would stick at nothing in the way
of comforting Mr, Franklin Blake.

In the mean time Sergeant Cuff and I proceeded to my
lady's room.

At the last conference we had held with her we had found
her not overwilling to lift her eyes from the book which she
had on the table. On this occasion there was a change for
the better. She met the Sergeant's eye with an eye that was
as steady as his own. The family spirit showed itself in
every line of her face ; and I knew that Sergeant Cuff would
meet his match when a woman like my mistress was strung
up to hear the worst he could say to her.

The first words, when we had taken our seats, were spoken
by my lady.

"Sergeant Cuff," she said, "there was perhaps some excuse
for the inconsiderate manner in which I spoke to you half an
hour since. I have no wish, however, to claim that excuse.
I say, with perfect sincerity, that I regret it, if I wronged
you."

The grace of voice and manner with which she made him
that atonement had its due effect on the Sergeant. He re-
quested permission to justify himself — putting his justifica-
tion as an act of respect to my mistress. It was impossible,
he said, that he could be in any way responsible for the calam-
ity which had shocked us all, for this sufficient reason, that
his success in bringing his inquiry to its proper end depended
on his neither saying nor doing any thing that could alarm
Rosanna Spearman. He appealed to me to testify whether
he had, or had not, carried that object out. I could, and did,
bear witness that he had. And there, as I thought, the mat-
ter might have been judiciously left to come to an end.

Sergeant Cuff, however, took it a step farther, evidently,
as you shall now judge, with the purpose of forcing the most
painful of all possible explanations to take place between her
ladyship and himself.

"I have heard a motive assigned for the young woman's
suicide," said the Sergeant, "which may possibly be the right
one. It is a motive quite unconnected with the case which
I am conducting here. I am bound to add, however, that my
own opinion points the other way. Some unbearable anxiety,

i8i

THE MOONSTONE

in connection with the missing Diamond, has, as I believe,
driven the poor creature to her own destruction. I don't pre-
tend to know what that unbearable anxiety may have been.
But I think, with your ladyship's permission, I can lay my
hand on a person who is capable of deciding whether I am
right or wrong."

'Ts the person now in the house?" my mistress asked, after
waiting a little.

"The person has left the house, my lady."

That answer pointed as straight to Miss Rachel as straight
could be. A silence dropped on us which I thought would
never come to an end. Lord ! how the wind howled, and how
the rain drove at the window, as I sat there waiting for one
or more of them to speak again !

"Be so good as to express yourself plainly," said my lady.
"Do you refer to my daughter?"

"I do," said Sergeant Cuff, in so many words.

My mistress had her check-book on the table when we
entered the room — no doubt to pay the Sergeant his fee. She
now put it back in the drawer. It went to my heart to see
how her poor hand trembled — the hand that had loaded her
old servant with benefits ; the hand that, I pray God, may
take mine, when my time comes, and I leave my place for-
ever!

'T had hoped," said my lady, very slowly and quietly, "to
have recompensed your services, and to have parted with you
without Miss Verinder's name having been openly mentioned
between us as it has been mentioned now. My nephew has
probably said something of this before you came into my
room ?"

"Mr. Blake gave his message, my lady. And I gave Mr.
Blake a reason — "

"It is needless to tell me your reason. After what you
have just said, you know as well as I do that you have gone
too far to go back. I owe it to myself, and I owe it to my
child, to insist on your remaining here, and to insist on your
speaking out."

The Sergeant looked at his watch.

"If there had been time, my lady," he answered, "I should
have preferred writing my report, instead of communicating

182

THE MOONSTONE

it by word of mouth. But, if this inquiry is to go on, time
is of too much importance to be wasted in writing. I am
ready to go into the matter at once. It is a very painful
matter for me to speak of, and for you to hear — "

There my mistress stopped him once more.

"I may possibly make it less painful to you, and to my
good servant and friend here," she said, "if I set the example
of speaking boldly on my side. You suspect Miss Verinder
of deceiving us all by secreting the Diamond for some pur-
pose of her own ? Is that true ?"

"Quite true, my lady."

"Very well. Now, before you begin, I have to tell you,
as Miss Verinder's mother, that she is absolutely incapable
of doing what you suppose her to have done. Your knowledge
of her character dates from a day or two since. My know-
ledge of her character dates from the beginning of her life.
State your suspicion of her as strongly as you please — it is
impossible that you can offend me by doing so. I am sure,
beforehand, that, with all your experience, the circumstances
have fatally misled you in this case. Mind ! I am in posses-
sion of no private information. I am as absolutely shut out
of my daughter's confidence as you are. My one reason for
speaking positively is the reason you have heard already. I
know my child."

She turned to me, and gave me her hand. I kissed it in
silence. "You may go on," she said, facing the Sergeant
again as steadily as ever.

Sergeant Cufif bowed. My mistress had produced but one
effect on him. His hatchet-face softened for a moment, as if
he was sorry for her. As to shaking him in his own con-
viction, it was plain to see that she had not moved him by a
single inch. He settled himself in his chair, and he began
his vile attack on Miss Rachel's character in these words :

"I must ask your ladyship," he said, "to look this matter
in the face, from my point' of view as well as from yours.
Will you please to suppose yourself coming down here, in
my place, and with my experience? and will you allow me
to mention very briefly what that experience has been?"

My mistress signed to him that she would do this. The
Sergeant went on :

183

THE MOONSTONE

"For the last twenty years," he said, "I have been largely
employed in cases of family scandal, acting in the capacity
of confidential man. The one result of my domestic practice
which has any bearing on the matter now in hand is a result
which I may state in two words. It is well within my ex-
perience that young ladies of rank and position do occasion-
ally have private debts which they dare not acknowledge to
their nearest relatives and friends. Sometimes the milliner
and jeweler are at the bottom of it. Sometimes the money
is wanted for purposes which I don't suspect in this case,
and which I won't shock you by mentioning. Bear in mind
what I have said, my lady — and now let us see how events
in this house have forced me back on my own experience,
whether I liked it or not !"

He considered with himself for a moment, and went on —
with a horrid clearness that forced you to understand him ;
with an abominable justice that favored nobody.

"My first information relating to the loss of the Moon-
stone," said the Sergeant, "came to me from Superintendent
Seegrave. He proved to my complete satisfaction that he
was perfectly incapable of managing the case. The one thing
he said which struck me as worth listening to was this — that
Miss Verinder had declined to be questioned by him, and had
spoken to him with a perfectly incomprehensible rudeness and
contempt. I thought this curious — but I attributed it mainly
to some clumsiness on the Superintendent's part which might
have ofifended the young lady. After that I put it by in my
mind, and applied myself, single-handed, to the case. It
ended, as you are aware, in the discovery of the smear on the
door, and in Mr. Franklin Blake's evidence satisfying me that
this same smear, and the loss of the Diamond, were pieces of
the same puzzle. So far, if I suspected any thing, I sus-
pected that the Moonstone had been stolen, and that one of
the servants might prove to be the thief. Very good. In
this state of things, what happens? Miss Verinder suddenly
comes out of her room, and speaks to me. I observe three
suspicious appearances in that young lady. She is still vio-
lently agitated, though more than four-and-twenty hours
have passed since the Diamond was lost. She treats me as
she has already treated Superintendent Seegrave. And she

184

THE MOONSTONE

is mortally ofifended with Mr. Franklin Blake. Very good
again. Here, I say to myself, is a young lady who has lost
a valuable jewel — a young lady, also, as my own eyes and
ears inform me, who is of an impetuous temperament. Under
these circumstances, and with that character, what does she
do? She betrays an incomprehensible resentment against
Mr. Blake, Mr. Superintendent, and myself — otherwise, the
very three people who have all, in their different ways, been
trying to help her to recover her lost jewel. Having brought
my inquiry to that point — then, my lady, and not till then,
I begin to look back into my own mind for my own experi-
ence. My own experience explains Miss Verinder's other-
wise incomprehensible conduct. It associates her with those
other young ladies that I know of. It tells me she has debts
she daren't acknowledge, that must be paid. And it sets me
asking myself, whether the loss of the Diamond may not
mean — that the Diamond must be secretly pledged to pay
them. That is the conclusion which my experience draws
from plain facts. What does your ladyship's experience say
against it?"

"What I have said already," answered my mistress. "The
circumstances have misled you."

I said nothing on my side. Robinson Crusoe — God knows
how — had got into my muddled old head. If Sergeant Cuff
had found himself, at that moment, transported to a desert
island, without a man Friday to keep him company, or a ship
to take him off, he would have found himself exactly where
I wished him to be! (Nota bene: I am an average good
Christian, when you don't push my Christianity too far. And
all the rest of you — which is a great comfort — are, in this
respect, much the same as I am.)

Sergeant Cuff went on :

"Right or wrong, my lady," he said, "having drawn my
conclusion, the next thing to do was to put it to the test. I
suggested to your ladyship the examination of all the ward-
robes in the house. It was a means of finding the article of
dress which had, in all probability, made the smear; and it
was a means of putting my conclusion to the test. How did
it turn out? Your ladyship consented; Mr. Blake consented;
Mr. Ablewhite consented. Miss Verinder alone stopped the

THE MOONSTONE

whole proceeding by refusing point-blank. That result satis-
fied me that my view was the right one. If your ladyship
and Mr. Betteredge persist in not agreeing with me, you
must be blind to what happened before you this very day. In
your hearing, I told the young lady that her leaving the
liouse, as things were then, would put an obstacle in the way
of my recovering her jewel. You saw yourselves that she
drove off in the face of that statement. You saw yourselves
that, so far from forgiving Mr. Blake for having adone more
than all the rest of you to put the clue into my hands, she
publicly insulted Mr. Blake, on the steps of her mother's
house. What do these things mean? If Miss Verinder is
not privy to the suppression of the Diamond, what do these
things mean?"

This time he looked my way. It was downright frightful
to hear him piling up proof after proof against Miss Rachel,
and to know, while one was longing to defend her, that there
was no disputing the truth of what he said. I am — thank
God ! — constitutionally superior to reason. This enabled me
to hold firm to my lady's view, which was my view also. This
roused my spirit, and made me put a bold face on it before
Sergeant CufT. Profit, good friends, I beseech you, by my
example. It will save you from many troubles of the vexing
sort. Cultivate a superiority to reason, and see how you pare
the claws of all the sensible people when they try to scratch
you for your own good !

Finding that I made no remark, and that my mistress made
no remark, Sergeant Cuff proceeded. Lord ! how it did en-
rage me to notice that he was not in the least put out by our
silence !

"There is the case, my lady, as it stands against Miss
Verinder alone," he said. 'The next thing is to put the case
as it stands against Miss Verinder and the deceased Rosanna
Spearman, taken together. We will go back for a moment,
if you please, to your daughter's refusal to let her wardrobe
be examined. My mind being made up after that circum-
stance, I had two questions to consider next. First, as to the
right method of conducting my inquiry. Second, as to
whether Miss Verinder had an accomplice among the female
servants in the house. After carefully thinking it over, I de-

i86

THE MOONSTONE

termined to conduct the inquiry in, what we should call at
our office, a highly irregular manner; for this reason: I had
a family scandal to deal with, which it was my business to
keep within the family limits. The less noise made, and the
fewer strangers employed to help me, the better. As to the
usual course of taking people in custody on suspicion, going
before the magistrate, and all the rest of it — nothing of the
sort was to be thought of, when your ladyship's daughter was,
as I believe, at the bottom of the whole business. In this
case, I felt that a person of Mr. Betteredge's character and
position in the house — knowing the servants as he did, and
having the honor of the family at heart — would be safer to
take as an assistant than any other person whom I could lay
my hand on. I should have tried Mr. Blake as well — but
for one obstacle in the way. He saw the drift of my pro-
ceedings at a very early date; and, with his interest in Miss
Verinder, any mutual understanding was impossible between
him and me. I trouble your ladyship with these particulars
to show you that I have kept the family secret within the
farnily circle. I am the only outsider who knows it — and my
professional existence depends on holding my tongue."

Here I felt that my professional existence depended on not
holding wzy tongue. To be held up before my mistress, in
my old age, as a sort of deputy-policeman was, once again,
more than my Christianity was strong enough to bear.

"I beg to inform your ladyship," I said, "that I never, to
my knowledge, helped this abominable detective business, in
any way, from first to last ; and I summon Sergeant CufT to
contradict me, if he dares !"

Having given vent in those words, I felt greatly relieved.
Her ladyship honored me by a little friendly pat on the shoul-
der. I looked with righteous indignation at the Sergeant
to see what he thought of such a testimony as that! The
Sergeant looked back like a Iamb, and seemed to like me bet-
ter than ever.

My lady informed him that he might continue his state-
ment. "I understand," she said, "that you have honestly done
your best, in what you believed to be my interest. I am ready
to hear what you have to say next."

"What I have to say next," answered Sergeant Cuflf, "re-

187

THE MOONSTONE

lates to Rosanna Spearman. I recognized the young woman,
as your ladyship may remember, when she brought the wash-
ing-book into this room. Up to that time I was inchned to
doubt whether Miss Vcrinder had trusted her secret to any
one. When I saw Rosanna I altered my mind. I suspected
her at once of being privy to the suppression of the Diamond.
The poor creature has met her death by a dreadful end, and
I don't want your ladyship to think, now she's gone, that I
was unduly hard on her. If this had been a common case of
thieving, I should have given Rosanna the benefit of the doubt
just as freely as I should have given it to any of the other
servants in the house. Our experience of the reformatory
women is, that when tried in service — and when kindly and
judiciously treated — they prove themselves in the majority of
cases to be honestly penitent, and honestly worthy of the pains
taken with them. But this was not a common case of thiev-
ing. It was a case — in my mind — of a deeply planned fraud,
with the owner of the Diamond at the bottom of it. Holding
this view, the first consideration which naturally presented
itself to me, in connection with Rosanna, was this. Would
Miss Verinder be satisfied, begging your ladyship's pardon,
with leading us all to think that the Moonstone was merely
lost? Or would she go a step farther, and delude us into be-
lieving that the Moonstone was stolen? In the latter event,
there was Rosanna Spearman — with the character of a thief
— ready to her hand ; the person of all others to lead your
ladyship off, and to lead me ofif, on a false scent."

Was it possible, 1 asked myself, that he could put his case
against Miss Rachel and Rosanna in a more horrid point of
view than this? It zvas possible, as you shall now see.

"I had another reason for suspecting the deceased woman,"
he said, "which appears to me to have been stronger still.
Who would be the very person to help Miss Verinder in
raising money privately on the Diamond? Rosanna Spear-
man. No young lady in Miss Verinder's position could man-
age such a risky matter as that by herself. A go-between
she must have, and who so fit, I ask again, as Rosanna Spear-
man? Your ladyship's deceased house-maid was at the top
of her profession when she was a thief. She had relations,
to my certain knowledge, with one of the few men in London,

THE MOONSTONE

in the money-lending line, who would advance a large sum
on such a notable jewel as the Moonstone, without asking
awkward questions, or insisting on awkward conditions.
Bear this in mind, my lady ; and now let me show you how
my suspicions have been justified by Rosanna's own acts, and
by the plain inferences to be drawn from them."

He thereupon passed the whole of Rosanna's proceedings
under review. You are already as well acquainted with
those proceedings as I am ; and you will understand how un-
answerably this part of his report fixed the guilt of being con-
cerned in the disappearance of the Moonstone on the memory
of the poor dead girl. Even my mistress was daunted by
what he said now. She made him no answer when he had
done. It didn't seem to matter to the Sergeant whether he
was answered or not. On he went — devil take him! — just
as steady as ever.

"Having stated the whole case as I understand it," he said,
"1 have only to tell your ladyship, now, what I propose to do
next. I see two ways of bringing this inquiry successfully to
an end. One of those ways I look upon as a certainty. The
other, I admit, is a bold experiment, and nothing more. Your
ladyship shall decide. Shall we take the certainty first?"

My mistress made him a sign to take his own way, and
choose for himself.

"Thank you," said the Sergeant. "We'll begin with the
certainty, as your ladyship is so good as to leave it to me.
Whether Miss Verinder remains at Frizinghall, or whether
she returns here, I propose, in either case, to keep a careful
watch on all her proceedings — on the people she sees, on the
rides or walks she may take, and on the letters she may write
or receive."

"What next?" asked my mistress.

"I shall next," answered the Sergeant, "request your ladv-
ship's leave to introduce into the house, as a servant in the
place of Rosanna Spearman, a woman accustomed to private
inquiries of this sort, for whose discretion I can answer."

"What next?" repeated my mistress.

"Next," proceeded the Sergeant, "and last, I propose to
send one of my brother-officers to make an arrangement with
that money-lender in London, whom I mentioned just now

189

THE MOONSTONE

as formerly acquainted with Rosanna Spearman — and whose
name and address, your ladyship may rely on it, have been
communicated by Rosanna to Miss Verindcr. 1 don't deny
that the course of action I am now suggesting will cost money
and consume time. But the result is certain. We run a line
round the Moonstone, and we draw that line closer and closer
till we find it in Miss Verinder's possession, supposing she
decides to keep it. If her debts press, and she decides on
sending it away, then we have our man ready, and we meet
the Moonstone on its arrival in London."

To hear her own daughter made the subject of such a pro-
posal as this stung my mistress into speaking angrily for the
first time.

"Consider your proposal declined, in every particular," she
said. "And go on to your other way of bringing the inquiry
to an end."

"My other way," said the Sergeant, going on as easy as
ever, "is to try that bold experiment to which I have alluded.
I think I have formed a pretty correct estimate of Miss Verin-
der's temperament. She is quite capable, according to my be-
lief, of committing a daring fraud. But she is too hot and
impetuous in temper, and too little accustomed to deceit as
a habit, to act the hypocrite in small things, and to restrain
herself under all provocations. Her feelings, in this case,
have repeatedly got beyond her control, at the very time
when it was plainly her interest to conceal them. It is on
this peculiarity in her character that I now propose to act.
I want to give her a great shock suddenly, under circum-
stances which will touch her to the quick. In plain English,
I want to tell Miss Verinder, without a word of warning, of
Rosanna's death, on the chance that her own better feelings
will hurry her into making a clean breast of it. Does your
ladyship accept that alternative?"

My mistress astonished me beyond all power of expression.
She answered him on the instant :

"Yes ; I do."

"The pony-chaise is ready." said the Sergeant. "I wish
your ladyship good-morning."

My lady held up her hand, and stopped him at the door.

"My daughter's better feelings shall be appealed to, as you

igo

THE MOONSTONE

propose,"' she said. "But I claim the right, as her mother,
of putting her to the test myself. You will remain here, if
you please ; and I will go to Frizinghall."

For once in his life the great Cuff stood speechless with
amazement, like an ordinary man.

My mistress rang the bell and ordered her water-proof
things. It was still pouring with rain ; and the close carriage
had gone, as you know, with Miss Rachel to Frizinghall. I
tried to dissuade her ladyship from facing the severity of the
weather. Quite useless ! I asked leave to go with her and
hold the umbrella. She wouldn't hear of it. The pony-chaise
came round, with the groom in charge. "You may rely on
two things," she said to Sergeant Cuff, in the hall : "I will
try the experiment on Miss Verinder as boldly as you could
try it yourself. And I will inform you of the result, either
personally or by letter, before the last train leaves for London
to-night."

With that she stepped into the chaise, and, taking the reins
herself, drove off to Frizinghall.

CHAPTER XXI.

MY mistress having left us, I had leisure to think of Ser-
geant Cuff. I found him sitting in a snug corner of
the hall consulting his memorandum-book, and curling up
viciously at the corners of the lips.

"Making notes of the case?" I asked.

"No," said the Sergeant. "Looking to see what my next
professional engagement is."

"Oh!" I said. "You think it's all over, then, here?"

"I think," answered Sergeant Cuff, "that Lady Verinder
is one of the cleverest women in England. I also think a rose
much better worth looking at than a diamond. Where is the
gardener, Mr. Betteredge?"

There was no getting a word more out of him on the mat-
ter of the Moonstone. He had lost all interest in his own
inquiry; and he would persist in looking for the gardener,

191

THE MOONSTONE

An hour afterward I heard them at high words in the con-
servatory, with the dog-rose once more at the bottom of the
dispute.

In the mean time it was my business to find out whether
Mr. FrankHn persisted in his resolution to leave us by the
afternoon train. After having been informed of the confer-
ence in my lady's room, and of how it had ended, he imme-
diately decided on waiting to hear the news from Frizing-
hall. This very natural alteration in his plans — which, with
ordinary people, would have led to nothing in particular —
proved, in Mr. Franklin's case, to have one objectionable
result. It left him unsettled, with a legacy of idle time on his
hands, and in so doing it let out all the foreign sides of
his character, one on the top of another, like rats out of
a bag.

Now as an Italian-Englishman, now as a German-English-
man, and now as a French-Englishman, he drifted in and out
of all the sitting-rooms in the house, with nothing to talk of
but Miss Rachel's treatment of him ; and with nobody to ad-
dress himself to but me. I found him, for example, in the
library, sitting under the map of Modern Italy, and quite un-
aware of any other method of meeting his troubles except the
method of talking about them. "I have several worthy as-
pirations, Betteredge ; but what am I to do with them now ?
I am full of dormant good qualities, if Rachel would only
have helped me to bring them out !" He was so eloquent in
drawing the picture of his own neglected merits, and so
pathetic in lamenting over it when it was done, that I felt
quite at my wit's end how to console him, when it suddenly
occurred to me that here was a case for the wholesome appli-
cation of a bit of Robinson Crusoe. I hobbled out to my own
room, and hobbled back with that immortal book. Nobody
in the library ! The map of Modern Italy stared at me; and
/ stared at the map of Modern Italy.

I tried the drawing-room. There was his handkerchief on
the floor, to prove that he had drifted in. And there was
the empty room, to prove that he had drifted out again.

I tried the dining-room, and discovered Samuel with a
biscuit and a glass of sherry, silently investigating the empty

192

THE MOONSTONE

air. A minute since Mr. Franklin had rung furiously for
a little light refreshment. On its production, in a violent
hurry, by Samuel, Mr. Franklin had vanished before the bell
down stairs had quite done ringing with the pull he had
given to it.

I tried the morning-room, and found him at last. There
he was at the window, drawing hieroglyphics, with his finger
in the damp on the glass.

"Your sherry is waiting for you, sir," I said to him. I
might as well have addressed myself to one of the four walls
of the room ; he was down in the bottomless deep of his own
meditations, past all pulling up. "How do yoic explain
Rachel's conduct, Betteredge?" was the only answer I re-
ceived. Not being ready with the needful reply, I produced
Robinson Crusoe, in which I am firmly persuaded some ex-
planation might have been found, if we had only searched
long enough for it. Mr. Franklin shut up Robinson Crusoe
and floundered into his German-English gibberish on the
spot. "Why not look into it ?" he said, as if I had personally
objected to looking into it. "Why the devil lose your pa-
tience, Betteredge, when patience is all that's wanted to arrive
at the truth? Don't interrupt me. Rachel's conduct is per-
fectly intelligible, if you will only do her the common justice
to take the objective view first, and the subjective view next,
and the objective-subjective view to wind up with. What
do we know? We know that the loss of the Moonstone, on
Thursday morning last, threw her into a state of nervous ex-
citement from which she has not recovered yet. Do you
mean to deny the objective view, so far? Very well, then —
don't interrupt me. Now, being in a state of nervous excite-
ment, how are we to expect that she should behave as she
might otherwise have behaved to any of the people about her ?
Arguing in this way, from within-outward, what do we
reach ? We reach the subjective view. I defy you to con-
trovert the subjective view. Very well, then — what follows?
Good Heavens ! the objective-subjective explanation follows,
of course ! Rachel, properly speaking, is not Rachel, but
Somebody Else. Do I mind being cruelly treated by Some-
body Else? You are unreasonable enough, Betteredge; but
you can hardly accuse me of that. Then how does it end?

13 193

THE MOONSTONE

It ends, in spite of your confounded English narrowness and
prejudice, in my being perfectly happy and comfortable.
Where's the sherry?"

My head was by this time in such a condition that I was
not quite sure whether it was my own head or Mr. Frank-
lin's. In this deplorable state I contrived to do, what I take
to have been, three objective things. I got Mr. Franklin his
sherry ; I retired to my own room ; and I solaced myself with
the most composing pipe of tobacco I ever remember to have
smoked in my life.

Don't suppose, however, that I was quit of Mr. Franklin
on such easy terms as these. Drifting again out of the
morning-room into the hall, he found his way to the ofifices
next, smelled my pipe, and was instantly reminded that he
had been simple enough to give up smoking for Miss Rachel's
sake. In the twinkling of an eye he burst in on me with his
cigar-case, and came out strong on the one everlasting sub-
ject in his neat, witty, unbelieving, French way. "Give me
a light, Betteredge. Is it conceivable that a man can have
smoked as long as I have, without discovering that there is
a complete system for the treatment of women at the bottom
of his cigar-case? Follow me carefully, and I'll prove it in
two words. You choose a cigar, you try it, and it disappoints
you. What do you do upon that? You throw it away and
try another. Now observe the application ! You choose a
woman, you try her, and she breaks your heart. Fool ! take
a lesson from your cigar-case. Throw her away and try an-
other !"

I shook my head at that. Wonderfully clever, I dare say,
but my own experience was dead against it. "In the time
of the late Mrs. Betteredge," I said, "I felt pretty often in-
clined to try your philosophy, Mr. Franklin. But the law
insists on your smoking your cigar, sir, when you have once
chosen it." I pointed that observation with a wink. Mr.
Franklin burst out laughing — and we were as merry as
crickets, until the next new side of his character turned up
in due course. So things went on with my young master and
me ; and so, while the Sergeant and the gardener were wrang-
ling over the roses, we two spent the interval before the news
came back from Frizinghall.

194

THE MOONSTONE

The pony-chaise returned a good half hour before I had
ventured to expect it. My lady had decided to remain, for
the present, at her sister's house. The groom brought two
letters from his mistress ; one addressed to Mr. Franklin, and
the other to me.

Mr. Franklin's letter I sent to him in the library — into
which refuge his driftings had now taken him for the second
time. My own letter I read in my own room. A check,
which dropped out when I opened it, informed me (before I
had mastered the contents) that Sergeant Cuff's dismissal
from the inquiry after the Moonstone was now a settled thing.

I sent to the conservatory to say that I wished to speak
to the Sergeant directly. He appeared, with his mind full
of the gardener and the dog-rose, declaring that the equal of
Mr. Begbie for obstinacy never had existed yet, and never
would exist again. I requested him to dismiss such wretched
trifling as this from our conversation, and to give his best
attention to a really serious matter. Upon that he exerted
himself sufficiently to notice the letter in my hand. "Ah !"
he said in a weary way, "you have heard from her ladyship.
Have I any thing to do with it, Mr. Betteredge?"

"You shall judge for yourself, Sergeant." I thereupon
read him the letter (with my best emphasis and discretion),
in the following words :

"My Good Gabriel, — I request you will inform Sergeant
Cuff that I have performed the promise I made to him ; with
this result, so far as Rosanna Spearman is concerned. Miss
Verinder solemnly declares that she has never spoken a word
in private to Rosanna, since that unhappy woman first entered
my house. They never met, even accidentally, on the night
when the Diamond was lost ; and no communication of any
sort whatever took place between them, from the Thursday
morning when the alarm was first raised in the house, to
this present Saturday afternoon, when Miss Verinder left us.
After telling my daughter, suddenly and in so many words,
of Rosanna Spearman's suicide — this is what came of it."

Having reached that point, I looked up and asked Sergeant
Cuff what he thought of the letter, so far?

195

THE MOONSTONE

"I should only offend you if I expressed my opinion," an-
y swered the Sergeant. "Go on, Mr, Betteredge," he said,
with the most exasperating resignation ; "go on."

When I remembered that this man had had the audacity
to complain of our gardener's obstinacy, my tongue itched to
"go on" in other words than my mistress's. This time, how-
ever, my Christianity held firm. I proceeded steadily with
her ladyship's letter :

"Having appealed to Miss Verinder in the manner which
the officer thought most desirable, I spoke to her next in the
manner which I myself thought most likely to impress her.
On two different occasions, before my daughter left my roof,
I privately warned her that she was exposing herself to sus-
picion of the most unendurable and most degrading kind. I
have now told her, in the plainest terms, that my apprehen-
sions have been realized.

"Her answer to this, on her own solemn affirmation, is as
plain as words can be. In the first place, she owes no
money privately to any living creature. In the second
place, the Diamond is not now, and never has been, in her
possession, since she put it into her cabinet on Wednesday
night.

"The confidence which my daughter has placed in me goes
no further than this. She maintains an obstinate silence when
I ask her if she can explain the disappearance of the Dia-
mond. She refuses, with tears, when I appeal to her to speak
out for my sake. 'The day will come when you will know
why I am careless about being suspected, and why I am silent
even to you. I have done much to make my mother pity me
— nothing to make my mother blush for me.' Those are my
daughter's own words.

"After what has passed between the officer and me, I think
— stranger as he is — that he should be made acquainted with
what Miss Verinder has said as well as you. Read my letter
to him, and then place in his hands the check which I inclose.
In resigning all further claim on his services, I have only to
say that I am convinced of his honesty and his intelligence ;
but I- am more firmly persuaded than ever that the circum-
stances, in this case, have fatally misled him."

196

THE MOONSTONE

There the letter ended. Before presenting the check, I
asked Sergeant Cuff if he had any remark to make.

"It's no part of my duty, Mr. Betteredge," he answered,
"to make remarks on a case when I have done with it."

I tossed the check across the table to him. "Do you believe
in that part of her ladyship's letter ?" I said, indignantly.

The Sergeant looked at the check, and lifted his dismal
eyebrows in acknowledgment of her ladyship's liberality.

"This is such a generous estimate of the value of my
time," he said, "that I feel bound to make some return for it.
I'll bear in mind the amount in this check, Mr. Betteredge,
when the time comes round for remembering it."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Her ladyship has smoothed matters over for the present
very cleverly," said the Sergeant. "But this family scandal
is of the sort that bursts up again when you least expect it.
We shall have more detective business on our hands, sir, be-
fore the Moonstone is many months older."

If those words meant any thing, and if the manner in
which he spoke them meant any thing — it came to this : My
mistress's letter had proved, to his mind, that Miss Rachel
was hardened enough to resist the strongest appeal that could
be addressed to her, and that she had deceived her own
mother — good God, under what circumstances ! — by a series
of abominable lies. How other people, in my place, might
have replied to the Sergeant I don't know. I answered what
he had said in these plain terms :

"Sergeant Cuff, I consider your last observation as an in-
sult to my lady and her daughter !"

"Mr. Betteredge, consider it as a warning to yourself, and
you will be nearer the mark."

Hot and angry as I was, the infernal confidence with which
he gave me that answer closed my lips.

I walked to the window to compose myself. The rain had
given over ; and, who should I see in the court-yard but Mr.
Begbie, the gardener, waiting outside to continue the dog-
rose controversy with Sergeant Cuff.

"My compliments to the Sergeant," said Mr, Begbie, the
moment he set eyes on me. "If he's minded to walk to the
station, I'm agreeable to go with him."

197

THE MOONSTONE

"What !" cries the Sergeant, behind me, "are you not con-
vinced yet?"

"The deil a bit I'm convinced !" answered Mr. Begbie.

"Then I'll walk to the station !" says the Sergeant.

"Then I'll meet you at the gate!" says Mr. Begbie.

I was angry enough, as you know — but how was any man's
anger to hold out against such an interruption as this ? Ser-
geant Cuff noticed the change in me, and encouraged it by
a word in season. "Come ! come !" he said, "why not treat
my view of the case as her ladyship treats it ? Why not say,
the circumstances have fatally misled me?"

To take any thing as her ladyship took it was a privilege
worth enjoying — even with the disadvantage of its having
been offered to me by Sergeant Cuff. I cooled slowly down
to my customary level. I regarded any other opinion of
Miss Rachel than my lady's opinion or mine with a lofty con-
tempt. The only thing I could not do was to keep off the
subject of the Moonstone ! My own. good sense ought to have
warned me, I know, to let the matter rest — but, there ! the
virtues which distinguish the present generation were not in-
vented in my time. Sergeant Cuff had hit me on the raw,
and, though I did look down upon him with contempt, the
tender place still tingled for all that. The end of it was that
I perversely led him back to the subject of her ladyship's
letter. "I am quite satisfied myself," I said. "But never
mind that ! Go on as if I was still open to conviction. You
think Miss Rachel is not to be believed on her word ; and
you say we shall hear of the Moonstone again. Back your
opinion, Sergeant," I concluded, in an airy way. "Back your
opinion."

Instead of taking offense, Sergeant Cuff seized my hand
and shook it till my fingers ached again.

"I declare to Heaven," says this strange officer, solemnly,
"I would take to domestic service to-morrow, Mr. Better-
edge, if I had a chance of being employed along with you !
To say you are as transparent as a child, sir, is to pay the
children a compliment which nine out of ten of them don't
deserve. There ! there ! we won^t begin to dispute again.
You shall have it out of me on easier terms than that. I
won't say a word more about her ladyship or about Miss

THE MOONSTONE

Verinder — I'll only turn prophet, for once in a way, and for
your sake. I have warned you already that you haven't done
with the Moonstone yet. Very well. Now I'll tell you, at
parting, of three things which will happen in the future, and
which, I believe, will force themselves on your attention,
whether you like it or not."

"Go on!" I said, quite unabashed, and just as airy as ever.

"First," said the Sergeant, "you will hear something from
the Yollands — when the postman delivers Rosanna's letter at
Cobb's Hole on Monday next."

If he had thrown a bucket of cold water over me, I doubt
if I could have felt it much more unpleasantly than I felt
those words. Miss Rachel's assertion of her innocence had
left Rosanna's conduct — the making the new night-gown, the
hiding the smeared night-gown, and all the rest of it — entirely
without explanation. And this had never occurred to me till
Sergeant Cuff forced it on my mind all in a moment !

"In the second place," proceeded the Sergeant, "you will
hear of the three Indians again. You will hear of them in
the neighborhood, if Miss Rachel remains in the neighbor-
hood. You will hear of them in London, if Miss Rachel goes
to London."

Having lost all interest in the three jugglers, and having
thoroughly convinced myself of my young lady's innocence,
I took this second prophecy easily enough. "So much for two
of the three things that are going to happen," I said. "Now
for the third !"

"Third, and last," said Sergeant Cuff, "you will, sooner or
later, hear something of that money-lender in London, whom
I have twice taken the liberty of mentioning already. Give
me your pocket-book, and I'll make a note for you of his
name and address — so that there may be no mistake about
it if the thing really happens."

He wrote accordingly on a blank leaf : "Mr. Septimus
Luker, Middlesex Place, Lambeth, London."

"There," he said, pointing to the address, "are the last
words, on the subject of the Moonstone, which I shall trouble
you with for the present. Time will show whether I am
right or wrong. In the mean while, sir, I carry away with
me a sincere personal liking iox you, which I think does

199

THE MOONSTONE

honor to both of us. If we don't meet again before my pro-
fessional retirement takes place, I hope you will come and
see me in a little house near London, which I have got my
eye on. There will be grass-walks, Mr. Betteredge, I prom-
ise you, in my garden. And as for the white moss-rose — "

"The deil a bit ye'll get the white moss-rose to grow, unless
ye bud him on the dog-rose first," cried a voice at the window.

We both turned round. There w^as the everlasting Mr.
Begbie, too eager for the controversy to wait any longer at
the gate. The Sergeant wrung my hand, and darted out
into the court-yard, hotter still on his side. "Ask him about
the moss-rose, when he comes back, and see if I have left
him a leg to stand on !" cried the great Cuff, hailing me
through the window in his turn. "Gentlemen both," I an-
swered, moderating them again as I had moderated them
once already, "in the matter of the moss-rose there is a great
deal to be said on both sides." I might as well, as the Irish
say, have whistled jigs to a mile-stone. Away they went to-
gether, fighting the battle of the roses without asking or
giving quarter on either side. The last I saw of them Mr.
Begbie was shaking his obstinate head, and Sergeant Cuff
had got him by the arm like a prisoner in charge. Ah, well !
well ! I own I couldn't help liking the Sergeant — though I
hated him all the time.

Explain that state of mind if you can. You will soon be
rid now of me and my contradictions. When I have reported
Mr. Franklin's departure, the history of the Saturday's events
will be finished at last. And when I have next described
certain strange things that happened in the course of the new
week, I shall have done my part of the Story, and shall hand
over the pen to the person who is appointed to follow my lead.
If you are as tired of reading this narrative as I am of writing
it — Lord, how we shall enjoy ourselves on both sides a few
pages further on !

CHAPTER XXII.

I HAD kept the pony-chaise ready, in case Mr. Franklin per-
sisted in leaving us by the train that night. The appearance
.of the luggage, followed down stairs by Mr. Franklin himself,

200

THE MOONSTONE

informed me plainly enough that he had held firm to a reso-
lution for once in his life.

"So you have really made up your mind, sir?" I said, as
we met in the hall. "Why not wait a day or two longer, and
give Miss Rachel another chance?"

The foreign varnish appeared to have all worn off Mr.
Franklin, now that the time had come for saying good-bye.
Instead of replying to me in words, he put the letter which
her ladyship had addressed to him into my hand. The greater
part of it said over again what had been said already in the
other communication received by me. But there was a bit
about Miss Rachel added at the end which will account for
the steadiness of Mr. Franklin's determination, if it accounts
for nothing else.

"You will wonder, I dare say," her ladyship wrote, "at my
allowing my own daughter to keep me perfectly in the dark.
A Diamond worth twenty thousand pounds has been lost —
and I am left to infer that the mystery of its disappearance
is no mystery to Rachel, and that some incomprehensible
obligation of silence has been laid on her, by some person or
persons utterly unknown to me, with some object in view at
which I can not even guess. Is it conceivable that I should
allow myself to be trifled with in this way? It is quite con-
ceivable, in Rachel's present state. She is in a condition of
nervous agitation pitiable to see. I dare not approach the
subject of the Moonstone again until time has done some-
thing to quiet her. To help this end, I have not hesitated to
dismiss the police officer. The mystery which baffles us baffles
him too. This is not a matter in which any stranger can help
us. He adds to what I have to suffer ; and he maddens Rachel
if she only hears his name.

"My plans for the future are as well settled as they can
be. My present idea is to take Rachel to London — partly
to relieve her mind by a complete change, partly to try what
may be done by consulting the best medical advice. Can I
ask you to meet us in town ? My dear Franklin, you. in your
way, must imitate my patience, and wait, as I do, for a fitter
time. The valuable assistance which you rendered to the in-
quiry after the lost jewel is still an unpardoned offense, in
the present dreadful state of Rachel's mind. Moving blind-

201

THE MOONSTONE

fold in this matter, you have added to the burden of anxiety
which she has had to bear, by innocently threatening her
secret with discovery, through your exertions. It is impos-
sible for me to excuse the perversity which holds you respon-
sible for consequences which neither you nor I cpuld imagine
or foresee. She is not to be reasoned with — she can only be
pitied. I am grieved to have to say it, but, for the present,
you and Rachel are better apart. The only advice I can offer
you is, to give her time."

I handed the letter back, sincerely sorry for Mr. Franklin,
for I knew how fond he was of my young lady ; and I saw
that her mother's account of her had cut him to the heart.
"You know the proverb, sir," was all I said to him. "When
things are at the worst, they're sure to mend. Things can't
be much worse, Mr. Franklin, than they are now."

Mr. Franklin folded up his aunt's letter, without appearing
to be much comforted by the remark which I had ventured
on addressing to him.

"When I came here from London with that horrible Dia-
mond," he said, "I don't believe there was a happier house-
hold in England than this. Look at the household now !
Scattered, disunited — the very air of the place poisoned with
mystery and suspicion ! Do you remember that morning at
the Shivering Sand, when we talked about my uncle Hern-
castle, and his birthday gift? The Moonstone has served
the Colonel's vengeance, Betteredge, by means which the
Colonel himself never dreamed of !"

With that he shook me by the hand, and went out to the
pony-chaise.

I followed him down the steps. It was very miserable to
see him leaving the old place, where he had spent the hap-
piest years of his life, in this way. Penelope, sadly upset by
all that had happened in the house, came round crying to bid
him good-bye. Mr. Franklin kissed her. I waved my hand
as much as to say, "You're heartily welcome, sir." Some of
the other female servants appeared, peeping after him round
the corner. He was one of those men whom the women all
like. At the last moment I stopped the pony-chaise and
begged as a favor that he would let us hear from him by

203

THE MOONSTONE

letter. He didn't seem to heed what I said — he was looking
round from one thing to another, taking a sort of farewell
of the old house and grounds. "Tell us where you are going
to, sir !" I said, holding on by the chaise, and trying to get
at his future plans in that way. Mr. Franklin pulled his hat
down suddenly over his eyes. "Going?" says he, echoing the
word after me. "I am going to the devil !" The pony started
at the word as if he felt a Christian horror of it. "God
bless you, sir, go where you may!" was all I had time to say
before he was out of sight and hearing. A sweet and pleasant
gentleman ! With all his faults and follies, a sweet and pleas-
ant gentleman ! He left a sad gap behind him when he left
my lady's house.

It was dull and dreary enough when the long summer
evening closed in on that Saturday night.

I kept my spirits from sinking by sticking fast to my pipe
and my Robinson Crusoe. The women, excepting Penelope,
beguiled the time by talking of Rosanna's suicide. They
were all obstinately of opinion that the poor girl had stolen
the Moonstone, and that she had destroyed herself in terror
of being found out. My daughter, of course, privately held
fast to what she had said all along. Her notion of the motive
which was really at the bottom of the suicide failed, oddly
enough, just where my young lady's assertion of her inno-
cence failed also. It left Rosanna's secret journey to Friz-
inghall and Rosanna's proceedings in the matter of the night-
gown, entirely unaccounted for. There was no use in point-
ing this out to Penelope ; the objection made about as much
impression on her as a shower of rain on a water-proof coat.
The truth is, my daughter inherits my superiority to reason
— and in respect to that accomplishment has got a long way
ahead of her own father.

On the next day, Sunday, the close carriage, which had been
kept at Mr. Ablewhite's, came back to us empty. The coach-
man brought a message for me, and written instructions for
my lady's own maid and for Penelope.

The message informed me that my mistress had deter-
mined to take Miss Rachel to her house in London on the
Monday. The written instructions informed the two maids

203

THE MOONSTONE

of the clothing that was wanted, and directed them to meet
their mistresses in town at a given hour. Most of the other
servants were to follow. My lady had found Miss Rachel
so unwilling to return to the house, after what had happened
in it, that she had decided on going to London direct from
Frizinghall. I was to remain in the country, until further
orders, to look after things indoors and out. The servants
left with me were to be put on board wages.

Being reminded by all this of what Mr. Franklin had said
about our being a scattered and disunited household, my mind
was led naturally to Mr. Franklin himself. The more I
thought of him the more uneasy I felt about his future pro-
ceedings. It ended in my writing, by the Sunday's post, to
his father's valet, Mr. Jeffco, whom I had known in former
years, to beg he would let me know what Mr. Franklin had
settled to do on arriving in London.

The Sunday evening was, if possible, duller even than the
Saturday evening. We ended the day of rest as hundreds
of thousands of people end it regularly, once a week, in these
islands — that is to say, we all anticipated bed-time, and fell
asleep in our chairs.

Hov/ the Monday affected the rest of the household I don't
know. The Monday gave me 2l good shake-up. The first of
Sergeant Cuff's prophecies of what was to happen — namely,
that I should hear from the Yollands — came true on that
day.

I had seen Penelope and my lady's maid off in the railway
with the luggage for London, and was pottering about the
grounds, when I heard my name called. Turning round, I
found myself face to face with the fisherman's daughter,
Limping Lucy. Bating her lame foot and her leanness, this
last a horrid drawback to a woman, in my opinion, the girl
had some pleasing qualities in the eye of a man. A dark,
keen, clever face, and a nice clear voice, and a beautiful brown
head of hair, counted among her merits. A crutch appeared
in the list of her misfortunes. And a temper reckoned high
in the sum total of her defects.

"Well, my dear," I said, "what do you want with me?"
"Where's the man you call Franklin Blake?" says the

204

THE MOONSTONE

girl, fixing me with a fierce look as she rested herself on her
crutch.

"That's not a respectful way to speak of any gentleman,"
I answered. "If you wish to inquire for my lady's nephew,
you will please mention him as Mr. Franklin Blake."

She limped a step nearer to me, and looked as if she could
have eaten me alive. "Mr. Franklin Blake ?" she repeated
after me. "Murderer Franklin Blake would be a fitter name
for him."

My practice with the late Mrs. Betteredge came in handy
here. Whenever a woman tries to put you out of temper,
turn the tables, and put her out of temper instead. They are
generally prepared for every effort you can make in your
own defense but that. One word does as well as a hundred ;
and one word did it with Limping Lucy. I looked her pleas-
antly in the face; and I said — "Pooh!"

The girl's temper flamed out directly. She poised herself
on her sound foot, and she took her crutch and beat it furi-
ously three times on the ground. "He's a murderer! he's
a murderer ! he's a murderer ! He has been the death of
Rosanna Spearman !" She screamed that answer out at the
top of her voice. One or two of the people at work in the
grounds near us looked up ; saw it was Limping Lucy ; knew
what to expect from that quarter, and looked away again.

"He has been the death of Rosanna Spearman ?" I repeated.
"What makes you say that, Lucy?"

"What do you care? What does any man care? Oh! if
she had only thought of the men as I think, she might have
been living now !"

"She always thought kindly of me, poor soul," I said ; "and,
to the best of my ability, I always tried to act kindly by her."

I spoke those words in as comforting a manner as I could.
The truth is, I hadn't the heart to irritate the girl by another
of my smart replies. I had only noticed her temper at first.
I noticed her wretchedness now — and wretchedness is not
uncommonly insolent, you will find, in humble life. My an-
swer melted Limping Lucy. She bent her head down, and
laid it on the top of her crutch.

"I loved her," the girl said, softly. "She had lived a miser-
able life, Mr. Betteredge — vile people had ill-treated her and

205

THE MOONSTONE

led her wrong and it hadn't spoiled her sweet temper. She
was an angel. She might have been happy with me. I had
a plan for our going to London together like sisters, and
living by our needles. That man came here, and spoiled it
all. He bewitched her. Don't tell me he didn't mean it, and
didn't know it. He ought to have known it. He ought to
have taken pity on her. T can't live without him — and, oh
Lucy, he never even looks at me.' That's what she said.
Cruel, cruel, cruel ! I said, 'No man is worth fretting for in
that way.' And she said, 'There are men worth dying for,
Lucy, and he is one of them.' I had saved up a little money.
I had settled things with father and mother. I meant to
take her away from the mortification she was suffering here.
We should have had a little lodging in London, and lived
together like sisters. She had a good education, sir, as you
know, and she wrote a good hand. She was quick at her
needle. I have a good education, and I write a good hand.
I am not as quick at my needle as she was — but I could have
done. We might have got our living nicely. And, oh ! what
happens this morning? what happens this morning? Her
letter comes^ and tells me she has done with the burden of
her life. Her letter comes, and bids me good-bye forever.
Where is he?" cries the girl, lifting her head from the crutch,
and flaming out again through her tears. "Where's this gen-
tleman that I mustn't speak of, except with respect? Ha,
Mr. Betteredge, the day is not far off when the poor will rise
against the rich. I pray Heaven they may begin with Jiiui.
I pray Heaven they may begin with him."

Here was another of your average good Christians, and
here was the usual break-down, consequent on that same
average Christianity being pushed too far ! The parson him-
self, though I own this is saying a great deal, could hardly
have lectured the girl in the state she was in now. All I
ventured to do was to keep her to the point — in the hope of
something turning up which might be worth hearing.

"What do you want with Mr, Franklin Blake?" I asked.

"I want to see him."

"For any thing particular?"

"I have got a letter to give him."

"From Rosanna Spearman?"

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THE MOONSTONE

"Yes."

"Sent to you in your own letter?"

"Yes."

Was the darkness going to lift? Were all the discoveries
that I was dying to make, coming and offering themselves
to me of their own accord ? I was obliged to wait a moment.
Sergeant Cuff had left his infection behind him. Certain
signs and tokens, personal to myself, warned me that the
detective-fever was beginning to set in again.

"You can't see Mr. Franklin," I said.

"I must and will see him."

"He went to London last night."

Limping Lucy looked me hard in the face, and saw that I
was speaking the truth. Without a word more she turned
about again instantly toward Cobb's Hole.

"Stop !" I said. "I expect news of Mr. Franklin Blake
to-morrow. Give me your letter and I'll send it on to him
by the post."

Limping Lucy steadied herself on her crutch and looked
back at me over her shoulder.

"I am to give it from my hands into his hands," she said.
"And I am to give it to him in no other way."

"Shall I write and tell him what you have said ?"

"Tell him I hate him. And you will tell him the truth."

"Yes, yes. But about the letter — ?"

"If he wants the letter, he must come back here and get
it from me."

With those words she limped off on the way to Cobb's
Hole. The detective-fever burned up all my dignity on the
spot. I followed her and tried to make her talk. All in vain.
It was my misfortune to be a man and Limping Lucy en-
joyed disappointing me. Later in the day I tried my luck
with her mother. Good Mrs. Yolland could only cry and
recommend a drop of comfort out of the Dutch bottle. I
found the fisherman on the beach. He said it was "a bad
job." and went on mending his net. Neither father nor
mother knew more than I knew. The one chance left to try
was the chance, which might come with the morning, of writ-
ing to Mr. Franklin Blake.

I leave you to imagine how I watched for the postman on

207

THE MOONSTONE

Tuesday morning. He brought me two letters. One, from
Penelope, which I had hardly patience enough to read, an-
nounced that my lady and Miss Rachel were safely estab-
lished in London. The other, from j\Ir. Jeffco, informed me
that his master's son had left England already.

On reaching the metropolis, Mr. Franklin had, it appeared,
gone straight to his father's residence. He arrived at an
awkward time. Mr. Blake, the elder, was up to his eyes in
the business of the House of Commons and was amusing
himself at home that night with the favorite parliamentary
plaything which they call "a private bill." Mr. Jeffco him-
self showed Mr. Franklin into his father's study. "My dear
Franklin ! why do you surprise me in this way ? Any thing
wrong?" "Yes; something wrong with Rachel; I am dread-
fully distressed about it." "Grieved to hear it. But I can't
listen to you now." "When ca?i you listen?" "My dear boy!
I won't deceive you. I can listen at the end of the session,
not a moment before. Good-night." "Thank you, sir. Good-
night."

Such was the conversation inside the study, as reported to
me by Mr, Jeffco. The conversation outside the study was
shorter still. "Jeffco, see what time the tidal train starts to-
morrow morning." "At six-forty, Mr. Franklin." "Have
me called at five." "Going abroad, sir?" "Going, Jeffco,
wherever the railway chooses to take me." "Shall I tell your
father, sir?" "Yes; tell him at the end of the session."

The next morning ]\Ir. Franklin had started for foreign
parts. To what particular place he was bound nobody, him-
self included, could presume to guess. We might hear of
him next in Europe, Asia, Africa, or America. The chances
w^ere as equally divided as possible, in Mr. Jeffco's opinion,
among the four quarters of the globe.

This news — by closing up all prospect of my bringing
Limping Lucy and Mr. Franklin together — at once stopped
any further progress of mine on the way to discovery. Penel-
ope's belief that her fellow-servant had destroyed herself
through unrequited love for Mr. Franklin Blake was con-
firmed— and that was all. Whether the letter which Rosanna
had left to be given to him after her death did. or did not.
contain the confession which Mr. Franklin had suspected her

2oS

THE MOONSTONE

of trying- to make to him in her Ufetime, it was impossible
to say. It might be only a farewell word, telling nothing but
the secret of her unhappy fancy for a person beyond her
reach. Or it might own the whole truth about the strange
proceedings in which Sergeant Cuff had detected her, from
the time when the Moonstone was lost to the time when she
rushed to her own destruction at the Shivering Sand. A
sealed letter it had been placed in Limping Lucy's hands,
and a sealed letter it remained to me and to every one about
the girl, her own parents included. We all suspected her of
having been in the dead woman's confidence ; we all tried to
make her speak ; we all failed. Now one, and now another,
of the servants — still holding to the belief that Rosanna had
stolen the Diamond and had hidden it — peered and poked
about the rocks to which she had been traced, and peered
and poked in vain. The tide ebbed, and the tide flowed ; the
summer went on, and the autumn came. And the Quick-
sand, which hid her body, hid her secret too.

The news of Mr. Franklin's departure from England on
the Sunday morning, and the news of my lady's arrival in
London with Miss Rachel on the Monday afternoon, had
reached me. as you are aware, by the Tuesday's post. The
Wednesday came, and brought nothing. The Thursday pro-
duced a second budget of news from Penelope.

My girl's letter informed me that some great London doc-
tor had been consulted about her young lady, and had earned
a guinea by remarking that she had better be amused.
Flower-shows, operas, balls — there was a whole round of
gayeties in prospect ; and Miss Rachel, to her mother's aston-
ishment, eagerly took to it all. Mr. Godfrey had called ; evi-
dently as sweet as ever on his cousin, in spite of the reception
he had met with, when he tried his luck on the occasion of
the birthday. To Penelope's great regret, he had been most
graciously received, and had added Miss Rachel's name to
one of his Ladies' Charities on the spot. My mistress was
reported to be out of spirits, and to have held two long inter-
views with her lawyer. Certain speculations followed, re-
ferring to a poor relation of the family — one Miss Clack,
whom I have mentioned in my account of the birthday din-
^* 209

THE MOONSTONE

ner, as sitting next to Mr. Godfrey, and having a pretty taste
in champagne. Penelope was astonished that Miss Clack
had not called yet. Surely she would not be long before she
fastened herself on my lady as usual ! — and so on, and so on,
in the way women have of girding at each other, on, and
off, paper. This would not have been worth mentioning but
for one reason. I hear you are likely to meet with Miss Clack.
In that case, don't believe what she says of me.

On Friday nothing happened — except that one of the dogs
showed signs of a breaking-out behind the ears. I gave him
a dose of syrup of buckthorn, and put him on a diet of pot-
liquor and vegetables till further orders. Excuse my men-
tioning this. It has slipped in somehow. Pass it over, please.
I am fast coming to the end of my offenses against your cul-
tivated modern taste. Besides, the dog was a good creature,
and deserved a good physicking; he did indeed.

Saturday, the last day of the week, is also the last day in
my narrative.

The morning's post brought me a surprise in the shape of
a London newspaper. The handwriting on the direction
puzzled me. I compared it with the money-lender's name
and address as recorded in my pocket-book, and identified it
at once as the writing of Sergeant Cuff.

Looking through the paper eagerly enough, after this dis-
covery, I found an ink-mark drawn round one of the police
reports. Here it is at your service. Read it as I read it, and
you will set the right value on the Sergeant's polite attention
in sending me the news of the day :

"Lambeth. — Shortly before the closing of the court, Mr.
Septimus Luker, the well-known dealer in ancient gems,
carvings, intaglii, etc., etc., applied to the sitting magistrate
for advice. The applicant stated that he had been annoyed,
at intervals throughout the day, by the proceedings of some
of those strolling Indians who infest the streets. The per-
sons complained of were three in number. After having
been sent away by the police, they had returned again and
again, and had attempted to enter the house on pretense of
asking for charity. Warned off in the front, they had been

2IO

THE MOONSTONE

discovered again at the back of the premises. Besides the
annoyance complained of, Mr. Luker expressed himself as
being under some apprehension that robbery might be con-
templated. His collection contained many unique gems, both
classical and Oriental, of the highest value. He had only the
day before been compelled to dismiss a skilled workman in
ivory carving from his employment (a native of India, as we
understood) on suspicion of attempted theft; and he felt
by no means sure that this man and the street- jugglers of
whom he complained might not be acting in concert. It might
be their object to collect a crowd, and create a disturbance
in the street, and, in the confusion thus caused, to obtain
access to the house. In reply to the magistrate, Mr. Luker
admitted that he had no evidence to produce of any attempt
at robbery being in contemplation. He could speak positively
to the annoyance and interruption caused by the Indians, but
not to any thing else. The magistrate remarked that, if the
annoyance were repeated, the applicant could summon the
Indians to that court, where they might easily be dealt with
under the Act. As to the valuables in Mr. Luker's posses-
sion, Mr. Luker himself must take the best measures for their
safe custody. He would do well, perhaps, to communicate
with the police, and to adopt such additional precautions as
their experience might suggest. The applicant thanked his
worship and withdrew."

One of the wise ancients is reported, I forgot on what occa-
sion, as having recommended his fellow-creatures to "look to
the end." Looking to the end of these pages of mine, and
wondering for some days past how I should manage to write
it, I find my plain statement of facts coming to a conclusion,
most appropriately, of its own self. We have gone on, in
this matter of the Moonstone, from one marvel to another;
and here we end with the greatest marvel of all — namely,
the accomplishment of Sergeant Cuff's three predictions in
less than a week from the time when he had made them.

After hearing from the Yollands on the Monday, I had
now heard of the Indians, and heard of the money-lender, in
the news from London — Miss Rachel herself, remember, be-
ing also in London at the time. You see, I put things at
their worst, even when they tell dead against my own view.

211

THE MOONSTONE

If you desert me, and side with the Sergeant, on the evidence
before you — if the only rational explanation you can see is,
that Miss Rachel and Mr. Luker must have got together, and
that the Moonstone must be now in pledge in the money-
lender's house — I own I can't blame you for arriving at that
conclusion. In the dark I have brought you thus far. In
the dark I am compelled to leave you with my best respects.

Why compelled? it may be asked. Why not take the per-
sons who have gone along with me so far up into those
regions of superior enlightenment in which I sit myself?

In answer to this I can only state that I am acting under
orders, and that those orders have been given to me, as I
understand, in the interests of truth. I am forbidden to tell
more in this narrative than I knew myself at the time. Or,
to put it plainer, I am to keep strictly within the limits of
my own experience, and am not to inform you of what other
persons told me — for the very sufficient reason that you are
to have the information from those other persons themselves
at first hand. In this matter of the Moonstone the plan is,
not to present reports, but to produce witnesses. I picture
to myself a member of the family reading these pages fifty
years hence. Lord ! what a compliment he will feel it, to be
asked to take nothing on hearsay, and to be treated in all
respects like a Judge on the Bench.

At this place, then, we part — for the present, at least — after
long journeying together, with a companionable feeling, I
hope, on both sides. The devil's dance of the Indian Diamond
has threaded its way to London ; and to London you must
go after it, leaving me at the country house. Please to excuse
the faults of this composition — my talking so much of my-
self, and being too familiar, I am afraid, with you. I mean
no harm ; and I drink most respectfully, having just done
dinner, to your health and prosperity, in a tankard of her
ladyship's ale. May you find in these leaves of my writing
what Robinson Crusoe found in his Experience on the desert
island — namely, "something to comfort yourselves from, and
to set, in the description of Good and Evil, on the Credit Side
of the Account." — Farewell.

THE END OF THE FIRST PERIOD.
2X2

SECOND PERIOD. THE DISCOVERY OF THE
TRUTH. (1848-1849.)

The Events related in several Narratives.

FIRST NARRATIVE

Contributed by Miss Clack, Niece of tlw late Sir John Verinder.

CHAPTER I.

I AM indebted to my dear parents, both now in heaven, for
having had habits of order and regularity instilled into me
at a very early age.

In that happy by-gone time I was taught to keep my hair
tidy at all hours of the day and night, and to fold up every
article of my clothing carefully, in the same order, on the
same chair, in the same place at the foot of the bed, before
retiring to rest. An entry of the day's events in my little
diary invariably preceded the folding up. The Evening
Hymn, repeated in bed, invariably followed the folding up.
And the sweet sleep of childhood invariably followed the
Evening Hymn.

In later life, alas ! the Hymn has been succeeded by sad
and bitter meditations ; and the sweet sleep has been but ill
exchanged for the broken slumbers which haunt the uneasy
pillow of care. On the other hand, I have continued to fold
my clothes, and to keep my little diary. The former habit
links me to my happy childhood — before papa was ruined.
The latter habit — hitherto mainly useful in helping me to
discipline the fallen nature which we all inherit from Adam —
has unexpectedly proved important to my humble interests
in quite another way. It has enabled poor Me to serve the
caprice of a wealthy member of our family. I am fortunate
enough to be useful, in the worldly sense of the word, to Mr.
Franklin Blake.

213

THE MOONSTONE

I have been cut off from all news of the prosperous branch
of the family for some time past. When we are isolated and
poor we are not infrequently forgotten, I am now living,
for economy's sake, in a little town in Brittany, inhabited by
a select circle of serious English friends, and possessed of the
advantages of a Protestant clergyman and a cheap market.

In this retirement — a Patmos amidst the howling ocean
of popery that surrounds us — a letter from England has
reached me at last. I find my insignificant existence sud-
denly remembered by Mr. Franklin Blake. My wealthy rel-
ative— would that I could add my spiritually-wealthy rela-
tive ! — writes without even an attempt at disguising that he
wants something of me. The whim has seized him to stir
up the deplorable scandal of the Moonstone ; and I am to
help him by writing the account of what I myself witnessed
during my sojourn at Aunt Verinder's house in London.
Pecuniary remuneration is offered to me — with the want of
feeling peculiar to the rich. I am to re-open wounds that
Time has barely closed ; I am to recall the most intensely
painful remembrances — and this done, I am to feel myself
compensated by a new laceration, in the shape of Mr. Blake's
check. My nature is weak. It cost me a hard struggle, be-
fore Christian humility conquered sinful pride, and self-denial
accepted the check.

Without my diary, I doubt — pray let me express it in the
grossest terms ! — if I could have honestly earned my money.
With my diary, the poor laborer, who forgives Mr. Blake for
insulting her, is worthy of her hire. Nothing escaped nle at
the time when I was staying with dear Avmt Verinder. Every
thing was entered, thanks to my early training, day by day
as it happened ; and every thing, down to the smallest par-
ticular, shall be told here. My sacred regard for truth is,
thank God ! far above my respect for persons. It \^ill be easy
for Mr. Blake to suppress what may not prove to be suffi-
ciently flattering in these pages to the person chiefly con-
cerned in them. He had purchased my time; but not even
his wealth can purchase my conscience too.^

1 Note. Added by Franklin Blake. — Miss Clack may make her mind quite
easy on this point. Nothing will be added, altered, or removed, in her
manuscript, or in any of the other manuscripts which pass through my hands.

214

THE MOONSTONE

My diary informs me that I was accidentally passing- Aunt
Verinder's house in Montagu Square, on Monday, 3d July,
1848.

Seeing the shutters opened, and the blinds drawn up, I
felt that it would be an act of polite attention to knock and
make inquiries. The person who answered the door informed
me that my aunt and her daughter — I really can not call her
my cousin ! — had arrived from the country a week since, and
meditated making some stay in London. I sent up a mes-
sage at once, declining to disturb them, and only begging to
know whether I could be of any use.

The person who answered the door took my message in
insolent silence, and left me standing in the hall. She is the
daughter of a heathen old man named Betteredge — long, too
long, tolerated in my aunt's family. I sat down in the hall
to wait for my answer — and having always a few tracts in
my bag, I selected one which proved to be quite providen-
tially applicable to the person who answered the door. The
hall was dirty and the chair was hard ; but the blessed con-
sciousness of returning good for evil raised me quite above
any trifling considerations of that kind. The tract was one
of a series addressed to young women on the sinfulness of
dress. In style it was devoutly familiar. Its title was, "A
Word With You On Your Cap-Ribbons."

"My lady is much obliged, and begs you will come and
lunch to-morrow at two."

I passed over the manner in which she gave her message,
and the dreadful boldness of her look. I thanked this young
castaway ; and I said, in a tone of Christian interest, "Will
you favor me by accepting a tract?"

Whatever opinions any of the writers may express, whatever peculiarities of
treatment may mark, and perhaps, in a literary sense, disfigure the narratives
which I am now collecting, not a line will be tampered with anywhere, from
first to last. As genuine documents they are sent to me — and as genuine
documents I shall preserve them, indorsed by the attestations of witnesses
who can speak to the facts. It only remains to be added, that "the person
chiefly concerned" in Miss Clack's narrative is happy enough at the present
moment not only to brave the smartest exercise of Miss Clack's pen, but even
to recognize its unquestionable value as an instrument for the exhibition of
Miss Clack's character.

THE MOONSTONE

She looked at the title. "Is it written by a man or a
woman, miss? If it's written by a woman, I had rather not-
read it on that account. If it's written by a man, I beg to
inform him that he knows nothing about it." She handed
me back the tract and opened the door. We must sow the
good seed somehow. I waited till the door was shut on me,
and slipped the tract into the letter-box. When I had dropped
another tract through the area railings, I felt relieved, in
some small degree, of a heavy responsibility toward others.

We had a meeting that evening of the Select Committee
of the Mothers'-Small-Clothes-Conversion-Society. The ob-
ject of this excellent Charity is — as all serious people know
— to rescue unredeemed fathers' trousers from the pawn-
broker, and to prevent their resumption, on the part of the
irreclaimable parent, by abridging them immediately to suit
the proportions of the innocent son. I was a member, at that
time, of the select committee ; and I mention the Society here,
because my precious and admirable friend, Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite, was associated with our work of moral and mate-
rial usefulness. I had expected to see him in the board-room
on the Monday evening of which I am now writing, and had
purposed to tell him when we met of dear Aunt Verinder's
arrival in London. To my great disappointment, he never
appeared. On my expressing a feeling of surprise at his
absence, my sisters of the Committee all looked up together
from their trousers, we had a great pressure of business that
night, and asked in amazement if I had not heard the news.
I acknowledged my ignorance, and was then told for the
first time of an event which forms, so to speak, the starting-
point of this narrative. On the previous Friday two gentle-
men— occupying widejy different positions in society — had
been the victims of an outrage which had startled all London.
One of the gentlemen was Mr. Septimus Luker, of Lambeth.
The other was Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.

Living in my present isolation, I have no means of intro-
ducing the newspaper account of the outrage into my nar-
rative. I was also deprived, at the time, of the inestimable
advantage of hearing the events related by the fervid elo-
quence of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. All I can do is to state
the facts as they were stated, on that Monday evening, to me ;

216

THE MOONSTONE

proceeding on the plan which I have been taught from in-
fancy to adopt in folding up my clothes. Every thing shall
be put neatly, and every thing shall be put in its place. These
lines are written by a poor weak woman. From a poor weak
woman, who will be cruel enough to expect more?

The date — thanks to my dear parents, no dictionary that
ever was written can be more particular than I am about
dates — was Friday, June 30, 1848.

Early on that memorable day our gifted Mr. Godfrey hap-
pened to be cashing a check at a banking-house in Lombard
Street. The name of the firm is accidentally blotted in my
diary, and my sacred regard for truth forbids me to hazard
a guess in a matter of this kind. Fortunately, the name of
the firm doesn't matter. What does matter is a circum-
stance that occurred when Mr. Godfrey had transacted his
business. On gaining the door he encountered a gentleman
— a perfect stranger to him — who was accidentally leaving
the office exactly at the same time as himself. A momen-
tary contest of politeness ensued between them as to who
should be the first to pass through the door of the bank. The
stranger insisted on making Mr. Godfrey precede him; Mr.
Godfrey said a few civil words ; they bowed, and parted in
the street.

Thoughtless and superficial people may say, Here is surely
a very trumpery little incident related in an absurdly circum-
stantial manner. Oh, my young friends and fellow-sinners !
beware of presuming to exercise your poor carnal reason.
Oh, be morally tidy ! Let your faith be as your stockings,
and your stockings as your faith. Both ever spotless, and
both ready to put on at a moment's notice !

I beg a thousand pardons. I have fallen insensibly into
my Sunday-school style. Most inappropriate in such a record
as this. Let me try to be worldly — let me say that trifles,
in this case as in many others, led to terrible results. Merely
premising that the polite stranger was Mr. Luker, of Lam-
beth, we will now follow Mr. Godfrey home to his residence
at Kilburn.

He found waiting for him, in the hall, a poorly clad but
delicate and interesting looking little boy. The boy handed
him a letter, merely mentioning that he had been intrusted

217

THE MOONSTONE

with it by an old lady whom he did not know, and who had
given him no instructions to wait for an answer. Such inci-
dents as these were not uncommon in Mr. Godfrey's large
experience as a promoter of public charities. He let the boy
go, and opened the letter.

The handwriting was entirely unfamiliar to him. It re-
quested his attendance, within an hour's time, at a house in
Northumberland Street, Strand, which he had never had oc-
casion to enter before. The object sought was to obtain from
the worthy manager certain details on the subject of the
Mothers '-Small-Clothes-Conversion-Society, and the informa-
tion was wanted by an elderly lady who proposed adding
largely to the resources of the charity, if her questions were
met by satisfactory replies. She mentioned her name, and
she added that the shortness of her stay in London prevented
her from giving any longer notice to the eminent philan-
thropist whom she addressed.

Ordinary people might have hesitated before setting aside
their own engagements to suit the convenience of a stranger.
The Christian Hero never hesitates where good is to be done.
Mr. Godfrey instantly turned back, and proceeded to the
house in Northumberland Street. A most respectable though
somewhat corpulent man answered the door, and, on hearing
Mr. Godfrey's name, immediately conducted him into an
empty apartment at the back, on the drawing-room floor. He
noticed two unusual things on entering the room. One of
them was a faint odor of musk and camphor. The other was
an ancient Oriental manuscript, richly illuminated with Indian
figures and devices, that lay open to inspection on a table.

He was looking at the book, the position of which caused
him to stand with his back turned toward the closed folding-
doors communicating with the front-room, when, without the
slightest previous noise to warn him, he felt himself sud-
denly seized round the neck from behind. He had just time
to notice that the arm round his neck was naked and of a
tawny-brown color, before his eyes were bandaged, his mouth
was gagged, and he was thrown helpless on the floor by, as
he judged, two men. A third rifled his pockets, and — if, as
a lady, I may venture to use such an expression — searched
him, without ceremony, through and through to his skin,

218

THE MOONSTONE

Here I should greatly enjoy saying a few cheering words
on the devout confidence which could alone have sustained
Mr. Godfrey in an emergency so terrible as this. Perhaps,
however, the position and appearance of my admirable friend
at the culminating period of the outrage, as above described,
are hardly within the proper limits of female discussion. Let
me pass over the next few moments, and return to Mr. God-
frey at the time when the odious search of his person had
been completed. The outrage had been perpetrated through-
out in dead silence. At the end of it some words were ex-
changed, among the invisible wretches, in a language which
he did not understand, but in terms which were plainly ex-
pressive, to his cultivated ear, of disappointment and rage.
He was suddenly lifted from the ground, placed in a chair,
and bound there hand and foot. The next moment he felt
the air flowing in from the open door, listened and felt per-
suaded that he was alone again in the room.

An interval elapsed, and he heard a sound below like the
rustling sound of a woman's dress. It advanced up the stairs,
and stopped. A female scream rent the atmosphere of guilt.
A man's voice below exclaimed, "Halloo !" A man's feet
ascended the stairs. Mr. Godfrey felt Christian fingers un-
fastening his bandage, and extracting his gag. He looked
in amazement at two respectable strangers, and faintly artic-
ulated, "What does it mean ?" The two respectable strangers
looked back, and said, "Exactly the question we were going
to ask yoii."

The inevitable explanation followed. No ! Let me be
scrupulously particular. Sal volatile and water followed, to
compose dear Mr. Godfrey's nerves. The explanation came
next.

It appeared, from the statement of the landlord and land-
lady of the house, persons of good repute in the neighbor-
hood, that their first and second floor apartments had been
engaged, on the previous day, for a week certain, by a most
respectable-looking gentleman — the same who has been al-
ready described as answering the door to Mr. Godfrey's
knock. The gentleman had paid the week's rent and all the
week's extras in advance, stating that the apartments were
wanted for three Oriental noblemen, friends of his, who were

2x9

THE MOONSTONE

visiting England for the first time. Early on the morning
of the outrage two of the Oriental strangers, accompanied by
their respectable English friend, took possession of the apart-
ments. The third was expected to join them shortly ; and
the luggage, reported as very bulky, was announced to follow
when it had passed through the Custom-house, late in the
afternoon. Not more than ten minutes previous to Mr. God-
frey's visit the third foreigner had arrived. Nothing out of
the common had happened, to the knowledge of the landlord
and landlady down stairs, until within the last five minutes
— when they had seen the three foreigners, accompanied by
their respectable English friend, all leave the house together,
walking quietly in the direction of the Strand. Remember-
ing that a visitor had called, and not having seen the visitor
also leave the house, the landlady had thought it rather
strange that the gentleman should be left by himself up stairs.
After a short discussion with her husband, she had considered
it advisable to ascertain whether any thing was wrong. The
result had followed, as I have already attempted to describe
it ; and there the explanation of the landlord and the landlady
came to an end.

An investigation was next made in the room. Dear Mr.
Godfrey's property was found scattered in all directions.
When the articles were collected, however, nothing was miss-
ing; his watch, chain, purse, keys, pocket-handkerchief, note-
book, and all his loose papers, had been closely examined,
and had then been left unharmed to be resumed by the owner.
In the same way, not the smallest morsel of property belong-
ing to the proprietors of the house had been abstracted. The
Oriental noblemen had removed their own illuminated manu-
script, and had removed nothing else.

What did it mean? Taking the worldly point of view, it
appeared to mean that Mr. Godfrey had been the victim of
some incomprehensible error, committed by certain unknown
men. A dark conspiracy was on foot in the midst of us ;
and our beloved and innocent friend had been entangled in
its meshes. When the Christian Hero of a hundred chari-
table victories plunges into a pitfall that has been dug for
him by mistake, oh, what a warning it is to the rest of us to
be unceasingly on our guard ! How soon may our own evil

THE MOONSTONE

passions prove to be Oriental noblemen who pounce on us
unawares !

I could write pages of affectionate warning on this one
theme, but, alas ! I am not permitted to improve — I am con-
demned to narrate. My wealthy relative's check — henceforth
the incubus of my existence — warns me that I have not done
with this record of violence yet. We must leave Mr.
Godfrey to recover in Northumberland Street, and must
follow the proceedings of Mr. Luker, at a later period of
the day.

After leaving the bank, Mr. Luker had visited various
parts of London on business errands. Returning to his own
residence, he found a letter waiting for him, which was de-
scribed as having been left a short time previously by a boy.
In this case, as in ]\Ir. Godfrey's case, the handwriting was
strange ; but the name mentioned was the name of one of
Mr. Luker's customers. His correspondent announced, writ-
ing in the third person — apparently by the hand of a deputy,
that he had been unexpectedly summoned to London. He
had just established himself in lodgings in Alfred Place, Tot-
tenham Court road ; and he desired to see Mr. Luker im-
mediately, on the subject of a purchase which he contem-
plated making. The gentleman was an' enthusiastic collector
of Oriental antiquities, and had been for many years a lib-
eral patron of the establishment in Lambeth. Oh, when shall
we wean ourselves from the worship of Mammon ! Mr.
Luker called a cab, and drove off instantly to his liberal
patron.

Exactly what had happened to ]\Ir. Godfrey in North-
umberland Street now happened to Mr. Luker in Alfred
Place. Once more the respectable man answered the door,
and showed the visitor up stairs into the back drawing-room.
There, again, lay the illuminated manuscript on a table. Mr.
Luker's attention was absorbed, as Mr. Godfrey's attention
had been absorbed, by this beautiful work of Indian art. He
too was aroused from his studies by a tawny naked arm round
his throat, by a bandage over his eyes, and by a gag in his
mouth. He too was thrown prostrate, and searched to the
skin. A longer interval had then elapsed than had passed
in the experience of Mr. Godfrey; but it had ended as before,

THE MOONSTONE

in the persons of the house suspecting something wrong, and
going up stairs to see what had happened. Precisely the
same explanation which the landlord in Northumberland
Street had given to Mr. Godfrey the landlord in Alfred Place
now gave to Mr. Luker. Both had been imposed on in the
same way by the plausible address and the well-filled purse
of the respectable stranger, who introduced himself as acting
for his foreign friends. The one point of difference between
the two cases occurred when the scattered contents of Mr.
Luker's pockets were being collected from the floor. His
watch and purse were safe, but, less fortunate than Mr. God-
frey, one of the loose papers that he carried about him had
been taken away. The paper in question acknowledged the
receipt of a valuable of great price which Mr. Luker had
that day left in the care of his bankers. This document would
be useless for purposes of fraud, inasmuch as it provided
that the valuable should only be given up on the personal
application of the owner. As soon as he recovered himself,
Mr. Luker hurried to the bank, on the chance that the thieves
who had robbed him might ignorantly present themselves
with the receipt. Nothing had been seen of them when he
arrived at the establishment, and nothing was seen of them
afterward. Their respectable English friend had, in the
opinion of the bankers, looked the receipt over before they
attempted to make use of it, and had given them the necessary
warning in good time.

Information of both outrages was communicated to the
police, and the needful investigations were pursued, I believe,
with great energy. The authorities held that a robbery had
been planned, on insufficient information received by the
thieves. They had been plainly not sure whether Mr. Luker
had, or had not, trusted the transmission of his precious gem
to another person, and poor polite Mr. Godfrey had paid the
penalty of having been seen accidentally speaking to him.
Add to this, that Mr. Godfrey's absence from our Monday
evening meeting had been occasioned by a consultation of the
authorities, at which he was requested to assist — and all the
explanations required being now given, I may proceed with
the simpler story of my own little personal experiences in
Montagu Square.

222

THE MOONSTONE

I WAS punctual to the luncheon-hour on Tuesday. Reference
to my diary shows this to have been a checkered day — much
in it to be devoutly regretted, much in it to be devoutly thank-
ful for.

Dear Aunt Verinder received me with her usual grace
and kindness. But I noticed after a little while that some-
thing was wrong. Certain anxious looks escaped my aunt,
all of which took the direction of her daughter. I never see
Rachel myself without wondering how it can be that so
insignificant-looking a person should be the child of such dis-
tinguished parents as Sir John and Lady Verinder. On this
occasion, however, she not only disappointed — she really
shocked me. There was an absence of all lady-like restraint
in her language and manner most painful to see. She was
possessed by some feverish excitement which made her dis-
tressingly loud when she laughed, and sinfully wasteful and
capricious in what she ate and drank at lunch. I felt deeply
for her poor mother, even before the true state of the case
had been confidentially made known to me.

Luncheon over, my aunt said : "Remember what the doc-
tor told you, Rachel, about quieting yourself with a book
after taking your meals."

"Fll go into the library, mamma," she answered. "But
if Godfrey calls, mind I am told of it. I am dying for more
news of him, after his adventure in Northumberland Street."
She kissed her mother on the forehead, and looked my way.
"Good-bye, Clack !" she said, carelessly. Her insolence
roused no angry feeling in me. I only made a private memo-
randum to pray for her.

When we were left by ourselves my aunt told me the whole
horrible story of the Indian Diamond, which, I am happy to
know, it is not necessary to repeat here. She did not conceal
from me that she would have preferred keeping silence on
the subject. But when her own servants all knew of the loss
of the Moonstone, and when some of the circumstances had
actually found their way into the newspapers — when
strangers were speculating whether there was any connection
between what had happened at Lady Verinder's country
house, and what had happened in Northumberland Street
and Alfred Place — concealment was not to be thought

223

THE MOONSTONE

of; and perfect frankness became a necessity as well as a
virtue.

Some persons, hearing what I now heard, would have been
probably overwhelmed with astonishment. For my own part,
knowing Rachel's spirit to have been essentially unregenerate
from her childhood upward, I was prepared for whatever my
aunt could tell me on the subject of her daughter. It might
have gone on from bad to worse till it ended in Murder; and
I should still have said to myself, The natural result! oh, dear,
dear, the natural result ! The one thing that did shock me
was the course my aunt had taken under the circumstances.
Here surely was a case for a clergyman, if ever there was one
yet! Lady Verinder had thought it a case for a physician.
All my poor aunt's early life had been passed in her father's
godless household. The natural result again ! Oh, dear,
dear, the natural result again !

"The doctor recommends plenty of exercise and amuse-
ment for Rachel, and strongly urges me to keep her mind
as much as possible from dwelling on the past," said Lady
Verinder.

"Oh, what heathen advice !" I thought to myself. "In this
Christian country, what heathen advice !"

My aunt went on : "I do my best to carry out the doctor's
instructions. But this strange adventure of Godfrey's hap-
pens at a most unfortunate time. Rachel has been incessantly
restless and excited since she first heard of it. She left me
no peace till I had written and asked my nephew Ablewhite
to come here. She even feels an interest in the other
person who was roughly used — Mr. Luker, or some such
name — though the man is, of course, a total stranger to
her."

"Your knowledge of the world, dear aunt, is superior to
mine," I suggested, diffidently. "But there must be a reason
surely for this extraordinary conduct on Rachel's part. She
is keeping a sinful secret from you and from every body.
May there not be something in these recent events which
threatens her secret with discovery ?"

"Discovery?" repeated my aunt. "What can you possibly
mean? Discovery through Mr. Luker? Discovery through
my nephew?"

224

THE MOONSTONE

As the word passed her lips a special providence occurred.
The servant opened the door, and announced Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite.

CHAPTER n.

MR, GODFREY followed the announcement of his name
— as Mr, Godfrey does every thing else — exactly at the
right time. He was not so close on the servant's heels as to
startle us. He was not so far behind as to cause us the double
inconvenience of a pause and an open door. It is in the
completeness of his daily life that the true Christian appears.
This dear man was very complete.

"Go to Miss Verinder," said my aunt, addressing the ser-
vant, "and tell her Mr. Ablewhite is here."

We both inquired after his health. We both asked him
together whether he felt like himself again, after his terrible
adventure of the past week. With perfect tact he contrived
to answer us at the same moment. Lady Verinder had his
reply in words. I had his charming smile.

"What," he cried, with infinite tenderness, "have I done
to deserve all this sympathy ? My dear aunt ! my dear Miss
Clack ! I have merely been mistaken for somebody else. I
have only been blindfolded ; I have only been strangled ; I
have only been thrown flat on my back, on a very thin carpet
covering a particularly hard floor. Just think how much
worse it might have been ! I might have been murdered ; I
might have been robbed. What have I lost? Nothing but
nervous force — which the law doesn't recognize as property;
so that, strictly speaking, I have lost nothing at all. If I
could have had my own way I would have kept my adventure
to myself — I shrink from all this fuss and publicity. But
Mr. Luker made his injuries public, and viy injuries, as the
necessary consequence, have been proclaimed in their turn,
I have become the property of the newspapers until the
gentle reader gets sick of the subject. I am very sick indeed
of it myself. May the gentle reader soon be like me ! And
how is dear Rachel? Still enjoying the gayeties of London?
So glad to hear it ! Miss Clack, I need all your indulgence.

15

225

THE MOONSTONE

I am sadly behindliand with my committee work and my dear
ladies. But I really do hope to look in at the Mothers'-Small-
Clothes next week. Did you make cheering progress at
Monday's Committee? Was the Board hopeful about future
prospects? And are we nicely off for trousers?"

The heavenly gentleness of his smile made his apologies
irresistible. The richness of his deep voice added its own
indescribable charm to the interesting business question which
he had just addressed to me. In truth, we were almost too
nicely off for trousers ; we were quite overwhelmed by them.
I was just about to say so, when the door opened again, and
an element of worldly disturbance entered the room in the
person of Miss Verinder.

She approached dear Mr. Godfrey at a most unlady-like.
rate of speed, with her hair shockingly untidy, and her face,
what I should call, unbecomingly flushed.

"I am charmed to see you, Godfrey," she said, addressing
him, I grieve to add, in the off-hand manner of one young
man talking to another. 'T wish you had brought Mr. Luker
with you. You and he, as long as our present excitement
lasts, are the two most interesting men in all London. It's
morbid to say this ; it's unhealthy ; its all that a well-regulated
mind like Miss Clack's most instinctively shudders at. Never
mind that. Tell me the whole of the Northumberland Street
story directly. I know the newspapers have left some of it
out."

Even dear Mr. Godfrey partakes of the fallen nature which
we all inherit from Adam — it is a very small share of our
human legacy, but, alas ! he has it. I confess it grieved me
to see him take Rachel's hand in both of his own hands, and
lay it softly on the left side of his waistcoat. It was a direct
encouragement to her reckless way of talking, and her in-
solent reference to me.

"Dearest Rachel," he said, in the same voice which had
thrilled me when he spoke of our prospects and our trousers,
"the newspapers have told you every thing — and they have
told it much better than I can."

"Godfrey thinks we all make too much of the matter," my
aunt remarked. "He has just been saying that he doesn't care
to speak of it."

226

THE MOONSTONE

"Why?"

She put the question with a sudden flash in her eyes, and
a sudden look up into Mr. Godfrey's face. On his side, he
looked down at her with an indulgence so injudicious and so
ill-deserved that I really felt called on to interfere.

"Rachel, darling!" I remonstrated, gently, "true greatness
and true courage are ever modest."

"You are a very good fellow in your way, Godfrey," she
said — not taking the smallest notice, observe, of me, and still
speaking to her cousin as if she was one young man address-
ing another. "But I am quite sure you are not great ; I don't
believe you possess any extraordinary courage ; and I am
firmly persuaded — if you ever had any modesty — that your
lady-worshipers relieved you of that virtue a good many
years since. You have some private reason for not talking
of your adventure in Northumberland Street ; and I mean to
know it."

"My reason is the simplest imaginable and the most easily
acknowledged," he answered, still bearing with her. "I am
tired of the subject."

"You are tired of the subject? My dear Godfrey, I am
going to make a remark."

"What is it?"

"You live a great deal too much in the society of women.
And you have contracted two very bad habits in consequence.
You have learned to talk nonsense seriously, and you have
got into a way of telling fibs for the pleasure of telling them.
You can't go straight with your lady-worshipers. I mean to
make you go straight with me. Come and sit down. I am
brimful of downright questions ; and I expect you to be brim-
ful of downright answers."

She actually dragged him across the room to a chair by
the window, where the light would fall on his face. I deeply
feel being obliged to report such language and to describe
such conduct. But, hemmed in as I am, between Mr. Frank-
lin Blake's check on one side and my own sacred regard for
truth on the other, what am I to do? I looked at my aunt.
She sat unmoved ; apparently in no way disposed to inter-
fere. I had never noticed this kind of torpor in her before.
It was, perhaps, the reaction after the trying time she had

227

THE MOONSTONE

had in the country. , Not a pleasant symptom to remark, be
it what it might, at dear Lady Verinder's age, and with dear
Lady Verinder's autumnal exuberance of figure.

In the mean time Rachel had settled herself at the window
with our amiable and forbearing — our too forbearing — Mr.
Godfrey. She began the string of questions with which she
had threatened him, taking no more notice of her mother
or of myself than if we had not been in the room.

"Have the police done any thing, Godfrey?"

"Nothing whatever."

"It is certain, I suppose, that the three men who laid the
trap for you were the same three men who afterward laid
the trap for Mr. Luker?"

"Humanlv speaking, my dear Rachel, there can be no doubt
of it."

"And not a trace of them has been discovered?"

"Not a trace."

"It is thought — is it not? — that these three men are the
three Indians who came to our house in the country."

"Some people think so."

"Do you think so?"

"My dear Rachel, they blindfolded me before I could see
their faces. I know nothing whatever of the matter. How
can I offer any opinion on it?"

Even the angelic gentleness of Mr. Godfrey was, you see,
beginning to give way at last under the persecution inflicted
on him. Whether unbridled curiosity, or ungovernable dread,
dictated Miss Verinder's questions, I do not presume to in-
quire. I only report that, on Mr. Godfrey's attempting to
rise, after giving her the answer just described, she actually
took him by the two shoulders and pushed him back into his
chair. — Oh, don't say this was immodest ! don't even hint that
the recklessness of guilty terror could alone account for such
conduct as I have described ! We must not judge others.
My Christian friends, indeed, indeed, indeed, we must not
judge others !

She went on with her questions, unabashed. Earnest Bib-
lical students will perhaps be reminded — as I was reminded
— of the blinded children of the devil, who went on with their
orgies, unabashed, in the time before the Flood.

228

THE MOONSTONE

"I want to know something about Mr. Luker, Godfrey."

"I am again unfortunate, Rachel. No man knows less of
Mr. Luker than I do."

"You never saw him before you and he met accidentally
at the bank ?"

"Never."

"You have seen him since?"

"Yes. We have been examined together, as well as sepa-
rately, to assist the police."

"Mr. Luker was robbed of a receipt which he had got
from his banker's — was he not ? What was the receipt for ?"

"For a valuable gem which he had placed in the safe-
keeping of the bank."

"That's what the newspapers say. It may be enough for
the general reader ; but it is not enough for me. The banker's
receipt must have mentioned what the gem was?"

"The banker's receipt, Rachel — as I have heard it described
— mentioned nothing of the kind. A valuable gem, belong-
ing to Mr. Luker ; deposited by Mr. Luker ; sealed with Mr.
Luker's seal ; and only to be given up on Mr. Luker's per-
sonal application. That was the form, and that is all I know
about it."

She waited a moment after he had said that. She looked
at her mother and sighed. She looked back again at Mr.
Godfrey, and went on.

"Some of our private afifairs, at home," she said, "seem to
have got into the newspapers ?"

"I grieve to say, it is so."

"And some idle people, perfect strangers to us, are trying
to trace a connection between what happened at our house
in Yorkshire and what has happened since here in London?"

"The public curiosity, in certain quarters, is, I fear, taking
that turn."

"The people who say that the three unknown men who ill-
used you and Mr. Luker are the three Indians, also say that
the valuable gem — "

There she stopped. She had become gradually, within
the last few moments, whiter and whiter in the face. The
extraordinary blackness of her hair made this paleness, bv
contrast, so ghastly to look at that we all thought she would

22f)

THE MOONSTONE

faint at that moment when she checked herself in the middle
of her question. Dear Mr. Godfrey made a second attempt
to leave his chair. My aunt entreated her to say no more.
I followed my aunt with a modest medicinal peace-offering
in the shape of a bottle of salts. We none of us produced
the slightest eifect on her. "Godfrey, stay where you are.
Mamma, there is not the least reason to be alarmed about me.
Clack, you're dying to hear the end of it — I won't faint, ex-
pressly to oblige you."

Those were the exact words she used — taken down in my
diary the moment I got home. But oh, don't let us judge !
My Christian friends, don't let us 'jw'^g'c '

She turned once more to Mr. Godfrey. With an obstinacy
dreadful to see she went back again to the place where she
had checked herself, and completed her question in these
words :

"I spoke to you a minute since about what people were
saying in certain quarters. Tell me plainly, Godfrey, do they
any of them say that Mr. Luker's valuable gem is — the
Moonstone ?"

As the name of the Indian Diamond passed her lips I saw
a change come over my admirable friend. His complexion
deepened. He lost the genial suavity of manner which is
one of his greatest charms. A noble indignation inspired
his reply.

"They do say it," he answered. "There are people who
don't hesitate to accuse Mr. Luker of telling a falsehood to
serve some private interests of his own. He has over and
over again solemnly declared that, until this scandal assailed
him, he had never even heard of the Moonstone. And these
vile people reply, without a shadow of proof to justify them,
'He has his reasons for concealment ; we decline to believe
him on his oath.' Shameful ! shameful !"

Rachel looked at him very strangely — I can't well describe
how — while he was speaking. When he had done, she
said :

"Considering that Mr. Luker is only a chance acquaintance
of yours, you take up his cause, Godfrey, rather warmly."

My gifted friend made her one of the most truly evangel-
ical answers I ever heard in my life.

230

THE MOONSTONE

"I hope, Rachel, I take up the cause of all oppressed people
rather warmly," he said.

The tone in which those words were spoken might have
melted a stone. But, oh dear, what is the hardness of stone?
Nothing compared to the hardness of the unregenerate human
heart ! She sneered. I blush to record it — she sneered at
him to his face.

"Keep your beautiful language for your Ladies' Commit-
tees, Godfrey. I am certain that the scandal which has
assailed Mr. Luker has not spared you."

Even my aunt's torpor was roused by those words.

"My dear Rachel," she remonstrated, "you have really no
right to say that !"

"I mean no harm, mamma — I mean good. Have a mo-
ment's patience with me, and you will see."

She looked back at Mr. Godfrey with what appeared to be
a sudden pity for him. She went the length — the very unlady-
like length — of taking him by the hand.

"I am certain," she said, "that I have found out the true
reason of your unwillingness to speak of this matter before
my mother and before me. An unlucky accident has asso-
ciated you in people's minds with Mr. Luker. You have
told me what scandal says of hini. What does scandal say
of your

Even at the eleventh hour, dear Mr. Godfrey — always
ready to return good for evil — tried to spare her.

"Don't ask me!" he said. "It's better forgotten, Rachel —
it is indeed."

"I ivill hear it !" she cried out, fiercely, at the top of her
voice.

"Tell her, Godfrey !" entreated my aunt. "Nothing can do
her such harm as your silence is doing now !"

Mr. Godfrey's fine eyes filled with tears. He cast one
last appealing look at her — and then he spoke the fatal
words :

"If you will have it, Rachel — scandal says that the Moon-
stone is in pledge to ]\Ir. Luker, and that I am the man who
has pawned it."

She started to her feet with a scream. She looked back-
ward and forward from ATr. Godfrey to my aunt, and froni

231

THE MOONSTONE

my aunt to Mr. Godfrey, in such a frantic manner that I
really thought she had gone mad.

"Don't speak to me! Don't touch me!" she exclaimed,
shrinking back from all of us — I declare like some hunted
animal! — into a corner of the room. "This is my fault! I
must set it right. I have sacrificed myself — I had a right
to do that if I liked. But to let an innocent man be ruined ;
to keep a secret which destroys his character for life — Oh,
good God, it's too horrible ! I can't bear it !"

My aunt half rose from her chair, then suddenly sat down
again. She called to me faintly, and pointed to a little phial
in her work-box.

"Quick !" she whispered. "Six drops, in water. Don't let
Rachel see."

Under other circumstances I should have thought this
strange. There was no time now to think — there was only
time to give the medicine. Dear Mr. Godfrey unconsciously
assisted me in concealing what I was about from Rachel by
speaking composing words to her at the other end of the
room.

"Indeed — indeed you exaggerate," I heard him say. "My
reputation stands too high to be destroyed by a miserable
passing scandal like this. It will be all forgotten in another
week. Let us never speak of it again."

She was perfectly inaccessible even to such generosity as
this. She went on from bad to worse.

"I must and will stop it," she said. "Mamma ! hear what
I say. Miss Clack ! hear what I say. I know the hand that
took the Moonstone. I know" — she laid a strong emphasis
on the words ; she stamped her foot in the rage that possessed
her — "/ know that Godfrey Ahlezvhite is innocent! Take me
to the magistrate, Godfrey! Take me to the magistrate, and
I will swear it !"

My aunt caught me by the hand and whispered, "Stand
between us for a minute or two. Don't let Rachel see me."
I noticed a bluish tinge in her face which alarmed me. She
saw I was startled. "The drops will put me right in a minute
or two," she said, and so closed her eyes and waited a little.

While this was going on I heard dear Mr. Godfrey still
gently remonstrating.

232

THE MOONSTONE

"You must not appear publicly in such a thing as this,"
he said. "Your reputation, dearest Rachel, is something too
pure and too sacred to be trifled with."

"My reputation !" She burst out laughing. "Why, I am
accused, Godfrey, as well as you. The best detective officer
in England declares that I have stolen my own Diamond.
Ask him what he thinks, and he will tell you that I have
pledged the Moonstone to pay my private debts !" She
stopped — ran across the room — and fell on her knees at her
mother's feet. "Oh, mamma ! mamma ! mamma ! I must be
mad — mustn't I? — not to own the truth nozv!" She was too
vehement to notice her mother's condition — she was on her
feet again and back with Mr. Godfrey in an instant. "I won't
let you — I won't let any innocent man — be accused and dis-
graced through my fault. If you won't take me before the
magistrate, draw out a declaration of your innocence on
paper, and I will sign it. Do as I tell you, Godfrey, or I'll
write it to the newspapers — I'll go out and cry it in the
streets !"

We will not say this was the language of remorse — we
will say it was the language of hysterics. Indulgent Mr.
Godfrey pacified her by taking a sheet of paper and drawing
out the declaration. She signed it in a feverish hurry. "Show
it everywhere — don't think of nie," she said, as she gave it
to him. "1 am afraid, Godfrey, I have not done you justice
hitherto in my thoughts. You are more unselfish — you are a
better man than I believed you to be. Come here when you
can, and I will try and repair the wrong I have done you."

She gave him her hand. Alas for our fallen nature ! Alas
for Mr. Godfrey! He not only forgot himself so far as to
kiss her hand — he adopted a gentleness of tone in answering
her which, in such a case, was little better than a compromise
with sin. "I will come, dearest," he said, "on condition that
we don't speak of this hateful subject again." Never had I
seen and heard our Christian Hero to less advantage than on
this occasion.

Before another word could be said by any body a thunder-
ing knock at the street-door startled us all. I looked through
the window and saw the World, the Flesh, and the Devil wait-
ing before the house — as typified in a carriage and horses,

233

THE MOONSTONE

a powdered footman, and three of the most audaciously-
dressed women I ever beheld in my life.

Rachel started and composed herself. She crossed the room
to her mother.

"They have come to take me to the flower-show," she said.
"One word, mamma, before I go. I have not distressed you,
have I ?"

Is the bluntness of moral feeling which could ask such a
question as that, after what had just happened, to be pitied
or condemned ? I like to lean toward mercy. Let us pity it.

The drops had produced their effect. My poor aunt's com-
plexion was like itself again. "No, no, my dear," she said.
"Go with our friends and enjoy yourself."

Her daughter stooped and kissed her. I had left the win-
dow, and was near the door when Rachel approached it to
go out. Another change had come over her — she was in
tears. I looked with interest at the momentary softening of
that obdurate heart. I felt inclined to say a few earnest
words. Alas ! my well-meant sympathy only gave offense.
"What do you mean by pitying me?" she asked, in a bitter
whisper, as she passed to the door. "Don't you see how
happy I am? I'm. going to the flower-show, Clack; and I've
got the prettiest bonnet in London." She completed the hol-
low mockery of that address by blowing me a kiss — and so
left the room.

I wish I could describe in words the compassion that I felt
for this miserable and misguided girl. But I am almost as
poorly provided with words as with money. Permit me to
say — my heart bled for her.

Returning to my aunt's chair, I observed dear Mr. Godfrey
searching for something softly here and there in different
parts of the room. Before I could ofifer to assist him he had
found what he wanted. He came back to my aunt and me,
with his declaration of innocence in one hand and with a box
of matches in the other.

"Dear aunt, a little conspiracy !" he said. "Dear Miss
Clack, a pious fraud which even your high moral rectitude
will excuse ! Will you leave Rachel to suppose that I accept
the generous self-sacrifice which has signed this paper? And
will you kindly bear witness that I destroy it in your presence

234

THE MOONSTONE

before I leave the house ?" He kindled a match, and lighting
the paper laid it to burn in a plate on the table. "Any trifling
inconvenience that I may suffer is as nothing," he remarked,
"compared with the importance of preserving that pure name
from the contaminating contact of the world. There ! We
have reduced it to a little harmless heap of ashes, and our
dear impulsive Rachel will never know what we have done !
How do you feel ? — my precious friends, how do you feel ?
For my poor part, I am as light-hearted as a boy !"

He beamed on us with his beautiful smile ; he held out a
hand to my aunt and a hand to me. I was too deeply affected
by his noble conduct to speak. I closed my eyes ; I put his
hand, in a kind of spiritual self-forgetfulness, to my lips. He
murmured a soft remonstrance. Oh, the ecstasy, the pure,
unearthly ecstasy of that moment ! I sat — I hardly know on
what — quite lost in my own exalted feelings. When I opened
my eyes again it was like descending from heaven to earth.
There was nobody but my aunt in the room. He had gone.

I SHOULD like to stop here — I should like to close my narra-
tive with the record of Mr. Godfrey's noble conduct. Unhap-
pily there is more, much more, which the unrelenting pecu-
niary-pressure of Mr. Blake's check obliges me to tell. The
painful disclosures which were to reveal themselves in my
presence during that Tuesday's visit to Montagu Square were
not at an end yet.

Finding myself alone with Lady Verinder, I turned nat-
urally to the subject of her health, touching delicately on the
strange anxiety which she had shown to conceal her indisposi-
tion, and the remedy applied to it, from the observation of
her daughter.

My aunt's reply greatly surprised me.

"Drusilla," she said — if I have not already mentioned that
my Christian name is Drusilla, permit me to mention it now
— "you are touching — quite innocently, I know — on a very
distressing subject."

I rose immediately. Delicacy left me but one alternative
— the alternative, after first making my apologies, of taking
my leave. Lady Verinder stopped me and insisted on my
sitting down again.

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"You have surprised a secret," she said, "which I had con-
fided to my sister, Mrs. Ablewhite, and to my lawyer, Mr.
Bruff, and to no one else. I can trust in their discretion;
and I am sure, when I tell you the circumstances, I can trust
in yours. Have you any pressing engagement, Drusilla? or
is your time your own this afternoon ?"

It is needless to say that my time was entirely at my aunt's
disposal.

"Keep me company, then," she said, "for another hour. I
have something to tell you which I believe you will be sorry
to hear. And I shall have a service to ask of you afterward,
if you don't object to assist me."

It is again needless to say that, so far from objecting, I
was all eagerness to assist her.

"You can wait here," she went on, "till Mr. Bruff comes
at five. And you can be one of the witnesses, Drusilla, when
I sign my will."

Her will ! I thought of the drops which I had seen in her
work-box. I thought of the bluish tinge which I had noticed
in her complexion. A light which was not of this world —
a light shining prophetically from an unmade grave — dawned
solemnly on my mind. My aunt's secret was a secret no
longer.

CHAPTER III.

CONSIDERATION for poor Lady Verinder forbade me
even to hint that I had guessed the melancholy truth be-
fore she opened her lips. I waited her pleasure in silence ;
and, having privately arranged to say a few sustaining words
at the first convenient opportunity, felt prepared for any duty
that could claim me, no matter how painful it might be.

"I have been seriously ill, Drusilla, for some time past,"
my aunt began. "And strange to say, without knowing it
myself."

I thought of the thousands on thousands of perishing
human creatures who were all at that moment spiritually ill,
without knowing it themselves. And I greatly feared that

236

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my poor aunt might be one of the number. "Yes, dear," I
said, sadly. "Yes."

"I brought Rachel to London, as you know, for medical
advice," she went on. "I thought it right to consult two
doctors."

Two doctors ! And, oh me, in Rachel's state, not one
clergyman ! "Yes, dear," I said once more. "Yes ?"

"One of the two medical men," proceeded my aunt, "was
a stranger to me. The other had been an old friend of my
husband's, and had always felt a sincere interest in me for
my husband's sake. After prescribing for Rachel, he said
he wished to speak to me privately in another room. I ex-
pected, of course, to receive some special directions for the
management of my daughter's health. To my surprise, he
took me gravely by the hand, and said, T have been looking
at you, Lady Verinder, with a professional as well as a per-
sonal interest. You are, I am afraid, far more urgently in
need of medical advice than your daughter.' He put some
questions to me which I was at first inclined to treat lightly
enough, until I observed that my answers distressed him. It
ended in his making an appointment to come and see me,
accompanied by a medical friend, on the next day, at an hour
when Rachel would not be at home. The result of that visit
-^niost kindly and gently conveyed to me — satisfied both the
physicians that there had been precious time lost which
could never be regained, and that my case had now passed
beyond the reach of cheir art. For more than two years I
have been suffering under an insidious form of heart disease,
which, without any symptoms to alarm me, has, by little and
little, fatally broken me down. I may live for some months,
or I may die before another day has passed over my head —
the doctors can not, and dare not, speak more positively than
this. It would be vain to say, my dear, that I have not had
some miserable moments since my real situation has been
made known to me. But I am more resigned than I was,
and I am doing my best to set my worldly affairs in order.
My one great anxiety is that Rachel should be kept in igno-
rance of the truth. If she knew it, she would at once attrib-
ute my broken health to anxiety about the Diamond, and
would reproach herself bitterly, poor child, for what is in no

337

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sense her fault. Both the doctors agree that the mischief
began two, if not three years since. I am sure you will keep
my secret, Drusilla — for I am sure I see sincere sorrow and
sympathy for me in your face."

Sorrow and sympathy ! Oh, what Pagan emotions to ex-
pect from a Christian Englishwoman anchored firmly on her
faith !

Little did my poor aunt imagine what a gush of devout
thankfulness thrilled through me as she approached the close
of her melancholy story. Here was a career of usefulness
opened before me ! Here was a beloved relative and perish-
ing fellow-creature, on the eve of the great change, utterly
unprepared ; and led, providentially led, to reveal her situa-
tion to me ! How can I describe the joy with which I now
remembered that the precious clerical friends on whom I
could rely were to be counted, not by ones or twos, but by
tens and twenties ! I took my aunt in my arms — my over-
flowing tenderness was not to be satisfied nozv with any thing
less than an embrace. "Oh !" I said to her, fervently, "the
indescribable interest with which you inspire me ! Oh ! the
good I mean to do you, dear, before we part !" After another
word or two of earnest prefatory warning, I gave her her
choice of three precious friends, all plying the work of mercy
from morning to night in her own neighborhood; all equally
inexhaustible in exhortation ; all affectionately ready to exer-
cise their gifts at a word from me. Alas ! the result was far
from encouraging. Poor Lady Verinder looked puzzled and
frightened, and met every thing I could say to her with the
purely worldly objection that she was not strong enough to
face strangers. I yielded — for the moment only, of course.
My large experience, as Reader and Visitor, under not less,
first and last, than fourteen beloved clerical friends, informed
me that this was another case for preparation by books. I
possessed a little library of works, all suitable to the present
emergency, all calculated to arouse, convince, prepare, en-
lighten, and fortify my aunt. "You will read, dear, won't
you?" I said, in my most winning way. "You will read, if
I bring you my own precious books? Turned down at all
the right places, aunt. And marked in pencil where you are
to stop and ask yourself, 'Does this apply to me?'" Even

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THE MOONSTONE

that simple appeal — so absolutely heathenizing is the influence
of the world — appeared to startle my aunt. She said, "I will
do what I can, Drusilla, to please you," with a look of sur-
prise, which was at once instructive and terrible to see. Not
a moment was to be lost. The clock on the mantel-piece
informed me that I had just time to hurry home, to pro-
vide myself with a first series of selected readings, say
a dozen only, and to return in time to meet the lawyer,
and witness Lady Verinder's will. Promising faithfully
to be back by five o'clock, I left the house on my errand
of mercy.

When no interests but my own are involved, I am humbly
content to get from place to place by the omnibus. Permit
me to give an idea of my devotion to my aunt's interests by
recording that, on this occasion, I committed the prodigality
of taking a cab.

I drove home, selected and marked my first series of read-
ings, and drove back to Montagu Square with a dozen works
in a carpet-bag, the like of which, I firmly believe, are not to
be found in the literature of any other country in Europe.
I paid the cabman exactly his fare. He received it with an
oath ; upon which I instantly gave him a tract. If I had
presented a pistol at his head this abandoned wretch could
hardly have exhibited greater consternation. He jumped up
on his box, and, with profane exclamations of dismay, drove
ofif furiously. Quite useless, I am happy to say ! I sowed
the good seed, in spite of him, by throwing a second tract in
at the window of the cab.

The servant who answered the door — not the person with
the cap-ribbons, to my great relief, but the footman — in-
formed me that the doctor had called, and was still shut up
with Lady Verinder. Mr. Brufif, the lawyer, had arrived a
minute since, and was waiting in the library. I was shown
into the library to wait too.

Mr. Brufif looked surprised to see me. He is the family
solicitor, and we had met more than once, on previous occa-
sions, under Lady Verinder's roof. A man, I grieve to say,
grown old and grizzled in the service of the world. A
man who, in his hours of business, was the chosen prophet

239

THE MOONSTONE

of Law and Mammon ; and who, in his hours of leisure,
was equally capable of reading a novel and of tearing up a
tract.

"Have you come to stay here, Miss Clack ?" he asked, with
a look at my carpet-bag.

To reveal the contents of my precious bag to such a person
as this would have been simply to invite an outburst of pro-
fanity. I lowered myself to his own worldly level and men-
tioned my business in the house.

"My aunt has informed me that she is about to sign her
will," I answered. "She has been so good as to ask me to
be one of the witnesses."

"Ay? ay? Well, Miss Clack, you will do. You are over
twenty-one, and you have not the slightest pecuniary interest
in Lady Verinder's will."

Not the slightest pecuniary interest in Lady Verinder's
will. Oh, how thankful I felt when I heard that ! If my
aunt, possessed of thousands, had remembered poor me, to
whom five pounds is an object — if my name had appeared
in the will, with a little comforting legacy attached to it —
my enemies might have doubted the motive which had loaded
me with the choicest treasures of my library, and had drawn
upon my failing resources for the prodigal expenses of a
cab. Not the crudest scoffer of them all could doubt now.
Much better as it was ! Oh, surely, surely, much better as
it was !

I was aroused from these consoling reflections by the voice
of Mr. Bruff. My meditative silence appeared to weigh upon
the spirits of this worldling, and to force him, as it were,
into talking to me against his own will.

"Well, Miss Clack, what's the last news in the charitable
circles? How is your friend, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, after
the mauling he got from the rogues in Northumberland
Street ? Egad ! they're telling a pretty story about that chari-
table gentleman at my club !"

I had passed over the manner in which this person had re-
marked that I was more than twenty-one, and that I had no
pecuniary interest in my aunt's will. But the tone in which
he alluded to dear Mr. Godfrey was too much for my for-
bearance. Feeling bound, after what had passed in my pres-

240

THE MOONSTONE

ence that afternoon, to assert the innocence of my admirable
friend, whenever I found it called in question — I own to hav-
ing also felt bound to include in the accomplishment of this
righteous purpose a stinging castigation in the case of Mr.
Bruff.

"I live very much out of the world," I said; "and I don't
possess the advantage, sir, of belonging to a club. But I hap-
pen to know the story to which you allude ; and I also know
that a viler falsehood than that story never was told."

"Yes, yes. Miss Clack — you believe in your friend. Nat-
ural enough. Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite won't find the world
in general quite so easy to convince as a committee of chari-
table ladies. Appearances are dead against him. He was
in the house when the Diamond was lost. And he was the
first person in the house to go to London afterward. Those
are ugly circumstances, ma'am, viewed by the light of later
events."

I ought, I know, to have set him right before he went any
further. I ought to have told him that he was speaking in
ignorance of a testimony to Mr. Godfrey's innocence, offered
by the only persjon who was undeniably competent to speak
from a positive knowledge of the subject. Alas ! the tempta-
tion to lead the lawyer artfully on to his own discomfiture
was too much for me. I asked what he meant by "later
events" — with an appearance of the utmost innocence.

"By later events. Miss Clack, I mean events in which the
Indians are concerned," proceeded Mr. Brufif, getting more
and more superior to poor me the longer he went on. "What
do the Indians do the moment they are let out of the prison
at Frizinghall ? They go straight to London and fix on Mr.
Luker. What does Mr. Luker say when he first applies to
the magistrate for protection ? He owns to suspecting a for-
eign workman in his establishment of collusion with the
Indians. Can there be plainer moral evidence, so far, that the
rogues had found an accomplice among the persons in Mr.
Luker's employment, and that they knew the Moonstone to
be in Mr. Luker's house? Very well. What follows? Mr.
Luker feels alarmed, and with good reason, for the safety
of the jewel which he has got in pledge. He lodges it pri-
vately, under a general description, in his bankers' strong-
16 241

THE MOONSTONE

room. Wonderfully clever of him ; but the Indians are just
as clever on their side. They have their suspicions that the
Diamond is being shifted from one place to another ; and they
hit on a singularly bold and complete way of clearing those
suspicions up. Whom do they seize and search? Not Mr.
Luker only — which would be intelligible enough — but Mr.
Godfrey Ablewhite as well. Why? Mr. Ablewhite's expla-
nation is, that they acted on blind suspicion, after seeing him
accidentally speaking to Mr. Luker. Absurd ! Half a dozen
other people spoke to Mr. Luker that morning. Why were
they not followed home too, and decoyed into the trap ? No !
no ! The plain inference is, that Mr. Ablewhite had his pri-
vate interest in the Moonstone as well as Mr. Luker, and
that the Indians were so uncertain as to which of the two
had the disposal of the jewel that there was no alternative
but to search them both. Public opinion says that. Miss
Clack. And public opinion, on this occasion, is not easily
refuted."

He said those last words looking so wonderfully wise in
his own worldly conceit that I really, to my shame be it
spoken, could not resist leading him on a little further still
before I overwhelmed him with the truth.

'T don't presume to argue with a clever lawyer like you,"
I said. "But is it quite fair, sir, to Mr. Ablewhite to pass
over the opinion of the famous London police officer who
investigated this case? Not the shadow of a suspicion rested
on any body but Miss Verinder, in the mind of Sergeant
Cuff."'

"Do you mean to tell me. Miss Clack, that you agree with
the Sergeant?"

"I judge nobody, sir, and I offer no opinion."

"And I commit both those enormities, ma'am. I judge
the Sergeant to have been utterly wrong; and I offer the
opinion that, if he had known Rachel's character as I know
it, he would have suspected every body in the house before
he suspected her. I admit that she has her faults — she is
secret, and self-willed; odd, and wild, and unlike other girls
of her age. But true as steel, and high-minded and generous
to a fault. If the plainest evidence in the world pointed one
way, and if nothing but Rachel's word of honor pointed the

242

THE MOONSTONE

other, I would take her word before the evidence, lawyer as
I am! Strong language, Miss Clack; but I mean it."

"Would you object to illustrate your meaning, Mr. Bruff,
so that I may be sure I understand it? Suppose you found
Miss Verinder quite unaccountably interested in what has
happened to Mr. Ablewhite and Mr. Luker? Suppose she
asked the strangest questions about this dreadful scandal,
and displayed the most ungovernable agitation when she
found out the turn it was taking?"

"Suppose any thing you please, Miss Clack, it wouldn't
shake my belief in Rachel Verinder by a hair's-breadth."
"She is so absolutely to be relied on as that?"
"So absolutely to be relied on as that."
"Then permit me to inform you, Mr. Bruff, that Mr. God-
frey Ablewhite was in this house not two hours since, and
that his entire innocence of all concern in the disappearance
of the Moonstone was proclaimed by Miss Verinder herself,
in the strongest language I ever heard used by a young lady
in my life."

I enjoyed the triumph — the unholy triumph, I fear, I must
admit — of seeing Mr. Bruff utterly confounded and over-
thrown by a few plain words from me. He started to his
feet and stared at me in silence. I kept my seat, undisturbed,
and related the whole scene exactly as it had occurred. "And
what do you say about Mr. Ablewhite, nozv?" I asked, with
the utmost possible gentleness, as soon as I had done.

"If Rachel has testified to his innocence, Miss Clack, I
don't scruple to say that I believe in his innocence as firmly
as you do. I have been misled by appearances, like the rest
of the world ; and I will make the best atonement I can, by
publicly contradicting the scandal which has assailed your
friend wherever I meet with it. In the mean time, allow me
to congratulate you on the masterly manner in which you
have opened the full fire of your batteries on me at the
moment when I least expected it. You would have done
great things in my profession, ma'am, if you had happened to
be a man."

With those words he turned away from me, and began
walking irritably up and down the room.

I could see plainly that the new light I had thrown on the

243

THE MOONSTONE

subject had greatly surprised and disturbed him. Certain
expressions dropped from his Hps as he became more and
more absorbed in his own thoughts, which suggested to my
mind the abominable view that he had hitherto taken of the
mystery of the lost Moonstone. He had not scrupled to sus-
pect dear Mr. Godfrey of the infamy of taking the Diamond,
and to attribute Rachel's conduct to a generous resolution to
conceal the crime. On Miss Verinder's own authority — a
perfectly unassailable authority, as you are aware, in the
estimation of Mr. Bruff — that explanation of the circum-
stances was now shown to be utterly wrong. The perplexity
into which I had plunged this high legal authority was so
overwhelming that he was quite unable to conceal it from
notice. "What a case !" I heard him say to himself, stopping
at the window in his walk, and drumming on the glass with
his fingers. "It not only defies explanation, it's even beyond
conjecture!"

There was nothing in those words which made any reply
at all needful on my part — and yet I answered them ! It
seems hardly credible that I should not have been able to
let Mr. Bruff alone, even now. It seems almost beyond mere
mortal perversity that I should have discovered, in what he
had just said, a new opportunity of making myself personally
disagreeable to him. But — ah, my friends ! nothing is be-
yond mortal perversity ; and any thing is credible when our
fallen natures get the better of us !

"Pardon me for intruding on your reflections," I said to
the unsuspecting Mr. Bruff. "But surely there is a conjecture
to make which has not occurred to us yet?"

"Maybe, Miss Clack. I own I don't know what it is."

"Before I was so fortunate, sir, as to convince you of Mr.
Ablewhite's innocence, you mentioned it as one of the rea-
sons for suspecting him that he was in the house at the time
when the Diamond was lost. Permit me to remind you that
Mr. Franklin Blake was also in the house at the time when
the Diamond was lost."

The old worldling left the window, took a chair exactly
opposite to mine, and looked at me steadily, with a hard
and vicious- smile.

"You are not so good a lawyer. Miss Clack," he remarked,

244

THE MOONSTONE

in a meditative manner, "as I supposed. You don't know
how to let well alone."

"I am afraid I fail to follow you, Mr. Brufif," I said, mod-
estly.

"It won't do. Miss Clack — it really won't do a second
time. Franklin Blake is a prime favorite of mine, as you
are well aware. But that doesn't matter. I'll adopt your
view, on this occasion, before you have time to turn round
on me. You're quite right, ma'am. I have suspected Mr.
Ablewhite, on grounds which abstractedly justify suspecting
Mr. Blake too. Very good — let's suspect him together. It's
quite in his character, we will say, to be capable of stealing
the Moonstone. The only question is, wbdWier it was his in-
terest to do it."

"Mr. Franklin Blake's debts," I remarked, "are matters
of family notoriety."

"And Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's debts have not arrived at
that stage of development yet. Quite true. But there hap-
pen to be two difficulties in the way of your theory. Miss
Clack. I manage Franklin Blake's affairs, and I beg to
inform you that the vast majority of his creditors, knowing
his father to be a rich man, are quite content to charge in-
terest on their debts, and to wait for their money. There is
the first difficulty — which is tough enough. You will find
the second tougher still. I have it on the authority of Lady
Verinder herself, that her daughter was ready to marry
Franklin Blake, before that infernal Indian Diamond dis-
appeared from the house. She had drawn him on and put
him off again, with the coquetry of a young girl. But she had
confessed to her mother that she loved cousin Franklin, and
her mother had trusted cousin Franklin with the secret. So
there he was, Miss Clack, with his creditors content to
wait, and with the certain prospect before him of marry-
ing an heiress. By all means consider him a scoundrel ;
but tell me, if you please, why he should steal the Aloon-
stone ?"

"The human heart is unsearchable," I said, gently. "Who
is to fathom it?"

"In other words, ma'am — though he hadn't the shadow
of a reason for taking the Diamond — he might have taken it,

245

THE MOONSTONE

nevertheless, through natural depravity. Very well. Say he
did. Why the devil—?"

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Bruff. If I hear the devil re-
ferred to in that manner, I must leave the room."

"I beg your pardon, Miss Clack — I'll be more careful in
my choice of language for the future. All I meant to ask
was this. Why — even supposing he did take the Diamond
— should Franklin Blake make himself the most prominent
person in the house, in trying to recover it? You may tell
me he cunningly did that to divert suspicion from himself.
I answer that he had no need to divert suspicion — because
nobody suspected him. He first steals the Moonstone, with-
out the slightest reason, through natural depravity ; and he
then acts a part, in relation to the loss of the jewel, which
there is not the slightest necessity to act, and which leads to
his mortally offending the young lady who would otherwise
have married him. That is the monstrous proposition which
you are driven to assert, if you attempt to associate the dis-
appearance of the Moonstone with Franklin Blake. No, no,
Miss Clack ! After what has passed here to-day, between us
two, the dead-lock in this case is complete. Rachel's own
innocence is, as her mother knows, and as I know, beyond a
doubt. Mr. Ablewhite's innocence is equally certain — or
Rachel would never have testified to it. And Franklin
Blake's innocence, as you have just seen, unanswerably as-
serts itself. On the one hand, we are morally certain of all
these things. And, on the other hand, we are equally sure
that somebody has brought the Moonstone to London, and
that Mr. Luker, or his banker, is in private possession of it
at this moment. What is the use of my experience, what is
the use of any person's experience, in such a case as that?
It baffles me ; it baffles you ; it baffles every body."

No — not every body. It had not baffled Sergeant Cuff.
I was about to mention this with all possible mildness, and
with every necessary protest against being supposed to cast
a slur upon Rachel — when the servant came in to say that
the doctor had gone, and that my aunt was waiting to re-
ceive us.

This stopped the discussion. Mr. Bruff collected his
papers, looking a little exhausted by the demands which our

246

THE MOONSTONE

conversation had made on him. I took up my bagful of
precious pubHcations, feehng as if I could have gone on talk-
ing for hours. We proceeded in silence to Lady Verinder's
room.

Permit me to add here, before my narrative advances to
other events, that I have not described what passed between
the lawyer and me without having a definite object in view.
I am ordered to include in my contribution to the shocking
story of the Moonstone a plain disclosure not only of the
turn which suspicion took, but even of the names of the per-
sons on whom suspicion rested at the time when the Indian
Diamond was known to be in London. A report of my con-
versation in the library with Mr. Brufif appeared to me to be
exactly what was wanted to answer this purpose — while, at
the same time, it possessed the great moral advantage of
rendering a sacrifice of sinful self-esteem essentially necessary
on my part. I have been obliged to acknowledge that my
fallen nature got the better of me. In making that humil-
iating confession / get the better of my fallen nature. The
moral balance is restored ; the spiritual atmosphere feels clear
once more. Dear friends, we may go on again.

CHAPTER IV.

THE signing of the will was a much shorter matter than
I had anticipated. It was hurried over, to my thinking,
in indecent haste. Samuel, the footman, was sent for to act
as second witness — and the pen was put at once into my
aunt's hand. I felt strongly urged to say a few appropriate
words on this solemn occasion. But Mr. Bruff's manner
convinced me that it was wisest to check the impulse while he
was in the room. In less than two minutes it was all over —
and Samuel, unbenefited by what I might have said, had
gone down stairs again.

Mr. Bruflf folded up the will, and then looked my way;
apparently wondering whether I did, or did not, mean to
leave him alone with my aunt. I had my mission of mercy
to fulfill, and my bag of precious publications ready on my

247

THE MOONSTONE

lap. He might as well have expected to move St. Paul's
Cathedral by looking at it as to move me. There was one merit
about him, due no doubt to his worldly training, which I have
no wish to deny. He was quick at seeing things. I appeared
to produce almost the same impression on him which I had
produced on the cabman. He too uttered a profane expres-
sion, and withdrew in a violent hurry, and left me mistress
of the field.

As soon as we were alone my aunt reclined on the sofa,
and then alluded, with some appearance of confusion, to the
subject of her will.

'T hope you won't think yourself neglected, Drusilla," she
said. "I mean to give you your little legacy, my dear, with
my own hand."

Here was a golden opportunity ! I seized it on the spot.
In other words, I instantly opened my bag and took out the
top publication. It proved to be an early edition — only the
twenty-fifth — of the famous anonymous work, believed to be
by precious Miss Bellows, entitled "The Serpent at Home."
The design of the book — with which the worldly reader may
not be acquainted — is to show how the Evil One lies in wait
for us in all the most apparently innocent actions of our daily
lives. The chapters best adapted to female perusal are, "Satan
in the Hair-Brush" ; "Satan behind the Looking-Glass" ;
"Satan under the Tea-Table" ; "Satan out of the Window"
— and many others.

"Give your attention, dear aunt, to this precious book —
and you will give me all I ask." With those words, I handed
it to her open, at a marked passage — one continuous burst
of burning eloquence ! Subject : Satan among the Sofa-
Cushions,

Poor Lady Verinder, reclining thoughtlessly on her own
sofa-cushions, glanced at the book, and handed it back to
me looking more confused than ever.

"I'm afraid, Drusilla," she said, "I must wait till I am a
little better, before I can read that. The doctor — "

The moment she mentioned the doctor's name I knew what
was coming. Over and over again, in my past experience
among my perishing fellow-creatures, the members of the
notoriously infidel profession of Medicine had stepped be-

248

THE MOONSTONE

tween me and my mission of mercy — on the miserable pre-
tense that the patient wanted quiet, and that the disturbing
influence of all others which they most dreaded, was the in-
fluence of Miss Clack and her Books. Precisely the same
blinded materialism, working treacherously behind my back,
now sought to rob me of the only right of property that my
poverty could claim — my right of spiritual property in my
perishing aunt.

"The doctor tells me," my poor misguided relative went
on, "that I am not so well to-day. He forbids me to see
any strangers ; and he orders me, if I read at all, only to
read the lightest and the most amusing books. 'Do nothing.
Lady Verinder, to weary your head, or to quicken your pulse'
— those were his last words, Drusilla, when he left me to-
day."

There was no help for it but to yield again — for the mo-
ment only, as before. Any open assertion of the infinitely
superior importance of such a ministry as mine, compared
with the ministry of the medical man, would only have pro-
voked the doctor to practice on the human weakness of his
patient, and to threaten to throw up the case. Happily, there
are more ways than one of sowing the good seed, and few
persons are better versed in those ways than myself.

"You might feel stronger, dear, in an hour or two," I said.
"Or you might wake to-morrow morning with a sense of
something wanting and even this unpretending volume might
be able to supply it. You will let me leave the book, aunt ?
The doctor can hardly object to that!"

I slipped it under the sofa-cushions, half in, half out, close
by her handkerchief and smelling-bottle. Every time her
hand searched for either of these it would touch the book ;
and, sooner or later — who knows? — the book might touch
her. After making this arrangement, I thought it wise to
withdraw. "Let me leave you to repose, dear aunt ; I will
call again to-morrow." I looked accidentally toward the
window as I said that. It was full of flowers, in boxes and
pots. Lady Verinder was extravagantly fond of these per-
ishable treasures, and had a habit of rising every now and
then, and going to look at them and smell them. A new
idea flashed across my mind. "Oh! may I take a flower?"

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THE MOONSTONE

I said — and got to the window, unsuspected, in that way.
Instead of taking away a flower I added one, in the shape
of another book from my bag, which I left to surprise my
aunt, among the geraniums and roses. The happy thought
followed, "Why not do the same for her, poor dear, in every
other room that she enters?" I immediately said good-bye;
and, crossing the hall, slipped into the library. Samuel, com-
ing up to let me out, and supposing I had gone, went down
stairs again. On the library table I noticed two of the
"amusing books" which the infidel doctor had recommended.
I instantly covered them from sight with two of my own
precious publications. In the breakfast-room I found my
aunt's favorite canary singing in his cage. She was always
in the habit of feeding the bird herself. Some groundsel was
strewed on a table which stood immediately under the cage.
I put a book among the groundsel. In the drawing-room I
found more cheering opportunities of emptying my bag. My
aunt's favorite musical pieces were on the piano. I slipped
in two more books among the music. I disposed of another
in the back drawing-room, under some unfinished embroid-
ery, which I knew to be of Lady Verinder's working. A third
little room opened out of the back drawing-room, from which
it was shut oflf by a curtain instead of a door. My aunt's
plain old-fashioned fan was on the chimney-piece. I opened
my ninth book at a very special passage, and put the fan in
as a marker, to keep the place. The question then came,
whether I should go higher still, and try the bedroom floor —
at the risk, undoubtedly, of being insulted, if the person with
the cap-ribbons happened to be in the upper regions of the
house, and to find me out. But oh, what of that? It is a
poor Christian that is afraid of being insulted. I went up
stairs, prepared to bear any thing. All was silent and solitary
— it was the servants' tea-time, I suppose. IMy aunt's room
was in front. The miniature of my late dear uncle. Sir John,
hung on the wall opposite the bed. It seemed to smile at
me ; it seemed to say, "Drusilla ! deposit a book." There were
tables on either side of my aunt's bed. She was a bad sleeper,
and wanted, or thought she wanted, many things at night.
I put a book near the matches on one side, and a book under
the box of chocolate drops on the other. Whether she wanted

250

THE MOONSTONE

a light, or whether she wanted a drop, there was a precious
publication to meet her eye, or to meet her hand, and to say
with silent eloquence, in either case, "Come, try me ! try me !"
But one book was now left at the bottom of my bag, and but
one apartment was still unexplored — the bath-room, which
opened out of the bedroom. I peeped in ; and the holy inner
voice that never deceives whispered to me, "You have met
her, Drusilla, everywhere else ; meet her at the bath, and the
work is done." I observed a dressing-gown thrown across a
chair. It had a pocket in it, and in that pocket I put my last
book. Can words express my requisite sense of duty done,
when I had slipped out of the house, unsuspected by any of
them, and when I found myself in the street with my empty
bag under my arm? Oh, my worldly friends, pursuing the
phantom, Pleasure, through the guilty mazes of Dissipation,
how easy it is to be happy, if you will only be good !

When I folded up my things that night — when I reflected
on the true riches which I had scattered with such a lavish
hand, from top to bottom of the house of my wealthy aunt —
I declare I felt as free from all anxiety as if I had been a
child again. I was so light-hearted that I sang a verse of
the Evening Hymn. I was so light-hearted that I fell asleep
before I could sing another. Quite like a child again ! quite
like a child again !

So I passed that blissful night. On rising the next morn-
ing how young I felt ! I might add, how young I looked, if
I were capable of dwelling on the concerns of my own per-
ishable body. But I am not capable — and I add nothing.

Toward luncheon-time — not for the sake of the creature-
comforts, but for the certainty of finding dear aunt — I put
on my bonnet to go to Montagu Square. Just as I was
ready the maid at the lodgings in which I then lived put her
head in at the door, and said, "Lady Verinder's servant, to
see Miss Clack."

I occupied the parlor floor at that period of my residence
in London. The front parlor was my sitting-room. Very
small, very low in the ceiling, very poorly furnished — but
oh, so neat ! I looked into the passage to see which of Lady
Verinder's servants had asked for me. It was the young
footman, Samuel — a civil, fresh-colored person, with a teach-

251

THE MOONSTONE

able look and a very obliging manner. I had always felt a
spiritual interest in Samuel, and a wish to try him with a few
serious words. On this occasion I invited him into my sitting-
room.

He came in, with a large parcel under his arm. When he
put the parcel down it appeared to frighten him. "My lady's
love, miss ; and I was to say that you would find a letter
inside." Having given that message, the fresh-colored young
footman surprised me by looking as if he would have liked
to run away.

I detained him to make a few kind inquiries. Could I see
my aunt, if I called in Montagu Square ? No : she had gone
out for a drive. Miss Rachel had gone with her, and Mr.
Ablewhite had taken a seat in the carriage too. Knowing
how sadly dear Mr. Godfrey's charitable work was in arrear,
I thought it odd that he should be going out driving, like
an idle man. I stopped Samuel at the door, and made a few
more kind inquiries. Miss Rachel was going to a ball that
night, and Mr. Ablewhite had arranged to come to coffee
and go with her. There was a morning concert advertised
for to-morrow, and Samuel was ordered to take places for a
large party, including a place for Mr. Ablewhite. "All the
tickets may be gone, miss," said this innocent youth, "if I
don't run and get them at once !" He ran as he said the
words and I found myself alone again, with some anxious
thoughts to occupy me.

We had a special meeting of the Mothers'-Small-Clothes-
Conversion-Society that night, summoned expressly with a
view to obtaining Mr. Godfrey's advice and assistance. In-
stead of sustaining our sisterhood, under an overwhelming
flow of trousers which had quite prostrated our little com-
munity, he had arranged to take cofiPee in Montagu Square,
and to go to a ball afterward ! The afternoon of the next
day had been selected for the Festival of the British-Ladies'-
Servants'-Sunday-Sweetheart-Supervision-Societv. Instead of
being present, the life and soul of that struggling Institu-
tion, he had engaged to make one of a party of worldlings
at a morning concert! I asked myself, What did it mean?
Alas ! it meant that our Christian Hero was to reveal him-
self to me in a new character, and to become associated in

252

THE MOONSTONE

my mind with one of tlie most awful backslidings of modern
times.

To return, however, to the history of the passing day.
On finding myself alone in my room, I naturally turned my
attention to the parcel which appeared to have so strangely
intimidated the fresh-colored young footman. Had my aunt
sent me my promised legacy? and had it taken the form of
cast-ofif clothes, or worn-out silver spoons, or unfashionable
jewelry, or any thing of that sort? Prepared to accept all,
and to resent nothing, I opened the parcel — and what met
my view ? The twelve precious publications which I had scat-
tered through the house on the previous day ; all returned to
me by the doctor's orders ! Well might the youthful Samuel
shrink when he brought his parcel into my room ! Well might
he run when he had performed his miserable errand ! As to
my aunt's letter, it simply amounted, poor soul, to this — that
she dare not disobey her medical man.

What was to be done now? With my training and my
principles, I never had a moment's doubt.

Once self-supported by conscience, once embarked on a
career of manifest usefulness, the true Christian never yields.
Neither public nor private influences produce the slightest
effect on us, when we have once got our mission. Taxation
may be the consequence of a mission ; riots may be the con-
sequence of a mission ; wars may be the consequence of a
mission : we go on with our work, irrespective of every human
consideration which moves the world outside us. We are
above reason ; we are beyond ridicule ; we see with nobody's
eyes, we hear with nobody's ears, we feel with nobody's
hearts but our own. Glorious, glorious privilege ! And how
is it earned? Ah, my friends, you may spare yourselves the
useless inquiry ! We are the only people who can earn it —
for we are the only people who are always right.

In the case of my misguided aunt, the form which pious
perseverance was next to take revealed itself to me plainly
enough.

Preparation by clerical friends had failed, owing to Lady
Verinder's own reluctance. Preparation by books had failed,
owing to the doctor's infidel obstinacy. So be it ! What
was the next thing to try? The next thing to try was —

253

THE MOONSTONE

preparation by little notes. In other words, the books them-
selves having been sent back, select extracts from the books,
copied by different hands, and all addressed as letters to my
aunt, were, some to be sent by post, and some to be distrib-
uted about the house on the plan I had adopted on the pre-
vious day. As letters they would excite no suspicion ; as
letters they would be opened — and, once opened, might be
read. Some of them I wrote myself. "Dear aunt, may I
ask your attention to a few lines?" etc. "Dear aunt, I was
reading last night, and I chanced on the following passage,"
etc. Other letters were written for me, by my valued fellow-
workers, the sisterhood at the Mothers'-Srnall-Clothes. "Dear
madam, pardon the interest taken in you by a true, though
humble, friend." "Dear madam, may a serious person sur-
prise you by saying a few cheering words ?" Using these and
other similar forms of courteous appeal, we reintroduced all
my precious passages under a form which not even the doc-
tor's watchful materialism could suspect. Before the shades
of evening had closed around us I had a dozen awakening
letters for my aunt, instead of a dozen awakening books.
Six I made immediate arrangements for sending through the
post, and six I kept in my pocket for personal distribution
in the house the next day.

Soon after two o'clock I was again on the field of pious
conflict, addressing more kind inquiries to Samuel at Lady
Verinder's door.

My aunt had had a bad night. She was again in the room
in which I had witnessed her will, resting on the sofa, and
trying to get a little sleep. I said I would wait in the library,
on the chance of seeing her. In the fervor of my zeal to
distribute the letters, it never occurred to me to inquire about
Rachel. The house was quiet, and it was past the hour at
which the musical performance began. I took it for granted
that she and her party of pleasure-seekers — Mr. Godfrey,
alas ! included — were all at the concert, and eagerly devoted
myself to my good work, while time and opportunity were
still at my own disposal.

My aunt's correspondence of the morning — including the
six awakening letters which I had posted overnight — was
lying unopened on the library table. She had evidently not

254

THE AlOONSTONE

felt herself equal to dealing with a large mass of letters —
and she might be daunted by the number of them, if she
entered the library later in the day. I put one of my second
set of six letters on the chimney-piece by itself; leaving it
to attract her curiosity, by means of its solitary position, apart
from the rest, A second letter I put purposely on the floor
in the breakfast-room. The first servant who went in after
me would conclude that my aunt had dropped it, and would
be specially careful to restore it to her. The field thus sown
on the basement story, I ran lightly up stairs to scatter my
mercies next over the drawing-room floor.

Just as I entered the front-room I heard a double knock
at the street door — a soft, fluttering, considerate little knock.
Before I could think of slipping back to the library, in which
I was supposed to be waiting, the active young footman was
in the hall, answering the door. It mattered little, as I
thought. In my aunt's state of health visitors in general
were not admitted. To my horror and amazement the per-
former of the soft little knock proved to be an exception to
general rules. Samuel's voice below me (after apparently
answering some questions which I did not hear) said, unmis-
takably, "Up stairs, if you please, sir." The next moment I
heard footsteps — a man's footsteps — approaching the draw-
ing-room floor. Who could this favored male visitor possibly
be? Almost as soon as I asked myself the question the an-
swer occurred to me. Who could it be but the doctor?

In the case of any other visitor I should have allowed my-
self to be discovered in the drawing-room. There would
have been nothing out of the common in my having got tired
of the library, and having gone up stairs for a change. But
my own self-respect stood in the way of my meeting the per-
son who had insulted me by sending me back my books. I
slipped into the little third room, which I have mentioned as
communicating with the back drawing-room, and dropped
the curtains which closed the open door-way. If I only waited
there for a minute or two, the usual result in such cases would
take place. That is to say, the doctor would be conducted
to his patient's room.

I waited a minute or two, and more than a minute or two.
I heard the visitor walking restlessly backward and forward.

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THE MOONSTONE

I also heard him talking to himself. I even thought I recog-
nized the voice. Had I made a mistake? Was it not the
doctor, but somebody else ? Mr. Bruff, for instance? No ! an
unerring instinct told me it was not Mr. Bruff. Whoever he
was, he was still talking to himself. I parted the heavy cur-
tains the least little morsel in the world, and listened.

The words I heard were, "I'll do it to-day !" And the voice
that spoke them was Mr, Godfrey Ablewhite's.

CHAPTER V.

MY hand dropped from the curtain. But don't suppose —
oh, don't suppose — that the dreadful embarrassment of
my situation was the uppermost idea in my mind ! So fervent
still was the sisterly interest I felt in Mr. Godfrey that I
never stopped to ask myself why he was not at the concert.
No ! I thought only of the words — the startling words — which
had just fallen from his lips. He would do it to-day. He
had said, in a tone of terrible resolution, he would do it to-
day. What, oh what, would he do ! Something even more
deplorably unworthy of him than what he had done already?
Would he apostatize from the faith? Would he abandon us
at the Mothers'-Small-Clothes ? Had we seen the last of his
angelic smile in the committee-room? Had we heard the
last of his unrivaled eloquence at Exeter Hall? I was so
wrought up by the bare idea of such awful eventualities as
these, in connection with such a man, that I believe I should
have rushed from my place of concealment, and implored him
in the name of all the Ladies' Committees in London to ex-
plain himself — when I suddenly heard another voice in the
room. It penetrated through the curtains ; it was loud, it
was bold, it was wanting in every female charm. The voice
of Rachel Verinder !

"Why have you come up here, Godfrey ?" she asked. "Why
didn't you go into the library?"

He laughed softlv, and answered, "Miss Clack is in the
library."

"Clack in the library!" She instantly seated herself on

2:;6

THE MOONSTONE

the ottoman in the back drawing-room. "You are quite right,
Godfrey. We had much better stop here."

I had been in a burning fever a moment since, and in some
doubt what to do next. I became extremely cold now, and
felt no doubt whatever. To show myself after what I had
heard, was impossible. To retreat — except into the fire-place
— was equally out of the question. A martyrdom was before
me. In justice to myself, I noiselessly arranged the curtains
so that I could both see and hear. And then I met my
martyrdom with the spirit of a primitive Christian.

"Don't sit on the ottoman," the young lady proceeded.
"Bring a chair, Godfrey. I like people to be opposite to me
when I talk to them."

He took the nearest seat. It was a low chair. He was
very tall, and many sizes too large for it. I never saw his
legs to such disadvantage before.

"Well?" she went on. "What did you say to them?"

"Just what you said, dear Rachel, to me."

"That mamma was not at all well to-day? And that I
didn't quite like leaving her to go to the concert?"

"Those were the words. They were grieved to lose you
at the concert, but they quite understood. All sent their love ;
and all expressed a cheering belief that Lady Verinder's in-
disposition would soon pass away."

"Yoii don't think it's serious, do you, Godfrey?"

"Far from it ! In a few days, I feel quite sure, all will be
well again."

"I think so too. I was a little frightened at first, but I
think so too. It was very kind to go and make my excuses
for me to people who are almost strangers to you. But why
not have gone with them to the concert ? It seems very hard
that you should miss the music, too."

"Don't say that, Rachel ! If you only knew how much
happier I am — here, with you !"

He clasped his hands, and looked at her. In the position
which he occupied, when he did that, he turned my way.
Can words describe how I sickened when I noticed exactly
the same pathetic expression on his face, which had charmed
me when he was pleading for destitute millions of his fellow-
creatures on the platform dt Exeter Hall !

17 257

THE MOONSTONE

"It's hard to get over one's bad habits, Godfrey. But do
try to get over the habit of paying compliments — do, to
please me."

'T never paid yoti a compliment, Rachel, in my life. Suc-
cessful love may sometimes use the language of flattery, I
admit. But hopeless love, dearest, always speaks the truth."

He drew his chair close, and took her hand, when he said
"hopeless love." There was a momentary silence. He who
thrilled every body had doubtless thrilled her. I thought I
now understood the words which had dropped from him
when he was alone in the drawing-room. "I'll do it to-day."
Alas ! the most rigid propriety could hardly have failed to
discover that he was doing it now.

"Have you forgotten what we agreed on, Godfrey, when
you spoke to me in the country? We agreed that we were
to be cousins, and nothing more."

"I break the agreement, Rachel, every time I see you."

"Then don't see me."

"Quite useless ! I break the agreement every time I think
of you. Oh, Rachel ! how kindly you told me, only the other
day, that my place in your estimation was a higher place
than it had ever been yet ! Am I mad to build the hopes I
do on those dear words ? Am I mad to dream of some future
dav when your heart may soften to me? Don't tell me so,
if I am ! Leave me my delusion, dearest ! I must have that
to cherish and to comfort me, if I have nothing else !"

His voice trembled, and he put his white handkerchief to
his eyes. Exeter Hall again ! Nothing wanting to complete
the parallel but the audience, the cheers, and the glass of
water.

Even her obdurate nature was touched. I saw her lean a
little nearer to him. I heard a new tone of interest in her
next words.

"Are you really sure, Godfrey, that you are as fond of me
as that?"

"Sure! You know what I was, Rachel. Let me tell you
what I am. I have lost every interest in life, but my interest
in you. A transformation has come over me which I can't
account for, myself. Would you believe it? My charitable
business is an unendurable nuisance to me; and when I see

258

THE MOONSTONE

a Ladies' Committee now, I wish myself at the uttermost
ends of the earth !"

If the annals of apostasy ofifer any thing comparable to
such a declaration as that, I can only say that the case in
point is not producible from the stores of my reading. I
thought of the Mothers'-Small-Clothes. I thought of the
Sunday-Sweetheart-Supervision. I thought of the other So-
cieties, too numerous to mention, all built up on this man a3
on a tower of strength. I thought of the struggling Female
Boards, who, so to speak, drew the breath of their business-
life through the nostrils of Mr. Godfrey — of that same Mr.
Godfrey who had just reviled our good work as a "nuisance"
— and just declared that he wished he was at the uttermost
ends of the earth when he found himself in our company !
My young female friends will feel encouraged to persevere,
when I mention that it tried even my discipline before I
could devour my own righteous indignation in silence. At
the same time, it is only justice to myself to add, that I didn't
lose a syllable of the conversation. Rachel was the next to
speak.

"You have made your confession," she said. 'T wonder
whether it would cure you of your unhappy attachment to
me, if I made mine?"

He started. I confess I started too. He thought, and I
thought, that she was about to divulge the mystery of the
Moonstone.

"Would you think, to look at me," she went on, "that I
am the wretchedest girl living? It's true, Godfrey. What
greater wretchedness can there be than to live degraded in
your own estimation ? That is my life now."

"My dear Rachel ! it's impossible you can have any reason
to speak of yourself in that way !"

"How do you know I have no reason ?"

"Can you ask me the question ! I know it, because I know
yon. Your silence, dearest, has never lowered you in
the estimation of your true friends. The disappearance
of your precious birthday gift may seem strange ; your
unexplained connection with that event mav seem stranger
still—"

"Are you speaking of the Moonstone, Godfrey?"

259

THE MOONSTONE

"I certainly thought that you referred — "

"I referred to nothing of the sort. I can hear of the loss
of the Moonstone, let who will speak of it, without feeling
degraded in my own estimation. If the story of the Dia-
mond ever comes to light, it will be known that I accepted
a dreadful responsibility ; it will be known that I involved
myself in the keeping of a miserable secret — but it will be
as clear as the sun at noonday that I did nothing mean !
You have misunderstood me, Godfrey. It's my fault for not
speaking more plainly. Cost me what it may, I will be plainer
now. Suppose you were not in love with me? Suppose you
were in love with some other woman?"

"Yes?"

"Suppose you discovered that woman to be utterly un-
worthy of you? Suppose you were quite convinced that it
was a disgrace to you to waste another thought on her?
Suppose the bare idea of ever marrying such a person made
your face burn, only with thinking of it?"

"Yes?"

"And, suppose, in spite of all that — you couldn't tear her
from your heart? Suppose the feeling she had roused in
you, in the time when you believed in her, was a feeling not
to be hidden? Suppose the love this wretch had inspired in
you — ? Oh, how can I find words to say it in! How can I
make a man understand that a feeling which horrifies me at
myself can be a feeling that fascinates me at the same time?
It's the breath of my life, Godfrey, and it's the poison that
kills me — both in one ! Go away ! I must be out of my mind
to talk as I am talking now. No ! you mustn't leave me —
you mustn't carry away a wrong impression. I must say
what is to be said in my own defense. Mind this ! He
doesn't know — he never will know, what I have told you.
I will never see him — I don't care what happens — I will
never, never, never see him again ! Don't ask me his name !
Don't ask me any more! Let's change the subject. Are you
doctor enough, Godfrey, to tell me why I feel as if I was
stifling for want of breath ? Is there a form of hysterics that
bursts into words instead of tears ? I dare say ! What does
it matter? You will get over any trouble I have caused you,
easily enough now. I have dropped to my right place in your

260

THE MOONSTONE

estimation, haven't I ? Don't notice me ! Don't pity me !
For God's sake, go away!"

She turned round on a sudden, and beat her hands wildly
on the back of the ottoman. Her head dropped on the cush-
ions ; and she burst out crying. Before I had time to feel
shocked at this, I was horror-struck by an entirely unex-
pected proceeding on the part of Mr. Godfrey. Will it be
credited that he fell on his knees at her feet? — on both
knees, I solemnly declare ! May modesty mention that he put
his arms round her next? And may reluctant admiration
acknowledge that he electrified her with two words?

"Noble creature !"

No more than that! But he did it with one of the bursts
which have made his fame as a public speaker. She sat,
either quite thunderstruck, or quite fascinated — I don't know
which — without even making an effort to put his arms back
where his arms ought to have been. As for me, my sense
of propriety was completely bewildered. I was so painfully
uncertain whether it was my first duty to close my eyes, or
to stop my ears, that I did neither. I attribute my being still
able to hold the curtain in the right position for looking and
listening, entirely to suppressed hysterics. In suppressed
hysterics, it is admitted even by the doctors, that one must
hold something.

"Yes," he said, with all the fascination of his evangelical
voice and manner, "you are a noble creature! A woman
who can speak the truth, for the truth's own sake — a woman
who will sacrifice her pride, rather than sacrifice an honest
man who loves her — is the most priceless of all treasures.
When such a woman marries, if her husband only wins her
esteem and regard, he wins enough to ennoble his whole life.
You have spoken, dearest, of your place in my estimation.
Judge what that place is — when I implore you on my knees,
to let the cure of your poor wounded heart be my care.
Rachel ! will you honor me, will you bless me, by being my
wife?"

By this time I should certainly have decided on stopping
my ears, if Rachel had not encouraged me to keep them
open, by answering him in the first sensible words I had ever
heard fall from her lips.

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THE MOONSTONE

"Godfrey!" she said, "you must be mad!"

"I never spoke more reasonably, dearest — in your interests,
as well as in mine. Look for a moment to the future. Is
your happiness to be sacrificed to a man who has never known
how you feel toward him, and whom you are resolved never
to see again? Is it not your duty to yourself to forget this
ill-fated attachment? and is forgetfulness to be found in the
life you are leading now? You have tried that life, and you
are wearying of it already. Surround yourself with nobler
interests than the wretched interests of the world. A heart
that loves and honors you ; a home whose peaceful claims and
happy duties win gently on you day by day — try the conso-
lation, Rachel, which is to be found there! I don't ask for
your love — I will be content with your affection and regard.
Let the rest be left, confidently left, to your husband's devo-
tion, and to Time, that heals even wounds as deep as yours."

She began to yield already. Oh, what a bringing-up she
must have had ! Oh, how differently I should have acted in
her place !

"Don't tempt me, Godfrey," she said ; "I am wretched
enough and reckless enough as it is. Don't tempt me to be
more wretched and more reckless still !"

"One question, Rachel. Have you any personal objection
to me?"

"I ! I always liked you. After what you have just said
to me, I should be insensible indeed if I didn't respect and
admire you as well."

"Do you know many wives, my dear Rachel, who respect
and admire their husbands? And yet they and their hus-
bands get on very well. How many brides go to the altar
with hearts that would bear inspection by the men who take
them there? And yet it doesn't end unhappily — somehow or
other the nuptial establishment jogs on. The truth is, that
women try marriage as a refuge, far more numerously than
they are willing to admit ; and, what is more, they find that
marriage has justified their confidence in it. Look at your
own case once again. At your age, and with your attractions,
is it possible for you to sentence yourself to a single life?
Trust my knowledge of the world — nothing is less possible.
It is merely a question of time. You may marry some other

262

THE MOONSTONE

man, some years hence. Or you may marry the man, dearest,
who is now at your feet, and who prizes your respect and
admiration above the love of any other woman on the face
of the earth."

"Gently, Godfrey ! you are putting something into my head
which I never thought of before. You are tempting me with
a new prospect, when all my other prospects are closed before
me. I tell you again, I am miserable enough and desperate
enough, if you say another word, to marry you on your own
terms. Take the warning, and go !"

'T won't even rise from my knees till you have said yes !"

"If I say yes you will repent, and I shall repent when it is
too late!"

"We shall both bless the day, darling, when I pressed, and
when you yielded."

"Do you feel as confidently as you speak?"

"You shall judge for yourself. I speak from what I have
seen in my own family. Tell me what you think of our house-
hold at Frizinghall. Do my father and mother live unhappily
together ?"

"Far from it — so far as I can see."

"When my mother was a girl, Rachel, it is no secret in
the family, she had loved as you love — she had given her
heart to a man who was unworthy of her. She married my
father, respecting him, admiring him, but nothing more.
Your own eyes have seen the result. Is there no encourage-
ment in it for you and for me?"^

"You won't hurry me, Godfrey?"

"My time shall be yours."

"You won't ask me for more than I can give?"

"My angel ! I onlv ask you to give me vourself."

"Take me !"

In those two words she accepted him !

He had another burst — a burst of unholy rapture this time.
He drew her nearer and nearer to him till her face touched
his; and then — No! I really can not prevail upon myself
to carry this shocking disclosure any farther. Let me only
say that I tried to close my eyes before it happened, and that
I was just one moment too late. I had calculated, you see,

^ See Betteredge's Narrative. Chapter VIII., page 68,
263

THE MOONSTONE

on her resisting. She submitted. To every right-feeling per-
son of my own sex volumes could say no more.

Even my innocence in such matters began to see its way
to the end of the interview now. They understood each
other so thoroughly by this time that I fully expected to see
them walk off together, arm in arm, to be married. There
appeared, however, judging by Mr. Godfrey's next words, to
be one more trifling formality which it was necessary to ob-
serve. He seated himself — unforbidden this time — on the
ottoman by her side. "Shall I speak to your dear mother?"
he asked. "Or will you?"

She declined both alternatives.

"Let my mother hear nothing from either of us until she
is better. I wish it to be kept a secret for the present, God-
frey. Go now, and come back this evening. We have been
here alone together quite long enough."

She rose, and, in rising, looked for the first time toward
the little room in which my martyrdom was going on.

"Who has drawn those curtains?" she exclaimed. "The
room is close enough as it is, without keeping the air out of
it in that way."

She advanced to the curtains. At the moment when she
laid her hand on them — at the moment when the discovery
of me appeared to be quite inevitable — the voice of the fresh-
colored young footman, on the stairs, suddenly suspended
any further proceedings on her side or on mine. It was un-
mistakably the voice of a man in great alarm.

"Miss Rachel !" he called out, "where are vou. Miss
Rachel?"

She sprang back from the curtains and ran to the door.

The footman came just inside the room. His ruddy color
was all gone. He said, "Please come down stairs, miss ! My
lady has fainted, and we can't bring her to again."

In a moment more I was alone, and free to go down stairs
in my turn, quite unobserved.

Mr. Godfrey passed me in the hall, hurrying out, to fetch
the doctor. "Go in, and help them !" he said, pointing to the
room. I found Rachel on her knees by the sofa, with her
mother's head on her bosom. One look at my aunt's face,
knowing what I knew, was enough to warn me of the dread-

264

THE MOONSTOxNE

ful truth. I kept my thoughts to myself till the doctor came
in. It was not long before he arrived. He began by sending
Rachel out of the room — and then he told the rest of us
that Lady Verinder was no more. Serious persons, in search
of proofs of hardened skepticism, may be interested in hear-
ing that he showed no signs of remorse when he looked at me.
At a later hour I peeped into the breakfast-room and the
library. My aunt had died without opening one of the let-
ters which I had addressed to her. I was so shocked at this
that it never occurred to me, until some days afterward, that
she had also died without giving me my little legacy.

CHAPTER VI.

(i.) "Miss Clack presents her compliments to Mr. Frank-
lin Blake ; and. in sending him the fifth chapter of her
humble narrative, begs to say that she feels quite unequal to
enlarge as she could wish on an event so awful, under the
circumstances, as Lady Verinder's death. She has, therefore,
attached to her own manuscript copious Extracts from pre-
cious publications in her possession, all bearing on this terrible
subject. And may those Extracts, Miss Clack fervently
hopes, sound as the blast of a trumpet in the ears of her
respected kinsman, Mr. Franklin Blake."

(2.) "Mr. Franklin Blake presents his compliments to Miss
Clack, and begs to thank her for the fifth chapter of her
narrative. In returning the extracts sent with it, he will re-
frain from mentioning any personal objection which he may
entertain to this species of literature, and will merely say that
the proposed additions to the manuscript are not necessary
to the fulfillment of the purpose that he has in view."

(3.) "Miss Clack begs to acknowledge the return of her
Extracts. She afifectionately reminds ]\Tr. Franklin Blake
that she is a Christian, and that it is, therefore, quite impos-
sible for him to ofifend her. Miss C. persists in feeling the
deepest interest in Mr. Blake, and pledges herself, on the
first occasion when sickness may lay him low, to oflfer him
the use of her Extracts for the second time. In the mean

265

THE MOONSTONE

while she would be glad to know, before beginning the next
and last chapter of her narrative, whether she may be per-
mitted to make her humble contribution complete by availing
herself of the light which later discoveries have thrown on
the mystery of the Moonstone."

(4.) "Mr. Franklin Blake is sorry to disappoint Miss Clack,
He can only repeat the instructions which he had the honor
of giving her when she began her narrative. She is requested
to limit herself to her own individual experience of persons
and events, as recorded in her Diary. Later discoveries she
will be good enough to leave to the pens of those persons
who can write in the capacity of actual witnesses."

(5.) "Miss Clack is extremely sorry to trouble Mr. Frank-
lin Blake with another letter. Her Extracts have been
returned, and the expression of her matured views on the
subject of the Moonstone has been forbidden. Miss Clack
is painfully conscious that she ought, in the worldly phrase,
to feel herself put down. But, no — Miss C. has learned Per-
severance in the School of Adversity. Her object in writing
is to know whether Mr. Blake, who prohibits every thing
else, prohibits the appearance of the present correspondence
in Miss Clack's narrative? Some explanation of the position
in which Mr. Blake's interference has placed her as an
authoress, seems due on the ground of common justice. And
Miss Clack, on her side, is most anxious that her letters
should be produced to speak for themselves."

(6.) "Mr. Franklin Blake agrees to Miss Clack's proposal,
on the understanding that she will kindly consider this inti-
mation of his consent as closing the correspondence between
them."

(7.) "Miss Clack feels it an act of Christian duty, before
the correspondence closes, to inform Mr. Franklin Blake that
his last letter — evidently intended to ofifend her — has not suc-
ceeded in accomplishing the object of the writer. She affec-
tionately requests Mr. Blake to retire to the privacy of his
own room, and to consider with himself whether the training
which can thus elevate a poor weak woman above the reach
of insult, be not worthy of greater admiration than he is now
disposed to feel for it. On being favored with an intimation
to that effect. Miss C. solemnly pledges herself to send

266

THE MOONSTONE

back the complete series of her Extracts to Mr. Franklin
Blake."

[To this letter no answer was received. Comment is
needless.

(Signed) Drusilla Clack.]

CHAPTER VH.

THE foregoing- correspondence will sufficiently explain
why no choice is left me but to pass over Lady Verin-
der's death with the simple announcement of the fact, which
ends my fifth chapter.

Keeping myself .for the future strictly within the limits
of my own personal experience, I have next to relate that a
month elapsed from the time of my aunt's decease before
Rachel Verinder and I met again. That meeting was the oc-
casion of my spending a few days under the same roof with
her. In the course of my visit something happened, relating
to her marriage engagement with Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite,
which is important enough to require special notice in these
pages. When this last of many painful family circumstances
has been disclosed, my task will be completed ; for I shall then
have told all that I know, as an actual, and most unwilling,
witness of events.

My aunt's remains were removed from London, and were
buried in the little cemetery attached to the church in her
own park, I was invited to the funeral with the rest of the
family. But it was impossible, with my religious views, to
rouse myself in a few days only from the shock which this
death had caused me. I was informed, moreover, that the
rector of Frizinghall was to read the service. Having myself
in past times seen this clerical castaway making one of the
players at Lady Verinder's whist-table, I doubt, even if I had
been fit to travel, whether I should have felt justified in at-
tending the ceremony.

Lady Verinder's death left her daughter under the care of
her brother-in-law, Mr. Ablewhite the elder. He was ap-
pointed guardian by the will, until his niece married, or came

267

THE MOONSTONE

of age. Under those circumstances, Mr. Godfrey informed
his father, I suppose, of the new relation in which he stood
toward Rachel. At any rate, in ten days from my aunt's
death, the secret of the marriage engagement was no secret
at all within the circle of the family, and the grand question
for Mr. Ablewhite senior — another confirmed castaway ! — was
how to make himself and his authority most agreeable to the
wealthy young lady who was going to marry his son.

Rachel gave him some trouble, at the outset, about the
choice of a place in which she could be prevailed upon to
reside. The house in Montagu Square was associated with
the calamity of her mother's death. The house in Yorkshire
was associated with the scandalous affair of the lost Moon-
stone. Her guardian's own residence at Frizinghall was open
to neither of these objections. But Rachel's presence in it,
after her recent bereavement, operated as a check on the
gayeties of her cousins, the Miss Ablewhites — and she herself
requested that her visit might be deferred to a more favorable
©pportunity. It ended in a proposal, emanating from old ]\Ir.
Ablewhite, to try a furnished house at Brighton. His wife,
an invalid daughter, and Rachel were to inhabit it together,
and were to expect him to join them later in the season.
They would see no society but a few old friends, and they
would have his son Godfrey, traveling backward and forward
by the London train, always at their disposal.

I describe this aimless flitting about from one place of resi-
dence to another — this insatiate restlessness of body and ap-
palling stagnation of soul — merely with a view of arriving at
results. The event which, under Providence, proved to be the
means of bringing Rachel Verinder and myself together
again, was no other than the hiring of the house at Brighton.

My Aunt Ablewhite is a large, silent, fair-complexioned
woman, with one noteworthy point in her character. From
the hour of her birth she has never been known to do any
thing for herself. She has gone through life accepting every
body's help, and adopting every body's opinions. A more
hopeless person, in a spiritual point of view. I have never
met with — there is absolutely, in this perplexing case, no ob-
structive material to work upon. Aunt Ablewhite would
listen to the Grand Lama of Thibet exactly as she listens to

268

THE MOONSTONE

me, and would reflect his views quite as readily as she re-
flects mine. She found the furnished house at Brighton by
stopping at a hotel in London, composing herself on a sofa,
and sending for her son. She discovered the necessary ser-
vants by breakfasting in bed one morning, still at the hotel,
and giving her maid a holiday on condition that the girl
"would begin enjoying herself by fetching Miss Clack." I
found her placidly fanning herself in her dressing-gown at
eleven o'clock. "Drusilla, dear,' I want some servants. You
are so clever — please get them for me." I looked round the
untidy room. The church bells were going for a week-day
service ; they suggested a word of affectionate remonstrance
on my part. "Oh, aunt !" I said, sadly, "is this worthy of
a Christian Englishwoman ? Is the passage from time to
eternity to be made in this manner?" My aunt answered,
"I'll put on my gown, Drusilla, if you will be kind enough
to help me." What was to be said after that? I have done
wonders with murderesses — I have never advanced an inch
with Aunt Ablewhite. "Where is the list," I asked, "of the
servants whom you require ?" My aunt shook her head ; she
hadn't even energy enough to keep the list. "Rachel has got
it, dear,"' she said, "in the next room." I went into the next
room, and so saw Rachel again, for the first time since we
had parted in Montagu Square.

She looked pitiably small and thin in her deep mourning.
If I attached any serious importance to such a perishable
trifle as personal appearance, I might be inclined to add that
hers was one of those unfortunate complexions which always
suffers when not relieved by a border of white next the skin.
But what are our complexions and our looks? Hinderances
and pitfalls, dear girls, which beset us on our way to higher
things ! Greatly to my surprise, Rachel rose when I entered the
room, and came forward to meet me with outstretched hand.

"I am glad to see you," she said. "Drusilla, I have been
in the habit of speaking very foolishly and very rudely to
you, on former occasions. I beg your pardon. I hope you
will forgive me."

My face, I suppose, betrayed the astonishment I felt at this.
She colot^'=''^ up for a moment, and then proceeded to explain
herself.

369

THE MOONSTONE

"In my poor mother's lifetime," she went on, "her friends
were not always my friends too. Now I have lost her, my
heart turns for comfort to the people she liked. She liked
you. Try to be friends with me, Drusilla, if you can."

To any rightly-constituted mind the motive thus acknow-
ledged was simply shocking. Here in Christian England
was a young woman in a state of bereavement, with so little
idea of where to look for true comfort, that she actually ex-
pected to find it among her mother's friends ! Here was a
relative of mine, awakened to a sense of her shortcomings
toward others, under the influence, not of conviction and duty,
but of sentiment and impulse ! Most deplorable to think of
— but still, suggestive of something hopeful, to a person of
my experience in plying the good work. There could be no
harm, I thought, in ascertaining the extent of the change
which the loss of her mother had wrought in Rachel's char-
acter. I decided, as a useful test, to probe her on the subject
of her marriage engagement to Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.

Having first met her advances with all possible cordiality,
I sat by her on the sofa at her own request. We discussed
family afifairs and future plans — always excepting that one
future plan which was to end in her marriage. -Try as I
might to turn the conversation that way, she resolutely de-
clined to take the hint. Any open reference to the question,
on my part, would have been premature at this early stage
of our reconciliation. Besides, I had discovered all I wanted
to know. She was no longer the reckless, defiant creature
whom I had heard and seen on the occasion of my martyr-
dom in Montagu Square. This was, of itself, enough to
encourage me to take her conversion in hand — beginning
with a few words of earnest warning directed against the
hasty formation of the marriage tie, and so getting on to
higher things. Looking at her now, with this new interest —
and calling to mind the headlong suddenness with which she
had met Mr. Godfrey's matrimonial views — I felt the solemn
duty of interfering, with a fervor which assure^ me that I
should achieve no common results. Rapidity of proceeding
was, as I believed, of importance in this case. I went back
at once to the question of the servants wanted for the fur-
nished house.

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THE MOONSTONE

"Where is the Hst, dear?"

Rachel produced it.

"Cook, kitchen-maid, house-maid, and footman," I read.
"My dear Racliel, these servants are only wanted for a term
— the term during which your guardian has taken the house.
We shall have great difficulty in finding persons of character
and capacity to accept a temporary engagement of that sort,
if we try in London. Has the house at Brighton been found
yet?"

"Yes. Godfrey has taken it ; and persons in the house
wanted him to hire them as servants. He thought they would
hardly do for us, and came back having settled nothing."

"And you have no experience yourself in these matters,
Rachel?"

"None whatever."

"And Aunt Ablewhite won't exert herself?"

"No, poor dear. Don't blame her, Drusilla. I think she
is the only really happy woman I have ever met with."

"There are degrees in happiness, darling. We must have
a little talk some day on that subject. In the mean time I
will undertake to meet the difficulty about the servants. Your
aunt will write a letter to the people of the house — "

"She will sign a letter if I write it for her, which comes to
the same thing."

"Quite the same thing. I shall get the letter, and I will
go to Brighton to-morrow."

"How extremely kind of you ! We will join you as soon
as you are ready for us. And you will stay, I hope, as my
guest. Brighton is so lively ; you are sure to enjoy it."

In those words the invitation was given, and the glorious
prospect of interference was opened before me.

It was then the middle of the week. By Saturday after-
noon the house was ready for them. In that short interval
I had sifted, not the characters only, but the religious views
as well, of all the disengaged servants who applied to me,
and had succeeded in making a selection which my conscience
approved. I also discovered, and called on, two serious
friends of mine, residents in the town, to whom I knew I
could confide the pious object which had brought me to
Brighton. One of them — a clerical friend — kindly helped me

271

THE MOONSTONE

to take sittings for our little party in the church in which
he himself ministered. The other — a single lady, like my-
self— placed the resources of the library, composed through-
out of precious publications, entirely at my disposal. I
borrowed half a dozen works, all carefully chosen with a view
to Rachel. When these had been judiciously distributed in
the various rooms she would be likely to occupy, I considered
that my preparations were complete. Sound doctrine in the
servants who waited on her; sound doctrine in the minister
who preached to her ; sound doctrine in the books that lay
on the table — such was the triple welcome which my zeal had
prepared for the motherless girl ! A heavenly composure
filled my mind, on that Saturday afternoon, as I sat at the
window waiting the arrival of my relatives. The giddy
throng passed and repassed before my eyes. Alas ! how
many of them felt my exquisite sense of duty done? An
awful question. Let us not pursue it.

Between six and seven the travelers arrived. To my in-
describable surprise, they were escorted, not by Mr. Godfrey
(as I had anticipated), but by the lawyer, Mr. Bruff.

"How do you do, Miss Clack?" he said. "I mean to stay
this time."

That reference to the occasion on which I had obliged him
to postpone his business to mine, when we were both visiting
in Montagu Square, satisfied me that the old worldling had
come to Brighton with some object of his own in view. I
had prepared quite a little Paradise for my beloved Rachel
— and here was the Serpent already !

"Godfrey was very much vexed, Drusilla, not to be able
to come with us," said my aunt Ablewhite. "There was
something in the way which kept him in town. Mr. Brufif
volunteered to take his place, and make a holiday of it till
Monday morning. By-the-bye, Mr. Brufif, I'm ordered to take
exercise, and I don't like it. That," added Aunt Ablewhite,
pointing out of window to an invalid going by in a chair on
wheels, drawn by a man, "is my idea of exercise. If it's air
you want, you get it in your chair. And if it's fatigue you
want, I'm sure it's fatiguing enough to look at the man."

Rachel stood silent, at a window by herself, with her eyes
fixed on the sea.

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THE MOONSTONE

"Tired, love?" I inquired.

"No. Only a little out of spirits," she answered. "I have
often seen the sea, on our Yorkshire coast, with that light
on it. And I was thinking, Drusilla, of the days that can
never come again."

Mr. Bruff remained to dinner, and stayed through the even-
ing. The more I saw of him, the more certain I felt that he
had some private end to serve in coming to Brighton. I
watched him carefully. He maintained the same appearance
of ease, and talked the same godless gossip, hour after hour,
until it was time to take leave. As he shook hands with
Rachel I caught his hard and cunning eye resting on her for
a moment with a very peculiar interest and attention. She
was plainly concerned in the object that he had in view. He
said nothing out of the common to her or to any one, on
leaving. He invited himself to luncheon the next day, and
then he went away to his hotel.

It was impossible, the next morning, to get my aunt Able-
white out of her dressing-gown in time for church. Her
invalid daughter, suffering from nothing, in my opinion, but
incurable laziness, inherited from her mother, announced that
she meant to remain in bed for the day. Rachel and I went
alone together to church. A magnificent sermon was preached
by my gifted friend on the heathen indifference of the world
to the sinfulness of little sins. For more than an hour his
eloquence, assisted by his glorious voice, thundered through
the sacred edifice. I said to Rachel, when we came out, "Has
it found its way to your heart, dear?" And she answered,
"No ; it has only made my head ache." This might have
been discouraging to some people. But, once embarked on a
career of manifest usefulness, nothing discourages me.

We found Aunt Ablewhite and Mr. Bruff at luncheon.
When Rachel declined eating any thing, and gave as a reason
for it that she was suffering from a headache, the lawyer's
cunning instantly saw, and seized, the chance that she had
given him.

"There is only one remedy for a headache," said this hor-
rible old man. "A walk, Miss Rachel, is the thing to cure
you. I am entirely at your service, if you will honor me by
accepting my arm." ,

18 273

THE MOONSTONE

"With the greatest pl(^sure. A walk is the very thing I
was longing for."

"It's past two," I gently suggested. "And the afternoon
service, Rachel, begins at three."

"How can you expect me to go to church again," she asked,
petulantly, "with such a headache as mine ?"

Mr. Bruff officiously opened the door for her. In a minute
more they were both out of the house. I don't know when I
have felt the solemn duty of interfering so strongly as I felt
it at that moment. But what was to be done? Nothing was
to be done but to interfere, at the first opportunity, later in
the day.

On my return from the afternoon service I found that they
had just got back. One look at them told me that the lawyer
had said what he wanted to say. I had never before seen
Rachel so silent and so thoughtful. I had never before seen
Mr. Bruff pay her such devoted attention, and look at her
with such marked respect. He had, or pretended that he had,
an engagement to dinner that day — and he took an early leave
of us all ; intending to go back to London by the first train
the next morning.

"Are you sure of your own resolution ?" he said to Rachel
at the door.

"Quite sure," she answered — and so they parted.

The moment his back was turned Rachel withdrew to her
own room. She never appeared at dinner. Her maid, the
person with the cap-ribbons, was sent down stairs to an-
nounce that her headache had returned. I ran up to her, and
made all sorts of sisterly ofifers through the door. It was
locked, and she kept it locked. Plenty of obstructive material
to work on here ! I felt greatly cheered and stimulated by
her locking the door.

'\\nien her cup of tea went up to her the next morning I
followed it in. I sat by her bedside and said a few earnest
words. She listened with languid civility. I noticed my seri-
ous friend's precious publications huddled together on a table
in a corner. Had she chanced to look into them ? — I asked.
Yes — and they had not interested her. Would she allow me
to read a few passages, of the deepest interest, which had
probably escaped her eye ? No ; not now — she had other

274

THE MOONSTONE

things to think of. She gave these answers, with her atten-
tion apparently absorbed in folding and refolding the frill of
her night-gown. It was plainly necessary to rouse her by
some reference to those worldly interests which she still had
at heart.

"Do you know, love," I said, "I had an odd fancy, yester-
day, about Mr. Bruff? I thought, when I saw you after
your walk with him, that he had been telling you some bad
news."

Her fingers dropped from the frilling of her night-gown,
and her fierce black eyes flashed at me.

"Quite the contrary !" she said. "It was news I was inter-
ested in hearing — and I am deeply indebted to Mr. Bruff for
telling me of it."

"Yes?" I said, in a tone of gentle interest.

Her fingers went back to the frilling, and she turned her
head sullenly away from me. I had been met in this manner,
in the course of plying the good work, hundreds of times.
She merely stimulated me to try again. In my dauntless
zeal for her welfare I ran the great risk, and openly alluded
to her marriage engagement.

"News you were interested in hearing?" I repeated. "I
suppose, my dear Rachel, that must be news of Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhitc ?"

She started up in the bed and turned deadly pale. It was
evidently on the tip of her tongue to retort on me with the
unbridled insolence of former times. She checked herself —
laid her head back on the pillow — considered a minute — and
then answered in these remarkable words :

"/ shall never marry Mr. Godfrey Ablezvhite."

It was my turn to start at that.

"What can you possibly mean ?" I exclaimed. "The mar-
riage is considered by the whole family as a settled thing?"

"Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite is expected here to-day," she said,
doggedly. "Wait till he comes — and you will see."

"But my dear Rachel — "

She rang the bell at the head of her bed. The person with
the cap-ribbons appeared.

"Penelope! my bath."

Let me give her her due. In the state of my mind, at that

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THE MOONSTONE

moment, I do sincerely believe that she had hit on the only
possible way of forcing me to leave the room.

By the mere worldly mind my position toward Rachel might
have been viewed as presenting difficulties of no ordinary
kind. I had reckoned on leading her to higher things, by
means of a little earnest exhortation on the subject of her
marriage. And now, if she was to be believed, no such event
as her marriage was to take place at all. But ah ! my friends !
a working Christian of my experience, with an evangelizing
prospect before her, takes broader views than these. Sup-
posing Rachel really broke ofif the marriage on which the
Ablewhites, father and son, counted as a settled thing, what
would be the result ? It could only end, if she held firm, in
an exchanging of hard words and bitter accusations on both
sides. And what would be the effect on Rachel when the
stormy interview was over? A salutary moral depression
would be the effect. Her pride would be exhausted, her stub-
bornness would be exhausted, by the resolute resistance which
it was in her character to make under the circumstances. She
would turn for sympathy to the nearest person who had sym-
pathy to offer. And I was that nearest person — brimful of
comfort, charged to overflowing with seasonable and reviving
words. Never had the evangelizing prospect looked brighter,
to my eyes, than it looked now.

She came down to breakfast, but she ate nothing, and
hardly uttered a word.

After breakfast she wandered listlessly from room to room
— then suddenly roused herself and opened the piano. The
music she selected to play was of the most scandalously pro-
fane sort, associated with performances on the stage which
it curdles one's blood to think of. It would have been pre-
mature to interfere with her at such a time as this. I privately
ascertained the hour at which Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was
expected, and then I escaped the music by leaving the house.

Being out alone, I took the opportunity of calling upon my
two resident friends. It was an indescribable luxury to find
myself indulging in earnest conversation with serious per-
sons. Infinitely encouraged and refreshed, I turned my steps
back again to the house, in excellent time to await the arrival
of our expected visitor. T entered the dining-room, always

276

THE MOONSTONE

empty at that hour of the day — and found myself face to face
with Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite !

He made no attempt to fly the place. Quite the contrary.
He advanced to meet me with the utmost eagerness.

"Dear Miss Clack, I have been only waiting to see yoii!
Chance set me free of my London engagements to-day sooner
than I expected — and I have got here, in consequence, earlier
than my appointed time."

Not the slightest embarrassment encumbered his explana-
tion, though this was his first meeting with me after the scene
in Montagu Square. He was not aware, it is true, of my
having been a witness to that scene. But he knew, on the
other hand, that my attendances at the JMothers'-Small-
Clothes, and my relations with friends attached to other chari-
ties, must have informed me of his shameless neglect of his
Ladies and his Poor. And yet there he was before me in full
possession of his charming voice and his irresistible smile !

"Have you seen Rachel yet?" I asked.

He sighed gently, and took me by the hand. I should
certainly have snatched my hand away, if the manner in
which he gave his answer had not paralyzed me with aston-
ishment.

"I have seen Rachel," he said, with perfect tranquillity.
"You are aware, dear friend, that she was engaged to me?
Well, she has taken a sudden resolution to break the engage-
ment. Reflection has convinced her that she will best consult
her welfare and mine by retracting a rash promise, and leav-
ing me free to make some happier choice elsewhere. That is
the only reason she will give, and the only answer she will
make to every question that I can ask of her."

"What have you done on your side?" I inquired. "Have
you submitted ?"

"Yes," he said, with the most unruffled composure. "I have
submitted."

His conduct, under the circumstances, was so utterly in-
conceivable that I stood bewildered with my hand in his. It
is a piece of rudeness to stare at any body, and it is an act
of indelicacy to stare at a gentleman. I committed both those
improprieties. And I said, as if in a dream, "What does it
mean ?"

277

THE MOONSTONE

"Permit me to tell you," he replied. "And suppose we sit
down ?"

He led me to a chair, I have an indistinct remembrance
that he was very affectionate. I don't think he put his arm
round my waist to support me — but I am not sure. I was
quite helpless, and his ways with ladies were very endearing.
At any rate, we sat down. I can answer for that, if I can
answer for nothing more.

"I have lost a beautiful girl, an excellent social position,
and a handsome income," Mr. Godfrey began ; "and I have
submitted to it without a struggle. What can be the motive
for such extraordinary conduct as that? My precious friend,
there is no motive."

"No motive?" I repeated.

"Let me appeal, dear Miss Clack, to your experience of
children," he went on. "A child pursues a certain course of
conduct. You are greatly struck by it, and you attempt to
get at the motive. The dear little thing is incapable of telling
you its motive. You might as well ask the grass why it
grows, or the birds why they sing. Well ! in this matter I
am like the dear little thing — like the grass — like the birds.
I don't know why I made a proposal of marriage to Miss Ver-
inder. I don't know why I have shamefully neglected my
dear ladies. I don't know why I have apostatized from the
Mothers'-Small-Clothes. You say to the child, 'Why have
you been naughty?' And the little angel puts its finger into
its mouth, and doesn't know. My case exactly, Miss Clack !
I couldn't confess it to any body else. I feel impelled to
confess it to you!"

I began to recover myself. A mental problem was involved
here. I am deeply interested in mental problems — and I am
not, it is thought, without some skill in solving them.

"Best of friends, exert your intellect and help me," he pro-
ceeded. "Tell me — why does a time come when these mat-
rimonial proceedings of mine begin to look like something
done in a dream ? Why does it suddenly occur to me that my
true happiness is in helping my dear ladies, in going my mod-
est round of useful work, in saying my few earnest words
when called on by my Chairman? What do I want with a
position ? I have got a position. What do I want with an

278

THE MOONSTONE

income? I can pay for my bread-and-cheese, and my nice
little lodging, and my two coats a year. What do I want with
Miss Verinder? She has told me with her own lips, this,
dear lady, is between ourselves, that she loves another man,
and that her only idea in marrying me is to try and put that
other man out of her head. What a horrid union is this !
Oh, dear me, what a horrid union is this ! Such are my re-
flections, Miss Clack, on my way to Brighton ! I approach
Rachel with the feeling of a criminal who is going to receive
his sentence. When I find that she has changed her mind too
— when I hear her propose to break the engagement — I ex-
perience, there is no sort of doubt about it, a most overpower-
ing sense of relief. A month ago I was pressing her
rapturously to my bosom. An hour ago the happiness of
knowing that I shall never press her again intoxicates me
like strong liquor. The thing seems impossible — the thing
can't be. And yet there are the facts, as I had the honor of
stating them when we first sat down together in these two
chairs. I have lost a beautiful girl, an excellent social posi-
tion, and a handsome income ; and I have submitted to it
without a struggle. Can you account for it, dear friend?
It's quite beyond me."

His magnificent head sank on his breast, and he gave up
his own mental problem in despair.

I was deeply touched. The case, if I may speak as a spiri-
tual physician, was now quite plain to me. It is no uncommon
event, in the experience of us all, to see the possessors of
exalted ability occasionally humbled to the level of the most
poorly-gifted people about them. The object, no doubt, in
the wise economy of Providence, is to remind greatness that
it is mortal, and that the power which has conferred it can
also take it away. It was now — to my mind — easy to discern
one of thes^ salutary humiliations in the deplorable proceed-
ings on dear Mr. Godfrey's part, of which I had been the
unseen witness. And it was equally easy to recognize the
welcome re-appearance of his own finer nature in the horror
with which he recoiled from the idea of a marriage with
Rachel, and in the charming eagerness which he showed to
return to his ladies and his poor.

I put this view before him in a few simple and sisterly'

279

THE MOONSTONE

words. His joy was beautiful to see. He compared himself,
as I went on, to a lost man emerging from the darkness into
the light. When I answered for a loving reception of him at
the Mothers'-Small-Clothes, the grateful heart of our Chris-
tian Hero overflowed. He pressed my hands alternately to
his lips. Overwhelmed by the exquisite triumph of having
got him back among us, I let him do what he liked with my
hands. I closed my eyes. I felt my head, in an ecstasy of
spiritual self-forgetfulness, sinking on his shoulder. In a
moment more I should certainly have swooned away in his
arms, but for an interruption from the outer world, which
brought me to myself again. A horrid rattling of knives
and forks sounded outside the door, and the footman came in
to lay the table for luncheon.

Mr. Godfrey started up, and looked at the clock on the
mantel-piece.

"How time flies with you !" he exclaimed. 'T shall barely
catch the train."

I ventured on asking why he was in such a hurry to get
back to town. His answer reminded me of family difficulties
that were still to be reconciled, and of family disagreements
that were yet to come.

"I have heard from my father," he said. "Business obliges
him to leave Frizinghall for London to-day, and he proposes
coming on here either this evening or to-morrow. I must
tell him what has happened between Rachel and me. His
heart is set on our marriage — there will be great difificulty,
I fear, in reconciling him to the breaking-ofif of the engage-
ment. I must stop him, for all our sakes, from coming here
till he is reconciled. Best and dearest of friends, we shall
meet again !"

With those words he hurried out. In equal haste on my
side, I ran up stairs to compose myself in my own room be-
fore meeting Aunt Ablewhite and Rachel at the luncheon-
table.

I am well aware — to dwell for a moment yet on the sub-
ject of Mr. Godfrey — that the all-profaning opinion of the
outer world has charged him with having his own private
reasons for releasing Rachel from her engagement, at the
first opportunity she gave him. It has also reached my ears

380

THE MOONSTONE

that his anxiety to recover his place in my estimation has
been attributed, in certain quarters, to a mercenary eagerness
to make his peace, through me, with a venerable committee-
woman at the Mothers'-Small-Clothes, abundantly blessed
with the goods of this world, and a beloved and intimate
friend of my own. I only notice these odious slanders for
the sake of declaring that they never had a moment's influ-
ence on my mind. In obedience to my instructions, I have
exhibited the fluctuations in my opinion of our Christian Hero
exactly as I find them recorded in my diary. In justice to
myself, let me here add that, once reinstated in his place in my
estimation, my gifted friend never lost that place again. I
write with the tears in my eyes, burning to say more. But
no — I am cruelly limited to my actual experience of persons
and things. In less than a month from the time of which
I am now writing events in the money-market, which dimin-
ished even my miserable little income, forced me into foreign
exile, and left me with nothing but a loving remembrance
of Mr. Godfrey which the slander of the world has assailed,
and assailed in vain.

Let me dry my eyes, and return to my narrative.

I WENT down stairs to luncheon, naturally anxious to see how
Rachel was afifected by her release from her marriage engage-
ment.

It appeared to me — but I own I am a poor authority in
such matters — that the recovery of her freedom had set her
thinking again of that other man whom she loved, and that
she was furious with herself for not being able to control a
revulsion of feeling of which she was secretly ashamed. Who
was the man ? I had my suspicions — but it was needless to
waste time in idle speculation. When I had converted her,
she would, as a matter of course, have no concealments from
me. I should hear all about the man ; I should hear all about
the Moonstone. If I had had no higher object in stirring
her up to a sense of spiritual things, the motive of relieving
her mind of its guilty secrets would have been enough of
itself to encourage me to go on.

Aunt Ablewhite took her exercise in the afternoon in an
invalid chair. Rachel accompanied her, "I wish I could

381

THE MOONSTONE

drag the chair," she broke out, recklessly. "I wish I could
fatigue myself till I was ready to drop !"

She was in the same humor in the evening. I discovered
in one of my friend's precious publications — The Life, Let-
ters, and Labors of Miss Jane Ann Stamper, forty-fifth edi-
tion— passages which bore with a marvelous appropriateness
on Rachel's present position. Upon my proposing to read
them she went to the piano. Conceive how little she must
have known of serious people, if she supposed that my pa-
tience was to be exhausted in that way ! I kept Miss Jane
Ann Stamper by me, and waited for events with the most
unfaltering trust in the future.

Old Mt. Ablewhite never made his appearance that night.
But I knew the importance which his worldly greed attached
to his son's marriage with Miss Verinder — and I felt a posi-
tive conviction, do what Mr. Godfrey might to prevent it,
that we should see him the next day. With his interference
in the matter, the storm on which I had counted would cer-
tainly come, and the salutary exhaustion of Rachel's resisting
powers would as certainly follow. I am not ignorant that
old Mr. Ablewhite has the reputation generally, especially
among his inferiors, of being a remarkably good-natured
man. According to my observation of him, he deserves his
reputation as long as he has his own way, and not a moment
longer.

The next day, exactly as I had foreseen. Aunt Ablewhite
was as near to being astonished as her nature would permit,
by the sudden appearance of her husband. He had barely
been a minute in the house before he was followed, to my
astonishment this time, by an unexpected complication in the
shape of Mr. Brufif.

I never remember feeling the presence of the lawyer to be
more unwelcome than I felt it at that moment. He looked
ready for any thing in the way of an obstructive proceeding
— capable even of keeping the peace, with Rachel for one of
the combatants !

"This is a pleasant surprise, sir," said Mr. Ablewhite, ad-
dressing himself with his deceptive cordiality to Mr. Brufif.
''When I left your office yesterday, I didn't expect to have
the honor of seeing you at Brighton to-day."

283 *

•THE MOONSTONE

'T turned over our conversation in my mind, after you had
gone," replied Mr. Bruff. "And it occurred to me that I
might perhaps be of some use on this occasion. I was just
in time to catch the train, and I had no opportunity of dis-
covering the carriage in which you were travehng."

Having given that explanation he seated himself by Rachel.
I retired modestly to a corner — with Miss Jane Ann Stamper
on my lap in case of emergency. My aunt sat at the win-
dow, placidly fanning herself as usual. Mr. Ablewhite stood
up in the middle of the room, with his bald head much pinker
than I had ever seen it yet, and addressed himself in the most
affectionate manner to his niece.

"Rachel, my dear," he said, "I have heard some very ex-
traordinary news from Godfrey. And I am here to inquire
about it. You have a sitting-room of your own in this house.
Will you honor me by showing me the way to it?"

Rachel never moved. Whether she was determined to
bring matters to a crisis, or whether she was prompted by
some private sign from Mr. Bruff, is more than I can tell.
She declined doing old Mr. Ablewhite the honor of conduct-
ing him to her sitting-room.

"Whatever you wish to say to me," she answered, "can be
said here — in the presence of my relatives, and in the pres-
ence," she looked at ]\Ir. Bruff, "of my mother's trusted old
friend."

"Just as you please, my dear," said the amiable Mr. Able-
white. He took a chair. The rest of them looked at his face
— as if they expected it, after seventy years of worldly train-
ing, to speak the truth. / looked at the top of his bald
head ; having noticed, on other occasions, that the tem-
per which was really in him had a habit of registering it-
self there.

"Some weeks ago," pursued the old gentleman, "my son
informed me that Miss Verinder had done him the honor to
engage herself to marry him. Is it possible, Rachel, that he
can have misinterpreted — or presumed upon — what you reall}^
said to him?"

"Certainly not," she replied. "I did engage myself to
marry him."

"Very frankly answered !" said IMr. Ablewhite. "And most

283

THE MOONSTONE

satisfactory, my dear, so far. In respect to what happened
some weeks since, Godfrey has made no mistake. The error
is evidently in what he told me yesterday. I begin to see it
now. You and he have had a lovers' quarrel — and my foolish
son has interpreted it seriously. Ah ! I should have known
better than that, at his age."

The fallen nature in Rachel — the mother Eve, so to speak
— began to chafe at this.

"Pray let us understand each other, Mr. Ablewhite," she
said. "Nothing in the least like a quarrel took place yester-
day between your son and me. If he told you that I proposed
breaking ofif our marriage engagement, and that he agreed on
his side — he told you the truth."

The self-registering thermometer at the top of Mr. Able-
white's bald head began to indicate a rise of temper. His
face was more amiable than ever — but there was the pink at
the top of his face, a shade deeper already !

"Come, come, my dear !" he said, in his most soothing man-
ner, "now don't be angry, and don't be hard on poor Godfrey !
He has evidently said some unfortunate thing. He was
always clumsy from a child — but he means well, Rachel, he
means well !"

"Mr. Ablewhite, I have either expressed myself very badly,
or you are purposely mistaking me. Once for all, it is a
settled thing between your son and myself that we remain,
for the rest of our lives, cousins and nothing more. Is that
plain enough?"

The tone in which she said those words made it impossible,
even for old Mr. Ablewhite, to mistake her any longer. His
thermometer went up another degree, and his voice, when he
next spoke, ceased to be the voice which is appropriate to a
notoriously good-natured man.

"I am to understand, then," he said, "that your marriage
engagement is broken of??"

"You are to understand that, Mr. Ablewhite, if you please."

"I am also to take it as a matter of fact that the proposal
to withdraw from the engagement came, in the first instance,
from yoitf"

"It came, in the first instance, from me. And it met, as I
have told you, with your son's consent and approval."

V 284

THE MOONSTONE

The thermometer went up to the top of the register. I
mean, the pink changed suddenly to scarlet.

"My son is a mean-spirited hound !" cried this furious old
worldling. "In justice to myself as his father — not in justice
to him — I beg to ask you, Miss Verinder, what complaint
you have to make of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite?"

Here Mr. Brufif interfered for the first time.

"You are not bound to answer that question," he said to
Rachel.

Old Mr. Ablewhite fastened on him instantly.

"Don't forget, sir," he said, "that you are a self-invited
guest here. Your interference would have come with a bet-
ter grace if you had waited until it was asked for."

Mr. Bruff took no notice. The smooth varnish • on his
wicked old face never cracked. Rachel thanked him for the
advice he had given to her, and then turned to old Mr. Able-
white — preserving her composure in a manner which, having
regard to her age and her sex, was simply awful to see.

"Your son put the same question to me which you have
just asked," she said. "I had only one answer for him, and
I have only one answer for you. I proposed that we should
release each other, because reflection had convinced me that
T should best consult his welfare and mine by retracting a
rash promise, and leaving him free to make his choice else-
where."

"What has my son done?" persisted Mr. Ablewhite. "I
have a right to know that. What has my son done ?"

She persisted just as obstinately on her side.

"You have had the only explanation which I think it neces-
sary to give to you, or to him," she answered.

"In plain English, it's your sovereign will and pleasure.
Miss Verinder, to jilt my son ?"

Rachel was silent for a moment. Sitting close behind her,
I heard her sigh. Mr. Bruff took her hand, and gave it a lit-
tle squeeze. She recovered herself, and answered Mr. Able-
white as boldly as ever.

"I have exposed myself to worse misconstruction than
that," she said. "x\nd I have borne it patiently. The time
has gone by when vou could mortifv me bv calling me a
jilt."

285

THE MOONSTONE

She spoke with a bitterness of tone which satisfied me that
the scandal of the Moonstone had been in some way recalled
to her mind. "I have no more to say," she added, wearily,
not addressing the words to any one in particular, and look-
ing away from us all, out of the window that was nearest to
her.

Mr. Ablewhite got upon his feet, and pushed away his
chair so violently that it toppled over and fell on the floor.

"I have something more to say on my side," he announced,
bringing down the flat of his hand on the table with a bang.
"I have to say that if my son doesn't feel this insult I do !"

Rachel started, and looked at him in sudden surprise.

"Insult?" she repeated. "What do you mean?"

"Insl-ilt !" reiterated Mr. Ablewhite. "I know your motive.
Miss Verinder, for breaking your promise to my son ! I
know it as certainly as if you had confessed it in so many
words. Your cursed family pride is insulting Godfrey, as it
insulted jne when I married your aunt. Her famil}' — her
beggarly family — turned their backs on her for marrying an
honest man, who had made his own place and won his own
fortune. I had no ancestors. I wasn't descended from a set
of cut-throat scoundrels who lived by robbery and murder.
I couldn't point to the time when the Able whites hadn't a
shirt to their backs, and couldn't sign their own names. Ha !
ha ! I wasn't good enough for the Herncastles, when / mar-
ried. And, now it comes to the pinch, my son isn't good
enough for yon. I suspected it all along. You have got the
Herncastle blood in you, my young lady ! I suspected it all
along."

"A very unworthy suspicion," remarked Mr. Bruff. "I am
astonished that you have the courage to acknowledge it."
. Before Mr. Ablewhite could find words to answer, Rachel
spoke in the tone of the most exasperating contempt.

"Surely," she said to the lawyer, "this is beneath notice.
If he can think in that way, let us leave him to think as he
pleases."

From scarlet Mr. Ablewhite was now becoming purple.
He gasped for breath ; he looked backward and forward from
Rachel to Mr. Bruff in such a frenzy of rage with both of
them that he didn't know which to attack first. His wife,

286

THE MOONSTONE

who had sat impenetrably fanning herself up to this time,
began to be alarmed, and attempted, quite uselessly, to quiet
him. I had, throughout this distressing interview, felt more
than one inward call to interfere with a few earnest words,
and had controlled myself under a dread of the possible re-
sults, very unworthy of a Christian Englishwoman who looks,
not to what is meanly prudent, but to what is morally right.
At the point at which matters had now arrived I rose superior
to all considerations of mere expediency. If I had contem-
plated interposing any remonstrance of my own humble de-
vising, I might possibly still have hesitated. But the dis-
tressing domestic emergency which now confronted me was
most marvelously and beautifully provided for in the Corre-
spondence of Miss Jane Ann Stamper — Letter one thousand
and one, on "Peace in Families." I rose in my modest corner,
and I opened my precious book.

"Dear Mr. Ablewhite," I said, "one word !"

When I first attracted the attention of the company by
rising, I could see that he was on the point of saying some-
thing rude to me. My sisterly form of address checked him.
He stared in heathen astonishment.

"As an affectionate well-wisher and friend," I proceeded,
"and as one long accustomed to arouse, convince, prepare,
enlighten, and fortify others, permit mie to take the most
pardonable of all liberties — the liberty of composing your
mind."

He began to recover himself; he was on the point of
breaking out — he would have broken out, with any body else.
r)Ut my voice, habitually gentle, possesses a high note or so.
in emergencies. In this emergency I felt imperatively called
upon to have the highest voice of the two.

I held up my precious book before him ; I rapped the open
page impressively with my forefinger. "Not ray words !"
I exclaimed, in a burst of fervent interruption. Oh, don't
suppose that I claim attention for my humble words ! Manna
in the wilderness, Mr. Ablewhite ! Dew on the parched
earth ! Words of comfort, words of wisdom, words of
love — the blessed, blessed, blessed words of Miss Jane Ann
Stamper!"

I was stopped there by a momentary impediment of the

287

THE MOONSTONE

breath. Before I could recover myself, this monster in human
form shouted out furiously :

"Miss Jane Ann Stamper be !"

It is impossible for me to write the awful word which is
here represented by a blank. I shrieked as it passed his lips ;
I flew to my little bag on the side-table ; I shook out all my
tracts ; I seized the one particular tract on profane swearing,
entitled, "Hush, for Heaven's Sake!" I handed it to him
with an expression of agonized entreaty. He tore it in two,
and threw it back at me across the table. The rest of them
rose in alarm, not knowing what might happen next. I in-
stantly sat down again in my corner. There had once been
an occasion, under somewhat similar circumstances, when
Miss Jane Ann Stamper had been taken by the two shoul-
ders and turned out of a room. I waited, inspired by her
spirit, for a repetition of her martyrdom.

But no — it was not to be. His wife was the next person
whom he addressed. "Who — who — who," he said, stammer-
ing with rage, "asked this impudent fanatic into the house?
Did you?"

Before Aunt Ablewhite could say a word, Rachel answered
for her :

"Miss Clack is here," she said, "as my guest."

Those words had a singular effect on Mr. Ablewhite. They
suddenly changed him from a man in a state of red-hot anger
to a man in a state of icy-cold contempt. It was plain to
every body that Rachel had said something — short and plain
as her answer had been — which gave him the uppfer hand of
her at last.

"Oh !" he said. "Miss Clack is here as your guest — in my
house ?"

It was Rachel's turn to lose her temper at that. Her color
rose, and her eyes brightened fiercely. She turned to the
lawyer, and, pointing at Mr. Ablewhite, asked, haughtily,
"What does he mean?"

Mr. Brufif interfered for the third time.

"You appear to forget," he said, addressing Mr. Able-
white, "that you took this house as Miss Verinder's guardian,
for Miss Verinder's use."

"Not quite so fast," interposed Air. Ablewhite. "I have

28S

THE MOONSTONE

a last word to say, which I should have said some time since,
if this — " He looked my way, pondering what abominable
name he should call me — "if this Rampant Spinster had not
interrupted us. I beg to inform you, sir, that, if my son is
not good enough to be Miss Verinder's husband, I can not
presume to consider his father good enough to be Miss Verin-
der's guardian. Understand, if you please, that I refuse to
accept the position which is offered to me by Lady Verinder's
will. In your legal phrase, I decline to act. This house has
necessarily been hired in my name. I take the entire respon-
sibility of it on my shoulders. It is my house. I can keep
it, or let it, just as I please. I have no wish to hurry Miss
Verinder. On the contrary, I beg her to remove her guest
and her luggage, at her own entire convenience." He made
a low bow, and walked out of the room.

That was Mr. Ablewhite's revenge on Rachel for refusing
to marry his son !

The instant the door closed Aunt Ablewhite exhibited a
phenomenon which silenced us all. She became endowed with
energy enough to cross the room !

"My dear," she said, taking Rachel by the hand, "I should
be ashamed of my husband, if I didn't know that it is his
temper which has spoken to you, and not himself. You."
continued Aunt Ablewhite, turning on me in my corner with
another endowment of energy, in her looks this time instead
of her limbs — "you are the mischievous person who irritated
him. I hope I shall never see you or your tracts again." She
Avent back to Rachel, and kissed her. "I beg your pardon.
mv dear," she said, "in my husband's name. What can I do
for you?"

Consistently perverse in every thing — capricious and un-
reasonable in all the actions of her life — Rachel melted into
tears at those commonplace words, and returned her aunt's
kiss in silence.

"If I may be permitted to answer for ]\Iiss Verinder," said
Mr. Bruff, "might I ask you, Mrs. Ablewhite, to send Penel-
ope down with her mistress's bonnet and shawl. Leave us
ten minutes together," he added, in a lower tone, "and you
may rely on my setting matters right, to your satisfaction as
well <ns to Rachel's."

19 289

THE MOONSTONE

The trust of the family in this man was something wonder-
ful to see. Without a word more, on her side, Aunt Able-
white left the room.

"Ah !" said Mr. Bruff, looking after her. "The Herncastle
blood has its drawbacks, I admit. But there is something in
good-breeding, after all !"

Having made that purely worldly remark, he looked hard
at my corner, as if he expected me to go. My interest in
Rachel — an infinitely higher interest than his — riveted me to
my chair.

Mr. Bruff gave it up, exactly as he had given it up at
Aunt Verinder's, in Montagu Square. He led Rachel to a
chair by the window, and spoke to her there.

"My dear young lady," he said, "Mr. Ablewhite's conduct
has naturally shocked you, and taken you by surprise. If it
was worth while to contest the question with such a man, we
might soon show him that he is not to have things all his
own way. But it isn't worth while. You were quite right in
what you said just now ; he is beneath our notice."

He stopped, and looked round at my corner. I sat there
quite immovable, with my tracts at my elbow, and with Miss
Jane Ann Stamper on my lap.

"You know," he resumed, turning back again to Rachel,
"that it was part of your poor mother's fine nature always
to see the best of the people about her, and never the worst.
She named her brother-in-law your guardian because she be-
lieved in him, and because she thought it would please her
sister. I had never liked Mr. Ablewhite myself, and I induced
your mother to let me insert a clause in the will empowering
her executors, in certain events, to consult with me about
the appointment of a new guardian. One of those events has
happened to-day ; and I find myself in a position to end all
these dry business details, I hope agreeably, with a message
from my wife. Will you honor Mrs. Bruflf by becoming her
guest? And will you remain under my roof, and be one of
my family, until we wise people have laid our heads together,
and have settled what is to be done next?"

At those words I rose to interfere. Mr. Bruff had done
exactly what I had dreaded he would do, when, he asked ]\lrs.
Ablewhite for Rachel's bonnet and shawl.

2qo

THE MOONSTONE

Before I could interpose a word Rachel had accepted his
invitation in the warmest terms. If I suffered the arrange-
ment thus made between them to be carried out — if she once
passed the threshold of Mr. Bruff's door — farewell to the
fondest hope of my life, the hope of bringing my lost sheep
back to the fold ! The bare idea of such a calamity as this
quite overwhelmed me. I cast the miserable trammels of
worldly discretion to the winds, and spoke with the fervor
that filled me, in the words that came first.

"Stop !" I said — "stop ! I must be heard. Mr. Bruff ! you
are not related to her, and I am. / invite her — I summon
the executors to appoint iiic guardian. Rachel, dearest
Rachel, I offer you my modest home ; come to London by the
next train, love, and share it with me !"

i\Ir. Bruff said nothing. Rachel looked at me with a cruel
astonishment which she made no effort to conceal.

"You are very kind, Drusilla," she said. "I shall hope
to visit you whenever T happen to be in London. But
I have accepted Mr. Bruff's invitation, and I think it
will be best, for the present, if I remain under ]\Ir. Bruff's
care."

"Oh, don't say so !" I pleaded. "I can't part with you,
Rachel — I can't part with you !"

I tried to fold her in my arms. But she drew back. My
fervor did not communicate itself; it only alarmed her.

"Surely," she said, "this is a very unnecessary display of
agitation? I don't understand it."

"No more do I," said Mr. Bruff.

Their hardness — their hideous, worldly hardness — revolted
me.

"Oh, Rachel ! Rachel !" I burst out. "Haven't you seen
yet that my heart yearns to make a Christian of you ? Has
no inner voice told you that I am trying to do for you. what
I was trying to do for your dear mother when death snatched
her out of my hands?"

Rachel advanced a step nearer, and looked at me very
strangely.

"I don't understand your reference to my mother," she
said. "Miss Clack, will you have the goodness to explain
yourself ?"

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Before I could answer Mr. Bruff came forv/ard, and, offer-
ing his arm to Rachel, tried to lead her out of the room.

"You had better not pursue the subject, my dear," he said.
"And Miss Clack had better not explain herself."

If I had been a stock or a stone, such an interference as
this must have roused me into testifying to the truth. I put
Mr. Bruff aside indignantly with my own hand, and, in solemn
and suitable language, I stated the view with which sound
doctrine does not scruple to regard the awful calamity of
dying unprepared.

Rachel started back from me — I blush to write it — with a
scream of horror.

"Come away !" she said to Mr. Bruff. "Come away, for
God's sake, before that woman can say any more ! Oh, think
of my poor mother's harmless, useful, beautiful life ! You
were at the funeral, Mr. Bruff; you saw how every body
loved her; you saw the poor helpless people crying at her
grave over the loss of their best friend. And that wretch
stands there and tries to make me doubt that my mother,
who was an angel on earth, is an angel in heaven now ! Don't
stop to talk about it ! Come away ! It stifles me to breathe
the same air with her ! It frightens me to feel that we are in
the same room together !"

Deaf to all remonstrance, she ran to the door.

At the same moment her maid entered with her bonnet
and shawl. She huddled them on anyhow. "Pack my
things," she said, "and bring them to Mr. Bruff's." I at-
tempted to approach her — I was shocked and grieved, but,
it is needless to say, not offended. I only wished to say to
her, "May your hard heart be softened ! I freely forgive
you !" She pulled down her veil, and tore her shawl away
from my hand, and, hurrying out, shut the door in my face.
I bore the insult with my customary fortitude. I remember
it now with my customary superiority to all feeling of offense.

Mr. Bruff had his parting word of mockery for me, before
he too hurried out, in his turn.

"You had better not have explained 3'ourself, Miss Clack,"
he said, and bowed, and left the room.

The person with the cap-ribbons followed.

"It's easy to see who has set them all by the ears together,"

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she said. "I'm only a poor servant — but I declare I'm
ashamed of you !" She too went out, and banged the door
after her.

I was left alone in the room. Reviled by them all, de-
serted by them all, I was left alone in the room.

Is there more to be added to this plain statement of facts
—to this touching picture of a Christian persecuted by the
world ? No ! my diary reminds me that one more of the
many checkered chapters in my life ends here. From that
day forth I never saw Rachel Verinder again. She had my
forgiveness at the time when she insulted me. She has had
my prayerful good wishes ever since. And when I die — to
complete the return on my part of good for evil — she will
have the Life, Letters, and Labor of Miss Jane Ann Stamper
left her as a legacy by my will.

SECOND NARRATIVE

Contributed by Mathew Briiff, Solicitor, of Cray^s Inn Square.

CHAPTER I.

MY fair friend, Miss Clack, having laid down the pen,
there are two reasons for my taking it up next, in my
turn.

In the first place, I am in a position to throw the necessary
light on certain points of interest which have thus far been
left in the dark. Miss Verinder had her own private reason
for breaking her marriage engagement — and I was at the
bottom of it. Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite had his own private
reason for withdrawing all claim to the hand of his charm-
ing cousin — and I discovered what it was.

In the second place, it was my good or ill fortune, I hardly
know which, to find myself personally involved — at the period

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of which I am now writing — in the mystery of the Indian
Diamond. I had the honor of an interview, at my own
office, with an Oriental stranger of distinguished manners,
who was no other, unquestionably, than the chief of the three
Indians. Add to this, that I met with the celebrated trav-
eler, Mr. Murthwaite, the day afterward, and that I held a
conversation with him on the subject of the Moonstone, which
has a very important bearing on later events. And there you
have the statement of my claims to fill the position which I
occupy in these pages.

The true story of the broken marriage engagement comes
first in point of time, and must therefore take the first place
in the present narrative. Tracing my way back along the
chain of events, from one end to the other, I find it necessary
to open the scene, oddly enough as you will think, at the
bedside of my excellent client and friend, the late Sir John
Verinder.

Sir John had his share — perhaps rather a large share — of
the more harmless and amiable of the weaknesses incidental
to humanity. Among these, I may mention as applicable to
the matter in hand, an invincible reluctance — so long as he
enjoyed his usual good health — to face the responsibility of
making his will. Lady Verinder exerted her influence to
rouse him to a sense of duty in this matter; and I exerted
my influence. He admitted the justice of our views — but
he went no further than that, until he found himself afflicted
with the illness which ultimately brought him to his grave.
Then I was sent for at last, to take my client's instructions
on the subject of his will. They proved to be the simplest
instructions I had ever received in the whole of my profes-
sional career.

Sir John was dozing, when I entered the room. He roused
himself at the sight of me.

"How do you do, Mr. BrufT?" he said. "I sha'n't be very
long about this. And then I'll go to sleep again." He looked
on with great interest while I collected pens, ink, and paper.
"Are you ready?" he asked. I bowed, took a dip of ink, and
waited for my instructions.

"Every thing to my wife," said Sir John. "That's all."

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He turned round on his pillow, and composed himself to sleep
again.

I was obliged to disturb him.

"Am I to understand," I asked, "that you leave the whole
of the property, of every sort and description, of which you
die possessed, absolutely to Lady Verinder?"

"Yes," said Sir John. "Only / put it shorter. Why can't
you put it shorter, and let me go to sleep again ? Every thing
to my wife. That's my will."

His property was entirely at his own disposal, and was of
two kinds. Property in land— I purposely abstain from using
technical language — and property in money. In the majority
of cases, I am afraid I should have felt it my duty to my
client to ask him to reconsider his will. In the case of Sir
John, I knew Lady Verinder to be, not only worthy of the
unreserved trust which her husband had placed in her — all
good wives are worthy of that — but to be also capable of
properly administering a trust, which, in my experience of the
fair sex, not one in a thousand of them is competent to do.
In ten minutes Sir John's will was drawn and executed, and
Sir John himself, good man, was finishing his interrupted
nap.

Lady Verinder amply justified the confidence which her
husband had placed in her. In the first days of her widow-
hood she sent for me and made her will. The view she took
of her position was so thoroughly sound and sensible that I
was relieved of all necessity for advising her. My responsi-
bility began and ended with shaping her instructions into
the proper legal form. Before Sir John had been a fortnight
in his grave the future of his daughter had been most wisely
and most affectionately provided for.

The will remained in its fire-proof box at my office, through
more years than I like to reckon up. It was not till the sum-
mer of eighteen hundred and forty-eight that I found occasion
to look at it again under very melancholy circumstances.

At the date I have mentioned the doctors pronounced the
sentence on poor Lady Verinder, which was literally a sen-
tence of death. I was the first person whom she informed
of her situation ; and I found her anxious to go over her will
again with me,

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THE MOONSTONE

It was impossible to improve the provisions relating to
her daughter. But, in the lapse of time, her wishes in regard
to certain minor legacies, left to different relatives, had under-
gone some modification ; and it became necessary to add three
or four codicils to the original document. Having done this
at once, for fear of accidents, I obtained her ladyship's per-
mission to embody her recent instructions in a second will.
My object was to avoid certain inevitable confusions and repe-
titions which now disfigured the original document, and
which, to own the truth, grated sadly on my professional sense
of the fitness of things.

The execution of this second will has been described by
Miss Clack, who was so obliging as to witness it. So far as
regards Rachel Verinder's pecuniary interests, it was, wOrd
for word, the exact counterpart of the first will. The only
changes introduced related to the appointment of a guardian,
and to certain provisions concerning that appointment, which
were made under my advice. On Lady Verinder's death,
the will was placed in the hands of my proctor to be "proved,"
as the phrase is, in the usual way.

In about three weeks from that time — as well as I can re-
member— the first warning reached me of something unusual
going on under the surface. I happened to be looking in at
my friend the proctor's office, and I observed that he received
me with an appearance of greater interest than usual.

"I have some news for you," he said. "What do you think
I heard at Doctors' Commons this morning? Lady Verin-
der's will has been asked for, and examined, already !"

This was news indeed ! There was absolutely nothing
which could be contested in the will ; and there was nobody
I could think of who had the slightest interest in examining
it. I shall perhaps do well if I explain in this place, for the
benefit of the few people who don't know it already, that the
law allows all wills to be examined at Doctors' Commons by
any body who applies, on the payment of a shilling fee.

"Did you hear who asked for the will ?" I inquired.

"Yes ; the clerk had no hesitation in telling me. Mr.
Smalley, of the firm of Skipp & Smalley, asked for it. The
will has not been copied yet into the great folio registers.
So there was no alternative but to depart from the usual

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course, and to let him see the original document. He looked
it over carefully, and made a note in his pocket-book. Have
you any idea of w^hat he wanted with it?"

I shook my head. "I shall find out," I answered, "before
I am a day older." With that I went back at once to my
own office.

If any other firm of solicitors had been concerned in this
unaccountable examination of my deceased client's will I
might have found some difficulty in making the necessary
discovery. But I had a hold over Skipp & Smalley which
made my course in this matter a comparatively easy one.
My common-law clerk, a most competent and excellent man,
was a brother of Mr. Smalley 's; and, owing to this sort of
indirect connection with me, Skipp & Smalley had, for some
vears past, picked up the crumbs that fell from my table, in
the shape of cases brought to my office, which, for various
reasons, I did not think it worth while to undertake. My
professional patronage was, in this way, of some importance
to the firm. I intended, if necessary, to remind them of that
patronage on the present occasion.

The moment I got back I spoke to my clerk ; and after
telling him what had happened I sent him to his brother's
office, "with Mr. Bruff's compliments, and he would be glad
to know why Messrs. Skipp & Smalley had found it necessary
to examine Lady Verinder's will."

This message brought Mr. Smalley back to my office, in
company with his brother. He acknowledged that he had
acted under instructions received from a client. And then
he put it to me, whether it would not be a breach of profes-
sional confidence on his part to say more.

We had a smart discussion upon that. He was right, no
doubt, and I was wrong. The truth is, I was angry and sus-
picious— and I insisted on knowing more. Worse still, I
declined to consider any additional information oflfered to
me, as a secret placed in my keeping : I claimed perfect free-
dom to use my own discretion. Worse even than that, I took
an unwarrantable advantage of my position. "Choose, sir,"
T said to Mr. Smalley, "between the risk of losing your client's
business, and the risk of losing mine." Quite indefensible,
I admit — an act of tyranny, and nothing less. Like other

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tyrants, I carried my point. Mr. Smalley chose his alterna-
tive, without a moment's hesitation. He smiled resignedly,
and gave up the name of his client, — Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.
That was enough for me — I wanted to know no more.

Having reached this point in my narrative, it now becomes
necessary to place the reader of these lines — so far as Lady
Verinder's will is concerned — on a footing of perfect equality,
in respect of information, with myself.

Let me state, then, in the fewest possible words, that Rachel
Verinder had nothing but a life-interest in the property. Her
mother's excellent sense, and my long experience, had com-
bined to relieve her of all responsibility, and to guard her
from all danger of becoming the victim in the future of some
needy and unscrupulous man. Neither she nor her husband,
if she married, could raise sixpence, either on the property in
land or on the property in money. They would have the
houses in London and in Yorkshire to live in, and they would
have the handsome income — and that was all.

When I came to think over what I had discovered, I was
sorely perplexed what to do next.

Hardly a week had passed since I had heard, to my sur-
prise and distress, of Miss Verinder's proposed marriage. I
had the sincerest admiration and affection for her ; and I had
been inexpressibly grieved when I heard that she was about
to throw herself away on Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. And now,
here was this man — whom I had always believed to be a
smooth-tongued impostor — justifying the very worst that I
had thought of him, and plainly revealing the mercenary ob-
ject of the marriage, on his side! And what of that? — you
may reply — the thing is done every day. Granted, my dear
sir. But would you think of it quite as lightly as you do,
if the thing was done, let us say, with your own sister?

The first consideration which now naturally occurred to
me, was this. Would Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite hold to his
engagement, after what his lawyer had discovered for him?

It depended entirely on his pecuniary position, of which I
knew nothing. If that position was not a desperate one, it
would be well worth his while to marry Miss Verinder for
her income alone. If, on the other hand, he stood in urgent

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need of realizing a large sum by a given time, then Lady Ver-
inder's \vill would exactly meet the case, and would preserve
her daughter from falling into a scoundrel's hands.

In che latter event, there would be no need for me to dis-
tress Miss Rachel, in the first days of her mourning for her
mother, by an immediate revelation of the truth. In the for-
mer event, if I remained silent, I should be conniving at a
marriage which would make her miserable for life.

My doubts ended in my calling at the hotel in London, at
which I knew Mrs. Ablewhite and Miss Verinder to be stay-
ing. They informed me that they were going to Brighton
the next day, and that an unexpected obstacle prevented Mr.
Godfrey Ablewhite from accompanying them. I at once pro-
posed to take his place. When I was only thinking of Rachel
Verinder, it was possible to hesitate. When I actually saw
her, my mind was made up directly, come what might of it,
to tell her the truth.

I found my opportunity, when I was out walking with her,
on the day after my arrival.

"May I speak to you," I asked, ''about your marriage en-
gagement ?"

"Yes," she said, indifferently, "if you have nothing more
interesting to talk about."

"Will you forgive an old friend and servant of your fam-
ily, Miss Rachel, if I venture on asking whether your heart
is set on this marriage?"

"I am marrying in despair, Mr. Bruff — on the chance of
dropping into some sort of stagnant happiness which may
reconcile me to my life."

Strong language ! and suggestive of something below the
surface, in the shape of a romance. But I had my own object
in view, and I declined, as we lawyers say, to pursue the
question into its side issues.

"Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite can hardly be of your way of
thinking," I said. "His heart must be set on the marriage,
at any rate?"

"He says so, and I suppose I ought to believe him. He
would hardly marry me, after what I have owned to him,
unless he was fond of me."

Poor thing! the bare idea of a man marrying her for his

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own selfish and mercenary ends had never entered her head.
The task I had set myself began to look like a harder task
than I had bargained for.

"It sounds strangely," I went on, "in my old-fashioned
ears — "

"What sounds strangely ?" she asked.

"To hear you speak of your future husband as if you were
not quite sure of the sincerity of his attachment. Are you
conscious of any reason in your own mind for doubting him ?"

Her astonishing quickness of perception detected a change
in my voice, or my manner, when I put that question, which
warned her that I had been speaking all along with some
ulterior object in view. She stopped, and, taking her arm
out of mine, looked me searchingly in the face.

"Mr. Bruff," she said, "you have something to tell me
about Godfrey Ablewhite. Tell it."

I knew her well enough to take her at her word. I told it.

She put her arm again into mine, and walked on with me
slowly. I felt her hand tightening its grasp mechanically
on my arm and I saw her getting paler and paler as I went
on ; but not a word passed her lips while I was speaking.
When I had done, she still kept silence. Her head drooped
a little, and she walked by my side, unconscious of my pres-
ence, unconscious of every thing about her; lost — buried, I
might almost say — in her own thoughts.

I made no attempt to disturb her. My experience of her
disposition warned me, on this, as on former occasions, to
give her time.

The first instinct of girls in general, on being told of any
thing which interests them, is to ask a multitude of questions,
and then to run ofif, and talk it all over with some favorite
friend. Rachel Verinder's first instinct, under similar cir-
cumstances, was to shut herself up in her own mind, and to
think it over by herself. This absolute self-dependence is a
great virtue in a man. In a woman, it has the serious draw-
back of morally separating her from the mass of her sex, and
so exposing her to misconstruction by the general opinion.
I strongly suspect myself of thinking as the rest of the world
think in this matter — except in the case of Rachel Verinder.
The self-dependence in her character was one of its virtues,

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in my estimation ; partly, no doubt, because I sincerely ad-
mired and liked her; partly, because the view I took of her
connection with the loss of the Moonstone was based on my
own special knowledge of her disposition. Badly as appear-
ances might look in the matter of the Diamond — shocking as
it undoubtedly was to know that she was associated in any
way with the mystery of an undiscovered theft — I was satis-
fied, nevertheless, that she had done nothing unworthy of
her, because I was also satisfied that she had not stirred a
step in the business, without shutting herself up in her own
mind and thinking it over first.

We had walked on, for nearly a mile I should think, before
Rachel roused herself. She suddenly looked up at me with
a faint reflection of her smile of happier times — the most irre-
sistible smile I had ever seen on a woman's face.

"I owe much already to your kindness," she said. "And I
feel more deeply indebted to it now than ever. If you hear
any rumors of my marriage when you go back to London,
contradict them at once, on my authority."

"Have you resolved to break your engagement?" I asked.

"Can you doubt it?" she returned, proudly, "after what
you have told me !"

"My dear Miss Rachel, you are very young — and you may
find more difficulty in withdrawing from your present posi-
tion than you anticipate. Have you no one — I mean a lady
of course — whom you could consult?"

"No one," she answered.

It distressed me, it did indeed distress me, to hear her say
that. She was so young and so lonely — and she bore it so
well ! The impulse to help her got the better of any sense
of my own unfitness which I might have felt under the cir-
cumstances ; and I stated such ideas on the subject as occurred
to me on the spur of the moment, to the best of my ability.
I have advised a prodigious number of clients, and have dealt
with some exceedingly awkward difficulties, in my time. But
this was the first occasion on which I had ever found myself
advising a young lady how to obtain her release from a mar-
riage engagement. The suggestion I oflfered amounted briefly
to this. I recommended her to tell Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite —
at a private interview, of course — that he had, to her certain

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knowledge, betrayed the mercenary nature of the motive on
his side. She was then to add that their marriage, after what
she had discovered, was a simple impossibiHty — and she was
to put it to him, whether he thought it wisest to secure her
silence by falling in with her views, or to force her, by oppos-
ing them, to make the motive under which she -was acting
generally known. If he attempted to defend himself, or to
deny the facts, she was, in that event, to refer him to me.

Miss Verinder listened attentively till I had done. She
then thanked me very prettily for my advice, but informed
me at the same time that it was impossible for her to fol-
low it.

"May I ask," I said, "what objection you see to follow-
ing it?"

She hesitated — and then met me with a question on her
side.

"Suppose you were asked to express your opinion of Mr.
Godfrey Ablewhite's conduct?" she began.

"Yes ?"

"What would you call it?"

"I should call it the conduct of a meanly deceitful man."

"Mr. Bruff! I have believed in that man. I have prom-
ised to marry that man. How can I tell him he is mean,
how can I tell him he has deceived me, how can I disgrace
him in the eyes of the world, after that? I have degraded
myself by ever thinking of him as my husband. If I say
what you tell me to say to him — I am owning that I have
degraded myself to his face. I can't do that — after what
has passed between us — I can't do that ! The shame of it
would be nothing to him. But the shame of it would be un-
endurable to me."

Here was another of the marked peculiarities in her char-
acter disclosing itself to me without reserve. Here was her
sensitive horror of the bare contact with any thing mean,
blinding her to every consideration of what she owed to her-
self, hurrying her into a false position which might compro-
mise her in the estimation of all her friends ! Up to this
time I had been a little diffident about the propriety of the
advice I had given to her. But, after what she had just
said, I had no sort of dot.bt that it was the best advice that

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could have been offered ; and I felt no sort of hesitation in
pressing it on her again.

She only shook her head and repeated her objection in
other words.

"He has been intimate enough with me to ask me to be
his wife. He has stood high enough in my estimation to
obtain my consent. I can't tell him to his face that he is
the most contemptible of living creatures, after that !"

"But, my dear Miss Rachel," I remonstrated, "it's equally
impossible for you to tell him that you withdraw from your
engagement, without giving some reason for it."

"I shall say that I have thought it over and that I am
satisfied it will be best for both of us if we part."

"No more than that?"

"No more."

"Have you thought of what he may say, on his side?"

"He may say what he pleases."

It was impossible not to admire her delicacy and her reso-
lution and it was equally impossible not to feel that she was
putting herself in the wrong. I entreated her to consider
her own position. I reminded her that she would be exposing
herself to the most odious misconstruction of her motives.
"You can't brave public opinion," I said, "at the command
of private feeling."

"I can," she answered. "I have done it already."

"What do you mean?"

"You have forgotten the Moonstone, Mr. Bruff. Have I
not braved public opinion, there, with my own private rea-
sons for it?"

Her answer silenced me for the moment. It set me trying
to trace the explanation of her conduct, at the time of the
loss of the Moonstone, out of the strange avowal which had
just escaped her. I might perhaps have done it when I was
younger. I certainly couldn't do it now.

I tried a last remonstrance, before we returned to the
house. She was just as immovable as ever. My mind was
in a strange conflict of feelings about her when I left her
that day. She was obstinate ; she was wrong. She was in-
teresting ; she was admirable ; she was deeply to be pitied.
I made her promise to write to me the moment she had any

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news to send. And I went back to my business in London,
with a mind exceedingly ill at ease.

On the evening of my return, before it was possible for
me to receive my promised letter, I was surprised by a visit
from Mr. Ablewhite the elder, and was informed that Mr.
Godfrey had got his dismissal — and had accepted it — that
very day.

With the view I already took of the case, the bare fact
stated in the words that I have underlined, revealed Mr. God-
frey Ablewhite's motive for submission as plainly as if he had
acknowledged it himself. He needed a large sum of money ;
and he needed it by a given time. Rachel's income, which
would have helped him to any thing else, would not help him
here ; and Rachel had accordingly released herself, without
encountering a moment's serious opposition on his part. If
I am told that this is mere speculation, I ask, in my turn.
What other theory will account for his giving up a marriage
which would have maintained him in splendor for the rest
of his life?

Any exultation I might otherwise have felt at the lucky
turn which things had now taken was effectually checked by
what passed at my interview with old Mr. Ablewhite.

He came, of course, to know whether I could give him any
explanation of Miss Verinder's extraordinary conduct. It is
needless to say that I was quite unable to afford him the in-
formation he wanted. The annoyance which I thus inflicted,
following on the irritation produced by a recent interview
with his son, threw Mr. Ablewhite off his guard. Both his
looks and his language convinced me that Miss Verinder
would find him a merciless man to deal with, when he joined
the ladies at Brighton the next day.

I had a restless night, considering what I ought to do next.
How many reflections ended, and how thoroughly well found-
ed my distrust of old Mr, Ablewhite proved to be, are
items of information which, as I am told, have already been
put tidily in their proper places by that exemplary person.
Miss Clack. I have only to add — in completion of her narra-
tive— that Miss Verinder found a quiet and repose which she
sadly needed, poor thing, in my house at Hampstead. She
honored us by making a long stay. My wife and daughters

304

THE MOONSTONE

were charmed with her; and, when the executors decided
on the appointment of a new guardian, I feel sincere pride
and pleasure in recording that my guest and my family parted
like old friends, on either side.

CHAPTER H.

THE next thing I have to do, is to present such additional
information as I possess on the subject of the Moon-
stone, or, to speak more correctly, on the subject of the Indian
plot to steal the Diamond. The little that I have to tell is,
as I think I have already said, of some importance, never-
theless, in respect of its bearing very remarkably on events
which are still to come.

About a week or ten days after Miss Verinder had left us,
one of my clerks entered the private room at my office, with
a card in his hand, and informed me that a gentleman was
below who wanted to speak to me.

I looked at the card. There was a foreign name written
on it, which has escaped my memory. It was followed by a
line written in English at the bottom of the card, which I
remember perfectly well :

"Recommended by Mr. Septimus Luker."

The audacity of a person in Mr. Luker's position presum-
ing to recommend any body to me, took me so completely
by surprise, that I sat silent for the moment, wondering
whether my own eyes had not deceived me. The clerk, ob-
serving my bewilderment, favored me with the result of his
own observation of the stranger who was waiting down
stairs.

"He's rather a remarkable-looking man, sir. So dark in
the complexion that we all set him down in the office for an
Indian, or something of that sort."

Associating the clerk's idea with the very offensive line
inscribed on the card in my hand, I instantly suspected that
the Moonstone was at the bottom of Mr. Luker's recommen-
dation and of the stranger's visit at mv office. To the astonish-

20

305

THE MOONSTONE

ment of my clerk, I at once decided on granting an interview
to the gentleman below.

In justification of the highly unprofessional sacrifice to
mere curiosity which I thus made, permit me to remind any
body who may read these lines, that no living person, in
England, at any rate, can claim to have had such an intimate
connection with the romance of the Indian Diamond as mine
has been. I was trusted with the secret of Colonel Hern-
castle's plan for escaping assassination. I received the Col-
onel's letters, periodically reporting himself a living man.
I drew his will, leaving the Moonstone to Miss Verinder. I
persuaded his executor to act, on the chance that the jewel
might prove to be a valuable acquisition to the family. And,
lastly, I combated Mr. Franklin Blake's scruples and induced
him to be the means of transporting the Diamond to Lady
Verinder's house. If any one can claim a prescriptive right
of interest in the Moonstone and in every thing connected
with it, I think it is hardly to be denied that I am the man.

The moment my mysterious client was shown in I felt an
inner conviction that I was in the presence of one of the
three Indians — probably of the chief. He was carefully
dressed in European costume. But his swarthy complexion,
his long lithe figure, and his grave and graceful politeness
of manner, were enough to betray his Oriental origin to any
intelligent eyes that looked at him.

I pointed to a chair, and begged to be informed of the
nature of his business with me.

After first apologizing — in an excellent selection of English
words — for the liberty which he had taken in disturbing me,
the Indian prgduced a small parcel the outer covering of
which was of cloth of gold. Removing this and a second
wrapping of some silken fabric, he placed a little box, or
casket, on my table, most beautifully and richly inlaid in
jewels on an ebony ground.

'T have come, sir," he said, "to ask you to lend me some
money. And I leave this as an assurance to you that my
debt will be paid back."

I pointed to his card. "And you apply to me," I rejoined,
"at Mr. Luker's recommendation?"

The Indian bowed.

306

THE MOONSTONE

"May I ask how it is that Mr. Luker himself did not ad-
vance the money that you require?"

"Mr. Luker informed me, sir, that he had no money to
lend."

"And so he recommended you to come to me?"

The Indian, in his turn, pointed to the card. "It is written
there," he said.

Briefly answered, and thoroughly to the purpose ! If the
Moonstone had been in my possession, this Oriental gentle-
man would have murdered me, I am well aware, without a
moment's hesitation. At the same time, and barring that
slight drawback, I am bound to testify that he was the perfect
model of a client. He might not have respected my life. But
he did what none of my own countrymen had ever done in
all my experience of them — he respected my time.

"I am sorry," I said, "that you should have had the trouble
of coming to me. Mr. Luker is quite mistaken in sending
you here. I am trusted, like other men of my profession,
with money to lend. But I never lend it to strangers and I
never lend it on such a security as you have produced."

Far from attempting, as other people would have done, to
induce me to relax my own rules, the Indian only made me
another bow, and wrapped up his box in its two coverings
without a word of protest. He rose — this admirable assassin
rose to go, the moment I had answered him !

"Will your condescension toward a stranger excuse my
asking one question," he said, "before I take my leave ?"

I bowed on my side. Only one question at parting! The
average in my experience was fifty.

"Supposing, sir, it had been possible, and customary, for
you to lend me the money," he said, "in what space of time
would it have been possible, and customarv, for me to pav
it back ?"

"According to the usual course pursued in this country,"
I answered, "you would have been entitled to pay the money
back, if you liked, in one year's time from the date at which
it was first advanced to you."

The Indian made me a last bow, the lowest of all, and sud-
denly and softly walked out of the room.

It was done in a moment, in a noiseless, supple, cat-like

307

THE MOONSTONE

way, which a Httle startled me, I own. As soon as I was
composed enough to think, I arrived at one distinct conclu-
sion in reference to the otherwise incomprehensible visitor
who had favored me with a call.

His face, voice, and manner — while I was in his company
— were under such perfect control that they set all scrutiny
at defiance. But he had given me one chance of looking
under the smooth outer surface of him, for all that. He had
not shown the slightest sign of attempting to fix any thing
that I had said to him in his mind, until I mentioned the time
at which it was customary to permit the earliest repayment,
on the part of the debtor, of money that had been advanced
as a loan. When I gave him that piece of information, he
looked me straight in the face, while I was speaking, for the
first time. The inference I drew from this was, that he had
a special purpose in asking me his last question, and a special
interest in hearing my answer to it. The more carefully I
reflected on what had passed between us, the more shrewdly
I suspected the production of the casket, and the application
for the loan, of having been mere formalities, designed to
pave the way for the parting inquiry addressed to me.

I had satisfied myself of the correctness of this conclusion
— and was trying to get on a step farther and penetrate the
Indian's motives next — when a letter was brought to me,
which proved to be from no less a person than Mr. Septimus
Luker himself. He asked my pardon in terms of sickening
servility, and assured me that he could explain matters to my
satisfaction, if I would honor him by consenting to a personal
interview.

I made another unprofessional sacrifice to mere curiosity.
I honored him by making an appointment at my office, for
the next day.

Mr. Luker was, in every respect, such an inferior creature
to the Indian — he was so vulgar, so ugly, so cringing, and so
prosy — that he is quite unworthy of being reported, at any
length, in these pages. The substance of what he had to tell
me may be fairly stated as follows :

The day before I had received the visit of the Indian, ]\Ir.
Luker had been favored with a call from that accomplished
gentleman. In spite of his European disguise, Mr. Luker had

308

THE MOONSTONE

instantly identified his visitor with the chief of the three
Indians, who had formerly annoyed him by loitering about
his house, and who had left him no alternative but to consult
a magistrate. From this startling discovery he had rushed to
the conclusion, naturally enough I own, that he must cer-
tainly be in the company of one of the three men who had
blindfolded him, gagged him, and robbed him of his banker's
receipt. The result was that he became quite paralyzed with
terror, and that he firmly believed his last hour had come.

On his side, the Indian preserved the character of a perfect
stranger. He produced the little casket and made exactly
the same application which he had afterward made to me.
As the speediest way of getting rid of him, Mr. Luker had
at once declared that he had no money. The Indian had
thereupon asked to be informed of the best and safest person
to apply to for the loan he wanted. Mr. Luker had answered
that the best and safest person, in such cases, was usually a
respectable solicitor. Asked to name some one individual
of that character and profession, Mr. Luker had mentioned
me — for the one simple reason that, in the extremity of his
terror, mine was the first name which occurred to him. "The
perspiration was pouring off me like rain, sir," the wretched
creature concluded. "I didn't know what I was talking about.
And I hope you'll look over it, Mr, Brufif, sir, in considera-
tion of my having been really and truly frightened out of
my wits."

I excused the fellow graciously enough. It was the readiest
way of releasing myself from the sight of him. Before he
left me I detained him to make one inquiry. Had the Indian
said any thing noticeable at the moment of quitting Mr.
Luker's house?

Yes ! The Indian had put precisely the same question to
Mr. Luker, at parting, which he had put to me ; receiving, of
course, the same answer as the answer which I had given to
him.

What did it mean? Mr, Luker's explanation gave me no
assistance toward solving the problem. My own unaided
ingenuity, consulted next, proved quite unequal to grapple
with the difficulty. I had a dinner engagement that evening ;
and I went up stairs in no very genial frame of mind, little

3©9

THE MOONSTONE

suspecting that the way to my dressing-room, and the way
to discovery, meant, on this particular occasion, one and the
same thing.

CHAPTER HI.

THE prominent personage among the guests at the dinner
party I found to be Mr. Murthwaite.

On his appearance in England, some months since, society
had been greatly interested in the traveler, as a man who had
passed through many dangerous adventures and who had
escaped to tell the tale. He had now announced his intention
of returning to the scene of his exploits and of penetrating
into regions left still unexplored. This magnificent indiffer-
ence to presuming on his luck and to placing his safety in
peril for the second time, revived the flagging interest of the
worshipers in the hero. The law of chances was clearly
against his escaping on this occasion. It is not every day
that we can meet an eminent person at dinner and feel that
there is a reasonable prospect of the news of his murder being
the news that we hear of him next.

When the gentlemen were left by themselves in the dining-
room, I found myself sitting next to Mr. Murthwaite. The
guests present being all English, it is needless to say that, as
soon as the wholesome check exercised by the presence of
the ladies was removed, the conversation turned on politics as
a necessary result.

In respect to this all-absorbing national topic, I happen to
be one of the most un-English Englishmen living. As a
general rule, political talk appears to me to be of all talk
the most dreary and the most profitless. Glancing at Mr.
Murthwaite, when the bottles had made their first round of
the table, I found that he was apparently of my way of think-
ing. He was doing it very dexterously — with all possible
consideration for the feelings of the host — but it is not the
less certain that he was composing himself for a nap. It
struck me as an experiment worth attempting, to try whether
a judicious allusion to the subject of the Moonstone would
keep him awake, and, if it did, to see what he thought of the

310

THE MOONSTONE

last new complication in the Indian conspiracy, as revealed
in the prosaic precincts of my office.

"If I am not mistaken, Mr. Murthwaite," I began, "you
were acquainted with the late Lady Verinder, and you took
some interest in the strange succession of events w^hich ended
in the loss of the Moonstone ?"

The eminent traveler did me the honor of waking up in an
instant, and asking me who I was.

I informed him of my professional connection with the
Herncastle family, not forgetting the curious position which
I had occupied toward the Colonel and his Diamond in the
by-gone time.

]\Ir. Murthwaite shifted round in his chair, so as to put
the rest of the company behind him. Conservatives and Lib-
erals alike, and concentrated his whole attention on plain
Mr. Bruff, of Gray's Inn Square.

"Have you heard any thing lately of the Indians?" he
asked.

"I have every reason to believe," I answered, "that one
of them had an interview with me, in my office, yesterday."

Mr. Murthwaite was not an easy man to astonish ; but that
last answer of mine completely staggered him. I described
what had happened to Mr. Luker and what had happened
to myself, exactly as I have described it here. "It is clear
that the Indian's parting inquiry had an object," I added.
"Why should he be so anxious to know the time at which
a borrower of money is usuallv privileged to pav the monev
back?"

"Is it possible that you don't see his motive, Mr. BrufT?"

"I am ashamed of my stupidity, Mr. Murthw^aite — but I
certainly don't see it."

The great traveler became quite interested in sounding
the immense vacuity of my dullness to its lowest depths.

"Let me ask you one question," he said. "In what posi-
tion does the conspiracy to seize the Moonstone now stand?"

"I can't say," I answered. "The Indian plot is a mystery
to me."

"The Indian plot, Mr. Bruff, can only be a mystery to
you, because you have never seriously examined it. Shall
we run it over together, from the time when you drew Col-

311

THE MOONSTONE

onel Herncastle's will, to the time when the Indian called
at your office? In your position, it may be of very serious
importance to the interests of Miss Verindcr that you should
be able to take a clear view of this matter in case of need.
Tell me, bearing that in mind, whether you will penetrate
the Indian's motive for yourself? or whether you wish me to
save you the trouble of making any inquiry into it?"

It is needless to say that I thoroughly appreciated the
practical purpose which I now saw that he had in view,
and that the first of the two alternatives was the alternative
I chose.

"Very good," said Mr. Murthwaite. "We will take the
question of the ages of the three Indians first. I can testify
that they all look much about the same age — and you can
decide for yourself whether the man whom you saw was, or
was not, in the prime of life. Not forty, you think? My
idea too. We will say not forty. Now look back at the
time when Colonel Herncastle came to England, and when
you were concerned in the plan he adopted to preserve his
life. I don't want you to count the years. I will only say,
it is clear that these present Indians, at their age, must be
the successors of three other Indians — high-caste Brahmans
all of them, Mr. Brufif, when they left their native country !
— who followed the Colonel to these shores. Very well.
These present men of ours have succeeded to the men who
were here before them. If they had only done that, the mat-
ter would not have been worth inquiring into. But they have
done more. They have succeeded to the organization which
their predecessors established in this country. Don't start !
The organization is a very trumpery affair, according to our
ideas, I have no doubt. I should reckon it up as including
the command of money ; the services, when needed, of that
shady sort of Englishman, who lives in the byways of foreign
life in London ; and, lastly, the secret sympathy of such few
men of their own country and, formerly, at least, of their
own religion, as happen to be employed in ministering to some
of the multitudinous wants of this great city. Nothing very
formidable, as you see ! But worth notice at starting, because
we may find occasion to refer to the modest little Indian
organization as we go on. Having now cleared the ground, I

313

THE MOONSTONE

«

am going to ask you a question ; and I expect your experience
to answer it. What was the event which gave the Indians
their first chance of seizing the Diamond ?"

I understood the allusion to my experience.

"The first chance they got," I replied, "was clearly offered
to them by Colonel Herncastle's death. They would be aware
of his death, I suppose, as a matter of course?"

"As a matter of course. And his death, as you say, gave
them their first chance. Up to that time the Moonstone was
safe in the strong-room of the bank. You drew the Colonel's
will leaving his jewel to his niece; and the will was proved
in the usual way. As a lawyer, you can be at no loss to know
what course the Indians would take, under English advice,
after that:'

"They would provide themselves with a copy of the will
from Doctors' Commons," I said.

"Exactly. One or other of those shady Englishmen to
whom I have alluded would get them the copy you have de-
scribed. That copy would inform them that the Moonstone
was bequeathed to the daughter of Lady Verinder, and that
Mr. Blake the elder, or some person appointed by him, was
to place it in her hands. You will agree with me that the
necessary information about persons in the position of Lady
Verinder and Mr. Blake would be perfectly easy information
to obtain. The one difficulty for the Indians would be to
decide, whether they should make their attempt on the Dia-
mond when it was in course of removal from the keeping of
the bank or whether they should wait until it was taken down
to Yorkshire, to Lady Verinder's house. The second way
would be manifestly the safest way — and there you have the
explanation of the appearance of the Indians at Frizinghall,
disguised as jugglers, and waiting their time. In London,
it is needless to say, they had their organization at their dis-
posal to keep them informed of events. Two men would do
it. One to follow any body who went from Mr. Blake's
house to the bank. And one to treat the lower men-servants
with beer and to hear the news of the house. These common-
place precautions would readily inform them that Mr. Frank-
lin Blake had been to the bank and that ]\Tr. Franklin Blake
was the only person in the house who was going to visit Lady

THE MOONSTONE

Verinder. What actually followed upon that discovery, you
remember, no doubt, quite as correctly as I do."

I remembered that Franklin Blake had detected one of the
spies in the street — that he had, in consequence, advanced
the time of his arrival in Yorkshire by some hours — and that,
thanks to old Betteredge's excellent advice, he had lodged
the Diamond in the bank at Frizinghall before the Indians
were so much as prepared to see him in the neighborhood.
All perfectly clear so far. But, the Indians being ignorant
of the precaution thus taken, how was it that they had made
no attempt on Lady Verinder's house, in which they must
have supposed the Diamond to be, through the whole of the
interval that elapsed before Rachel's birthday?

In putting this difficulty to Mr. Murthwaite, I thought it
right to add that I had heard of the little boy and
the drop of ink and the rest of it, and that any explana-
tion based on the theory of clairvoyance was an explana-
tion which would carry no conviction whatever with it, to my
mind.

"Nor to mine either," said Mr. Murthwaite. "The clair-
voyance in this case is simply a development of the romantic
side of the Indian character. It would be a refreshment and
an encouragement to those men — quite inconceivable, I grant
you, to the English mind — to surround their wearisome and
perilous errand in this country with a certain halo of the
marvelous and the supernatural. Their boy is unquestion-
ably a sensitive subject to the mesmeric influence — and, under
that influence, he has no doubt reflected what was already in
the mind of the person mesmerizing him. I have tested the
theory of clairvoyance, and I have never found the manifes-
tations get beyond that point. The Indians don't investigate
the matter in this way ; the Indians look upon their boy as a
seer of things invisible to their eyes — and, I repeat, in that
marvel they find the source of a new interest in the purpose
that unites them. I only notice this as offering a curious view
of human character, which must be quite new to you. We
have nothing whatever to do with clairvoyance, or with mes-
merism, or with any thing else that is hard of belief to a
practical man, in the inquiry that we are now pursuing. My
object in following the Indian plot, step by step, is to trace

3H

THE MOONSTONE

results back, by rational means, to natural causes. Have I
succeeded to your satisfaction, so far?"

"Not a doubt of it, Mr. Murthwaite ! I am waiting, how-
ever, with some anxiety to hear the rational explanation of
the difficulty which I have just had the honor of submitting
to you."

Mr. Murthwaite smiled. "It's the easiest difficulty to deal
with of all," he said. "Permit me to begin by admitting your
statement of the case as a perfectly correct one. The Indians
were undoubtedly not aware of what Mr. Franklin Blake had
done with the Diamond — for we find them making their first
mistake, on the first night of Mr. Blake's arrival at his aunt's
house."

"Their first mistake?" I repeated.

"Certainly ! The mistake of allowing themselves to be
surprised, lurking about the terrace at night, by Gabriel Bet-
teredge. However, they had the merit of seeing for them-
selves that they had taken a false step — for, as you say, again,
with plenty of time at their disposal, they never came near
the house for weeks afterward."

"Why, Mr. Murthwaite? That's what I want to know.
Why?"

"Because no Indian, Mr. Bruff, ever runs an unnecessary
risk. The clause you drew in Colonel Herncastle's will, in-
formed them — didn't it? — that the Moonstone was to pass
absolutely into Miss Verinder's possession on her birthday.
Very well. Tell me which was the safest course for men in
their position ? To make their attempt on the Diamond while
it was under the control of Mr. Franklin Blake, who had
shown already that he could suspect and outwit them, or to
wait till the Diamond was at the disposal of a young girl,
who would innocently delight in wearing the magnificent
jewel at every possible opportunity? Perhaps you want a
proof that my theory is correct? Take the conduct of the
Indians themselves as the proof. They appeared at the house,
after waiting all those weeks, on Miss Verinder's birthday ;
and they were rewarded for the patient accuracy of their cal-
culations by seeing the Moonstone in the bosom of her dress !
When I heard the story of the Colonel and the Diamond,
later in the evening, I felt so sure about the risk Mr. Franklin

315

THE MOONSTONE

Blake had run — they would have certainly attacked him, if
he had not happened to ride back to Lady Verinder's in the
company of other people — and I was so strongly convinced
of the worse risks still in store for Miss Verindcr, that I
recommended following the Colonel's plan, and destroying
the identity of the gem by having it cut into separate stones.
How its extraordinary disappearance, that night, made my
advice useless and utterly defeated the Hindoo plot — and how
all further action on the part of the Indians was paralyzcfl
the next day by their confinement in prison as rogues and
vagabonds — you know as well as I do. The first act in the
conspiracy closes there. Before we go on to the second, may
I ask whether I have met your difficulty with an explanation
which is satisfactory to the mind of a practical man ?"

It was impossible to deny that he had met my difficulty
fairly; thanks to his superior knowledge of the Indian char-
acter— and thanks to his not having hundreds of other wills
to think of since Colonel Herncastle's time !

"So far, so good," resumed Mr. Murthwaite. "The first
chance the Indians had of seizing the Diamond was a chance
lost, on the day when they were committed to the prison at
Frizinghall. When did the second chance offer itself? The
second chance offered itself — as I am in a condition to prove
— while they were still in confinement."

He took out his pocket-book, and opened it at a particular
leaf, before he went on.

"I was staying," he resumed, "with some friends at Friz-
inghall at the time. A day or two before the Indians were
set free, on a Monday, I think, the governor of the prison
came to me with a letter. It had been left for the Indians
by one Mrs. Macann, of whom they had hired the lodging in
which they lived ; and it had been delivered at Mrs. Macann's
door, in ordinary course of post, on the previous morning.
The prison authorities had noticed that the post-mark was
'Lambeth,' and that the address on the outside, though ex-
pressed in correct English, was, in form, oddly at variance
with the customary method of directing a letter. On opening
it, they had found the contents to be written in a foreign lan-
guage, which they rightly guessed at as Hindoostanee. Their
object in coming to me was, of course, to have the letter

316

THE MOONSTONE

translated to them. I took a copy in my pocket-book of the
original and of my translation — and there they are at your
service."

He handed me the open pocket-book. The address on the
letter was the first thing copied. It was all written in one
paragraph, without any attempt at punctuation, thus : "To
the three Indian men living with the lady called IMacann at
Frizinghall in Yorkshire." The Hindoo characters followed ;
and the English translation appeared at the end, expressed
in these mysterious words :

'Tn the name of the Regent of the Night, whose seat is
on the Antelope, whose arms embrace the four corners of the
earth.

"Brothers, turn your faces to the south, and come to me
in the street of many noises, which leads down to the muddy
river.

"The reason is this.

"My own eyes have seen it."

There the letter ended, without either date or signature.
I handed it back to Mr. Murthwaite and owned that this
curious specimen of Hindoo correspondence rather puzzled
me.

"I can explain the first sentence to you," he said ; "and the
conduct of the Indians themselves will explain the rest. The
god of the moon is represented, in the Hindoo mythology, as
a four-armed deity, seated on an antelope ; and one of his
titles is the regent of the night. Here, then, to begin with,
is something which looks suspiciously like an indirect refer-
ence to the Moonstone. Now, let us see what the Indians
did, after the prison authorities had allowed them to receive
their letter. On the very day when they were set free they
went at once to the railway station, and took their places in
the first train that started for London. We all thought it
a pity at Frizinghall that their proceedings were not privately
watched. But, after Lady Verinder had dismissed the police
officer and had stopped all further inquiry into the loss of
the Diamond, no one else could presume to stir in the matter.
The Indians were free to go to London, and to London they
went. What was the next news we heard of them, Mr.
Bruflf?"

317

THE MOONSTONE

"They were annoying Mr. Luker," I answered, "by loiter-
ing about his house at Lambeth."

"Did you read the report of Mr. Luker's appHcation to
the magistrate?"

"Yes."

"In the course of his statement he referred, if you remem-
ber, to a foreign workman in his employment, whom he had
just dismissed on suspicion of attempted theft, and whom
he also distrusted as possibly acting in collusion with the
Indians who had annoyed him. The inference is pretty plain,
Mr. Brufif, as to who wrote that letter which puzzled you
just now and as to which of Mr. Luker's Oriental treasures
the workman had attempted to steal."

The inference, as I hastened to acknowledge, was too plain
to need being pointed out. I had never doubted that the
Moonstone had found its way into Mr. Luker's hands at the
time to which Mr. Murthwaite alluded. My only question
had been, How had the Indians discovered the circumstance?
This question — ihe most difficult to deal with of all, as I
had thought — had now received its answer, like the rest.
Lawyer as I was, I began to feel that I might trust Mr.
Murthwaite to lead me blindfold through the last windings
of the labyrinth, along which he had guided me thus far. I
paid him the compliment of telling him this and found my
little concession very graciously received.

"You shall give me a piece of information in your turn
before we go on," he said. "Somebody must have taken the
Moonstone from Yorkshire to London. And somebody must
have raised money on it, or it would never have been in ]\Ir.
Luker's possession. Has there been any discovery made of
who that person was?"

"None that I know of."

"There was a story, was there not, about Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite? I am told he is an eminent philanthropist —
which is decidedly against him, to begin with."

I heartily agreed in this with Mr. Murthwaite. At the
same time I felt bound to inform him, without, it is needless
to say, mentioning Miss Verinder's name, that Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite had been cleared of all suspicion, on evidence
which I could answer for as entirely beyond dispute.

318

THE MOONSTONE

"Very well," said Mr. Murthwaite, quietly, "let us leave
it to time to clear the matter up. In the mean while, Mr.
Bruff, we must get back again to the Indians, on your account.
Their journey to London simply ended in their becoming the
victims of another defeat. The loss of their second chance
of seizing the Diamond is mainly attributable, as I think, to
the cunning and foresight of Mr. Luker — who doesn't stand
at the top of the prosperous and ancient profession of usury
for nothing! By the prompt dismissal of the man in his em-
ployment, he deprived the Indians of the assistance which
their confederate would have rendered them in getting into
the house. By the prompt transport of the Moonstone to his
banker's, he took the conspirators by surprise before they
were prepared with a new plan for robbing him. How the
Indians, in this latter case, suspected what he had done and
how they contrived to possess themselves of his banker's re-
ceipt, are events too recent to need dwelling on. Let it be
enough to say that they know the Moonstone to be once more
out of their reach ; deposited, under the general description
of 'a. valuable gem,' in a banker's strong-room. Now, Mr.
Bruff, what is their third chance of seizing the Diamond ? and
when will it come?"

As the question passed his lips, I penetrated the motive of
the Indian's visit to my office at last !

"I see it !" I exclaimed. "The Indians take it for granted
as we do, that the Moonstone has been pledged : and they
want to be certainly informed of the earliest period at which
the pledge can be redeemed — because that will be the earliest
period at which the Diamond can be removed from the safe-
keeping of the bank !"

"I told you you would find it out for yourself, IMr. BrufF,
if I only gave you a fair chance. In a year from the time
when the Moonstone was pledged, the Indians will be on the
watch for their third chance. Mr. Luker's own lips have
told them how long they will have to wait, and your respecta-
ble authority has satisfied them that Mr. Luker has spoken
the truth. When do we suppose, at a rough guess, that the
Diamond found its way into the money-lender's hands ?"

"Toward the end of last June," I answered, "as well as I
can reckon it."

319

THE MOONSTONE

"And we are now in the year 'forty-eight. Very good. If
the unknown person who has pledged the Moonstone can re-
deem it in a year, the jewel will be in that person's possession
again at the end of June, 'forty-nine. I shall be thousands
of miles away from England and English news at that date.
But it may be worth yotir while to take a note of it, and to
arrange to be in London at the time."

"You think something serious will happen?" I said.

"I think I shall be safer," he answered, "among the fiercest
fanatics of Central Asia than I should be if I crossed the
door of the bank with the Moonstone in my pocket. The
Indians have been defeated twice running, Mr. Bruff. It's
my firm belief that they won't be defeated a third time."

Those were the last words he said on the subject. The
cofifee came in ; the guests rose, and dispersed themselves
around the room; and we joined the ladies of the dinner-
party up stairs.

I made a note of the date, and it may not be amiss if I
close my narrative by repeating that note here :

June, 'forty-nine. Expect news of the Indians, toward the
end of the month.

And that done, I hand the pen, which I have now no further
claim to use, to the writer who follows me next.

THIRD NARRATIVE

Contributed by Franklin Blake.

CHAPTER I.

IN the spring of the year eighteen hundred and forty-nine I
was wandering in the East, and had then recently altered
the traveling plans which I had laid out some months before
and which I had communicated to my lawyer and my banker
in London.

This change made it necessary for me to send one of my

320

THE MOONSTONE

servants to obtain my letters and remittances from the Eng-
lish consul in a certain city, which was no longer included
as one of my resting-places in my new traveling scheme. The
man was to join me again at an appointed place and time.
An accident, for which he was not responsible, delayed him
on his errand. For a week I and my people waited, en-
camped on the borders of a desert. At the end of that time
the missing man made his appearance, with the money and
the letters, at the entrance of my tent.

'T am afraid I bring you bad news, sir," he said, and
pointed to one of the letters, which had a mourning border
round it and the address on which was in the handwriting of
Mr. Brufif.

I know nothing, in a case of this kind, so unendurable as
suspense. The letter with the mourning border was the letter
that I opened first.

It informed me that my father was dead and that I was
heir to his great fortune. The wealth which had thus fallen
into my hands brought its responsibilities with it ; and Mr.
Brufif entreated me to lose no time in returning to England.

By day-break the next morning I was on my way back to
my own country.

The picture presented of me by my old friend Betteredge,
at the time of my departure from England, is, as I think, a
little overdrawn. He has, in his own quaint way, interpreted
seriously one of his young mistress's many satirical references
to my foreign education; and has persuaded himself that he
actually saw those French, German, and Italian sides to my
character, which my lively cousin only professed to discover
in jest, and which never had any real existence, except in our
good Betteredge's own brain. But, barring the drawback, I
am bound to own that he has stated no more than the truth
in representing me as wounded to the heart by Rachel's treat-
ment and as leaving England in the first keenness of suffering
caused by the bitterest disappointment of my life.

I went abroad, resolved — if change and absence could help
me — to forget her. It is, I am persuaded, no true view of
human nature which denies that change and absence do help
a man under these circumstances : they force his attention

21 321

THE MOONSTONE

away from the exclusive contemplation of his own sorrow.
I never forgot her ; but the pang of remembrance lost its
worst bitterness, little by little, as time, distance, and novelty
interposed themselves more and more effectually between
Rachel and me.

On the other hand, it is no less certain that, with the act
of turning homeward, the remedy which had gained its
ground so steadily, began now, just as steadily, to drop back.
The nearer I drew to the country which she inhabited and
to the prospect of seeing her again, the more irresistibly her
influence began to recover its hold on me. On leaving Eng-
land, she was the last person in the world whose name I would
have suffered to pass my lips. On returning to England, she
was the first person I inquired after when Mr. Bruff and I
met again.

I was informed, of course, of all that had happened in my
absence : in other words, of all that has been related here in
continuation of Betteredge's narrative — one circumstance
only being excepted. Mr. Bruff did not, at that time, feel
himself at liberty to inform me of the motives which had
privately influenced Rachel and Godfrey Ablewhite, in re-
calling the marriage promise, on either side. I troubled him
with no embarrassing questions on this delicate subject. It
was relief enough to me, after the jealous disappointment
caused by hearing that she had ever contemplated being God-
frey's wife, to know that reflection had convicted her of acting
rashly and that she had effected her own release from her
marriage engagement.

Having heard the story of the past, my next inquiries —
still inquiries after Rachel ! — advanced naturally to the pres-
ent time. Under whose care had she been placed after leaving
Mr. Bruff's house? and where was she living now?

She was living under the care of a widowed sister of the
late Sir John Verinder — one Mrs. Merridew — whom her
mother's executors had requested to act as guardian and who
had accepted the proposal. They were reported to me as
getting on together admirably well and as being now cstr^h-
lished, for the season, in Mrs. Merridew's house in Portland
Place.

Half an hour after receiving this information I was on my

322

THE MOONSTONE

way to Portland Place, without having had the courage to
own it to Mr. Bruff!

The man who answered the door was not sure whether
Miss Verinder was at home or not. I sent him up stairs with
my card, as the speediest way of setting the question at rest.
The man came down again with an impenetrable face and
informed me that Miss Verinder was out. I might have
suspected other people of purposely denying themselves to
me. But it was impossible to suspect Rachel. I left word
that I would call again at six o'clock that evening.

At six o'clock I was informed, for the second time, that
Miss Verinder was not at home. Had any message been left
for me? No message had been left for me. Had Miss Ver-
inder not received my card? The servant begged my pardon
— Miss Verinder had received it.

The inference was too plain to be resisted. Rachel declined
to see me.

On my side I declined to be treated in this way without
making an attempt, at least, to discover a reason for it. I
sent up my name to Mrs. Merridew, and requested her to
favor me with a personal interview at any hour which it
might be most convenient to her to name.

Mrs. Merridew made no difficulty about receiving me at
once. I was shown into a comfortable little sitting-room,
and found myself in the presence of a comfortable little elderly
lady. She was so good as to feel great regret and much sur-
prise, entirely on my account. She was at the same time,
however, not in a position to offer me any explanation, or to
press Rachel on a matter which appeared to relate to a ques-
tion of private feeling alone. This was said over and over
again, with a polite patience that nothing could tire ; and this
was all I gained by applying to Mrs. Merridew.

My last chance was to write to Rachel. My servant took
a letter to her the next day, with strict instructions to wait
for an answer.

The answer came back, literally in one sentence.

"IMiss Verinder begs to decline entering into any corre-
spondence with Mr. Franklin Blake."

Fond as I was of her, T felt indignantly the insult offered
to me in that reply. Mr. Bruff came in to speak to me on

3^3

THE MOONSTONE

business before I had recovered possession of myself. I dis-
missed the business on the spot, and laid the whole case before
him. He proved to be as incapable of enlightening me as
Mrs. Merridew herself. I asked him if any slander had been
spoken of me in Rachel's hearing. Mr. Bruff was not aware
of any slander of which I was the object. Had she referred
to me in any way while she was staying under Mr. BruflF's
roof ? Never. Had she not so much as asked, during all my
long absence, whether I was living or dead ? No such ques-
tion had ever passed her lips.

I took out of my pocket-book the letter which poor Lady
Verinder had written to me from Frizinghall, on the day
when I left her house in Yorkshire. And I pointed Mr.
Bruff 's attention to these two sentences in it :

"The valuable assistance which you rendered to the inquiry
after the lost jewel is still an unpardoned offense, in the pres-
ent dreadful state of Rachel's mind. Moving blindfold in
this matter, you have added to the burden of anxiety which
she has had to bear, by innocently threatening her secret with
discovery through your exertions."

"Is it possible," I asked, "that the feeling toward me which
is there described is still as bitter as ever against me now?"

Mr. Bruif looked unaffectedly distressed.

"If you insist on an answer," he said, "I own I can place
no other interpretation on her conduct than that."

I rang the bell, and directed my servant to pack my port-
manteau, and to send out for a railway guide. Mr. Bruff
asked, in astonishment, what I was going to do.

"I am going to Yorkshire," I answered, "by the next
train."

"May I ask for what purpose?"

"Mr. Bruff, the assistance I innocently rendered to the in-
quiry after the Diamond was an unpardoned offense in
Rachel's mind, nearly a year since, and it remains an unpar-
doned offense still. I won't accept that position ! I am deter-
mined to find out the secret of her silence toward her mother,
and her enmity toward me. If time, pains, and money can
do it, I will lay my hand on the thief who took the Moon-
stone !"

The worthy old gentleman attempted to remonstrate — to

324

THE MOONSTONE

induce me to listen to reason — to do his duty toward me, in
short. I was deaf to every thing that he could urge. No
earthly consideration would, at that moment, have shaken the
resolution that was in me.

"I shall take up the inquiry again," I went on, "at the
point where I dropped it; and I shall follow it onward, step
by step, till I come to the present time. There are missing
links in the evidence, as / left it, which Gabriel Betteredge
can supply. And to Gabriel Betteredge I go !"

Toward sunset, that evening, I stood again on the well-
remembered terrace, and looked once more at the peaceful
old country house. The gardener was the first person whom
I saw in the deserted grounds. He had left Betteredge, an
hour since, sunning himself in the customary corner of the
back yard. I knew it well ; and I said I would go and seek
him myself.

I walked round by the familiar paths and passages, and
looked in at the open gate of the yard.

There he was — the dear old friend of the happy days that
were never to come again — there he was in the old corner,
on the old bee-hive chair, with his pipe in his mouth, and his
Robinson Crusoe on his lap, and his two friends, the dogs,
dozing on either side of him ! In the position in which I stood,
my shadow was projected in front of me by the last slanting
rays of the sun. Either the dogs saw it, or their keen scent
informed them of my approach. They started up with a
growl. Starting in his turn, the old man quieted them by a
word, and then shaded his failing eyes with his hand and
looked inquiringly at the figure at the gate.

My own eyes were full of tears. I was obliged to wait
for a moment before I could trust myself to speak to him.

CHAPTER II.

BETTEREDGE!" I said, pointing to the well-remem-
bered book on his knee, "has Robinson Crusoe informed
you, this evening, that you might expect to see Franklin
Blake?"

325

THE MOONSTONE

"By the lord Harry, Mr. Franklin !" cried the old man,
"that's exactly what Robinson Crusoe has done !"

He struggled to his feet with my assistance and stood for
a moment, looking backward and forward between Robinson
Crusoe and me, apparently at a loss to discover which of us
had surprised him most. The verdict ended in favor of the
book. Holding it open before him in both hands, he sur-
veyed the wonderful volume with a stare of unutterable
anticipation — as if he expected to see Robinson Crusoe him-
self walk out of the pages and favor us with a personal inter-
view.

"Here's the bit, Mr, Franklin !" he said, as soon as he had
recovered the use of his speech. "As I live by bread, sir,
here's the bit I was reading the moment before you came in !
Page one hundred and fifty-six as follows : T stood like one
Thunderstruck, or as if I had seen an Apparition.' If that
isn't as much as to say : 'Expect the sudden appearance of
Mr. Franklin Blake' — there's no meaning in the English lan-
guage !" said Betteredge, closing the book with a bang, and
getting one of his hands free at last to take the hand which
I offered him.

I had expected him, naturally enough under the circum-
stances, to overwhelm me with questions. But no — the hos-
pitable impulse was the uppermost impulse in the old servant's
mind, when a member of the family appeared, no matter how,
as a visitor at the house.

"Walk in, Mr. Franklin," he said, opening the door behind
him, with his quaint old-fashioned bow. "Fll ask what brings
you here afterward — I must make you comfortable first.
There have been sad changes since you went away. The
house is shut up, and the servants are gone. Never mind
that ! Fll cook your dinner and the gardener's wife will make
your bed — and if there's a bottle of our famous Latour claret
left in the cellar, down your throat, Mr. Franklin, that bottle
shall go. I bid you welcome, sir ! I bid you heartily wel-
come!" said the poor old fellow, fighting manfully against
the gloom of the deserted house, and receiving me with the
sociable and courteous attention of the by-gone time.

It vexed me to disappoint him. But the house was Rachel's
house now. Could I eat in it or sleep in it after what had

326

THE MOONSTONE

happened in London? The commonest sense of self-respect
forbade me — properly forbade me — to cross the threshold.

I took Betteredge by the arm and led him out into the
garden. There was no help for it. I was obliged to tell him
the truth. Between his attachment to Rachel and his attach-
ment to me, he was sorely puzzled and distressed at the turn
that things had taken. His opinion, when he expressed it,
was given in his usual downright manner, and was agreeably
redolent of the most positive philosophy I know — the philos-
ophy of the Betteredge school.

"Miss Rachel has her faults — I've never denied it," he be-
gan. "And riding the high horse, now and then, is one of
them. She has been trying to ride over yon — and you have
put up with it. Lord, Mr. Franklin, don't you know women
by this time better than that? You have heard me talk of
the late Mrs. Betteredge?"

I had heard him talk of the late Mrs. Betteredge pretty
often — invariably producing her as his one undeniable exam-
ple of the inbred frailty and perversity of the other sex. In
that capacity he exhibited her now.

"Very well, Mr. Franklin. Now listen to me. Different
women have different ways of riding the high horse. The
late Mrs. Betteredge took her exercise on that favorite female
animal whenever I happened to deny her any thing that she
had set her heart on. So sure as I came home from my work
on these occasions, so sure was my wife to call to me up the
kitchen stairs, and to say that, after my brutal treatment of
her, she hadn't the heart to cook me my dinner. I put up
with it for some time — just as you are putting up with it now
from Miss Rachel. At last my patience wore out. I went
down stairs, and I took Mrs. Betteredge — affectionately, you
understand — up in my arms, and carried her, holus-bolus, into
the best parlor, where she received her company. I said,
'That's the right place for you, my dear,' and so went back
to the kitchen. I locked myself in, and took off my coat,
and turned up my shirt-sleeves, and cooked my own dinner.
When it was done I served it up in my best manner, and
enjoyed it most heartily. I had my pipe and my drop of grog
afterward ; and then I cleared the table, and washed the crock-
cry, and cleaned the knives and forks, and put the things

327

THE MOONSTONE

away, and swept up the hearth. When things were as bright
and clean again, as bright and clean could be, I opened the
door and let Mrs. Betteredge in. 'I've had my dinner, my
dear,' I said ; 'and I hope you will find I have left the kitchen
all that your fondest wishes can desire.' For the rest of that
woman's life, Mr. Franklin, I never had to cook my dinner
again ! Moral : You have put up with Miss Rachel in Lon-
don ; don't put up with her in Yorkshire. Come back to the
house."

Quite unanswerable ! I could only assure my good friend
that even his powers of persuasion were, in this case, thrown
away on me.

"It's a lovely evening," I said. 'T shall walk to Frizing-
hall, and stay at the hotel, and you must come to-morrow
morning and breakfast with me. I have something to say
to you."

Betteredge shook his head gravely.

"I am heartily sorry for this," he said. "I had hoped, Mr.
Franklin, to hear that things were all smooth and pleasant
again between you and Miss Rachel. If you must have your
own way, sir," he continued, after a moment's reflection,
"there is no need to go to Frizinghall to-night for a bed. It's
to be had nearer than that. There's Hotherstone's Farm,
barely two miles from here. You can hardly object to that
on Miss Rachel's account," the old man added, slyly. "Hoth-
erstone lives, Mr. Franklin, on his own freehold."

I remembered the place the moment Betteredge mentioned
it. The farm-house stood in a sheltered inland valley, on
the banks of the prettiest stream in that part of Yorkshire ;
and the farmer had a spare bedroom and parlor, which he
was accustomed to let to artists, anglers, and tourists in gen-
eral. A more agreeable place of abode, during my stay in
the neighborhood, I could not have wished to find.

"Are the rooms to let?" I inquired.

"Mrs. Hotherstone herself, sir, asked for my good word
to recommend the rooms yesterday."

"I'll take them, Betteredge, with the greatest pleasure."

We went back to the yard, in which I had left my traveling-
bag. After putting a stick through the handle and swinging
the bag over his shoulder, Betteredge appeared to relapse

328

THE MOONSTONE

into the bewilderment which my sudden appearance had
caused when I surprised him in the bee-hive chair. He looked
incredulously at the house, and then he wheeled about and
looked more incredulously still at me.

"I've lived a goodish long time in the world," said this
best and dearest of all old servants — "but the like of this I
never did expect to see. There stands the house, and here
stands Mr. Franklin Blake — and, damme, if one of them
isn't turning his back on the other, and going to sleep in a
lodging!"

He led the way out, wagging his head and growling omi-
nously. "There's only one more miracle that can happen,"
he said to me, over his shoulder. "The next thing you'll do,
Mr. Franklin, will be to pay me back that seven-and-sixpence
you borrowed of me when you were a boy."

This stroke of sarcasm put him in a better humor with
himself and with me. We left the house and passed through
the lodge-gates. Once clear of the grounds, the duties of
hospitality, in Betteredge's code of morals, ceased, and the
privileges of curiosity began.

He dropped back, so as to let me get on a level with him.
"Fine evening for a walk, Mr. Franklin," he said, as if we
had just accidentally encountered each other at that moment.
"Supposing you had gone to the hotel at Frizinghall, sir?"

"Yes?"

"I should have had the honor of breakfasting with you to-
morrow morning."

"Come and breakfast with me at Hotherstone's Farm, in-
stead."

"Much obliged to you for your kindness, Mr. Franklin.
But it wasn't exactly breakfast that I was driving at. I think
you mentioned that you had something to say to me? If it's
no secret, sir," said Betteredge, suddenly abandoning the
crooked way, and taking the straight one, "I'm burning to
know what brought you down here, if you please, in this sud-
den way."

"What brought me here before?" I asked.

"The Moonstone, Mr. Franklin. But what brings you
now, sir?"

"The Moonstone again, Betteredge."

329

THE MOONSTONE

The old man suddenly stood still, and looked at me in the
gray twilight as if he suspected his own ears of deceiving
him.

"If that's a joke, sir," he said, "I'm afraid I'm getting a
little dull in my old age. I don't take it."

"It's no joke," I answered. "I have come here to take
up the inquiry which was dropped when I left England. I
have come here to do what nobody has done yet — to find out
who took the Diamond."

"Let the Diamond be, Mr. FrankHn ! Take my advice,
and let the Diamond be ! That cursed Indian jewel has mis-
guided every body who has come near it. Don't waste your
money and your temper — in the fine spring-time of your life,
sir — by meddling with the Moonstone. How can you hope
to succeed, saving your presence, when Sergeant Cuff himself
made a mess of it ? Sergeant Cuff !" repeated Betteredge,
shaking his forefinger at me sternly. "The greatest police-
man in England !"

"My mind is made up, my old friend. Even Sergeant
Cuff doesn't daunt me. By-the-bye, I may want to speak to
him, sooner or later. Have you heard any thing of him
lately?"

"The Sergeant won't help you, Mr. Franklin."

"Why not ?"

"There has been an event, sir, in the police circles since
you went away. The great Cuff has retired from business.
He has got a little cottage at Dorking and he's up to his eyes
in the growing of roses. I have it in his own handwriting,
Mr. Franklin. He has grown the white moss-rose, without
budding it on the dog-rose first. And Mr. Begbie the gar-
dener is to go to Dorking and own that the Sergeant has
beaten him at last."

"It doesn't much matter," I said. "I must do without Ser-
geant Cuff's help. And I must trust to you, at starting."

It is likely enough that I spoke rather carelessly. At any
rate, Betteredge seemed to be piqued by something in the
reply which I had just made to him. "You might trust to
worse than me, Mr. Franklin — I can tell you that," he said,
a little sharply.

The tone in which he retorted, and a certain disturbance,

330

THE MOONSTONE

after he had spoken, which I detected in his manner, sug-
gested to me that he was possessed of some information which
he hesitated to communicate.

"I expect you to help me," I said, "picking up the frag-
ments of evidence which Sergeant Cuff has left behind him.
I know you can do that. Can you do no more?"

"What more can you expect from me, sir?" asked Better-
edge, with an appearance of the utmost humility.

"I expect more — from what you said just now."

"Mere boasting, Mr. Franklin," returned the old man, ob-
stinately. "Some people are born boasters, and they never
get over it to their dying day. I'm one of them."

There was only one way to take with him. I appealed to
his interest in Rachel and his interest in me.

"Betteredge, would you be glad to hear that Rachel and I
were good friends again ?"

"I have served your family, sir, to mighty little purpose,
if you doubt it !"

"Do you remember how Rachel treated me before I left
England ?"

"As well as if it was yesterday ! My lady herself wrote
you a letter about it, and you were so good as to show the
letter to me. It said that Miss Rachel was mortally offended
with you for the part you had taken in trying to recover her
jewel. And neither my lady, nor you, nor any body else could
guess why."

"Quite true, Betteredge ! And I come back from my travels
and find her mortally offended with me still. I knew that
the Diamond was at the bottom of it last year, and I know
that the Diamond is at the bottom of it now. I have tried to
speak to her and she won't see me. I have tried to write to
her and she won't answer me. How, in Heaven's name, am
I to clear the matter up? The chance of searching into the
loss of the Moonstone, is the one chance of inquiry that Rachel
herself has left me !"

Those words evidently put the case before him as he had
not seen it yet. He asked a question which satisfied me that
I had shaken him.

"There is no ill-feeling in this, Mr. Franklin, on your side
—is there ?"

33^

THE MOONSTONE

"There was some anger," I answered, "when I left
London. But that is all worn out now. I want to make
Rachel come to an understanding with me — and 1 want noth-
ing more."

"You don't feel any fear, sir — supposing you make any dis-
coveries— in regard to what you may find out about Miss
Rachel?"

I understood the jealous belief in his young mistress which
prompted those words.

"I am as certain of her as you are," I answered. "The
fullest disclosure of her secret will reveal nothing that can
alter her place in your estimation or in mine."

Betteredge's last-left scruples vanished at that.

"If I am doing wrong to help you, Mr. Franklin," he ex-
claimed, "all I can say is — I am as innocent of seeing it as the
babe unborn ! I can put you on the road to discovery, if you
can only go on by yourself. You remember that poor girl of
ours — Rosanna Spearman ?"

"Of course?"

"You always thought she had some sort of confession, in
regard to this matter of the Moonstone, which she wanted to
make to you?"

"I certainly couldn't account for her strange conduct in any
other way."

"You may set that doubt at rest, Mr. Franklin, whenever
you please."

It was my turn to come to a stand-still now. I tried vainly,
in the gathering darkness, to see his face. In the surprise of
the moment, I asked a little impatiently what he meant.

"Steady, sir !" proceeded Betteredge. "I mean what I say.
Rosanna Spearman left a sealed letter behind her — a letter
addressed to youy

"Where is it?"

"In the possession of a friend of hers at Cobb's Hole. You
must have heard tell, when you were here last, sir, of Limping
Lucy — a lame girl, with a crutch."

"The fisherman's daughter?"

"The same, Mr. Franklin."

"Why wasn't the letter forwarded to me?"

"Limping Lucy has a will of her own, sir. She wouldn't

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THE MOONSTONE

give it into any hands but yours. And you had left England
before I could write to you."

"Let's go back, Betteredge, and get it at once !"
"Too late, sir, to-night. They're great savers of candles
along our coast ; and they go to bed early at Cobb's Hole."
"Nonsense ! We might get there in half an hour."
"You might, sir. And when you did get there you would
find the door locked." He pointed to a light glimmering be-
low us, and, at the same moment I heard through the stillness
of the evening the bubbling of a stream. "There's the Farm,
Mr. Franklin ! Make yourself comfortable for to-night, and
come to me to-morrow morning — if you'll be so kind."
"You will go with me to the fisherman's cottage?"
"Yes, sir."
"Early ?"

"As early, Mr. Franklin, as you like."
We descended the path that led to the Farm.

CHAPTER HI.

I HAVE only the most indistinct recollection of what hap-
pened at Hotherstone's Farm.

I remember a hearty welcome ; a prodigious supper, which
would have fed a whole village in the East ; a delightfully
clean bedroom, with nothing in it to regret but that detestable
product of the folly of our forefathers — a feather-bed ; a rest-
less night, with much kindling of matches and many lightings
of one little candle ; and an immense sensation of relief when
the sun rose and there was a prospect of getting up.

It had been arranged overnight with Betteredge that I was
to call for him, on our way to Cobb's Hole, as early as I liked
— which, interpreted by my impatience to get possession of
the letter, meant as early as I could. Without waiting for
breakfast at the Farm, I took a crust of bread in mv hand
and set forth, in some doubt whether I should not surprise
the excellent Betteredge in his bed. To my great relief he
proved to be quite as excited about the coming event as I

333

THE MOONSTONE

was. I found him ready and waiting for me, with his stick in
his hand.

"How are you this morning, Betteredge?"

"Very poorly, sir."

"Sorry to hear it. What do you complain of?"

"I complain of a new disease, Mr. Franklin, of my own
inventing. I don't want to alarm you, but you're certain to
catch it before the morning is out."

"The devil I am !"

"Do you feel an uncomfortable heat at the pit of your
stomach, sir? and a nasty thumping at the top of your head?
Ah! not yet? It will lay hold of you at Cobb's Hole, Mr.
Franklin. I call it the detective-fever; and I first caught it
in the company of Sergeant Cuff."

"Ay ! ay ! and the cure in this instance is to open Rosanna
Spearman's letter, I suppose ? Come along, and let's get it !"
Early as it was, we found the fisherman's wife astir in her
kitchen. On my presentation by Betteredge good Mrs. Yol-
land performed a social ceremony, strictly reserved, as I after-
ward learned, for strangers of distinction. She put a bottle
of Dutch gin and a couple of clean pipes on the table, and
opened the conversation by saying : "What news from Lon-
don, sir?"

Before I could find an answer to this immensely compre-
hensive question an apparition advanced toward me out of a
dark corner of the kitchen. A wan, wild, haggard girl, with
remarkably beautiful hair, and with a fierce keenness in her
eyes, came limping up on a crutch to the table at which I was
sitting, and looked at me as if I were an object of mingled
interest and horror, which it quite fascinated her to see.

"Mr. Betteredge," she said, without taking her eyes off
me, "mention his name again, if you please."

"This gentleman's name," answered Betteredge, with a
strong emphasis on gentleman, "is Mr. Franklin Blake."

The girl turned her back on me and suddenly left the room.
Good Mrs. Yolland, as I believe, made some apologies for
her daughter's odd behavior, and Betteredge, probably, trans-
lated them into polite English. I speak of this in complete
uncertainty. My attention was absorbed in following the
sound of the girl's crutch. Thump-thump up the wooden

334

THE MOONSTONE

stairs ; thump-thump across the room above our heads ; thump-
thump down the stairs again — and there stood the apparition
at the open door, with a letter in its hand, beckoning me out !

I left more apologies in course of delivery behind me and
followed this strange creature — limping on before me faster
and faster — down the slope of the beach. She led me behind
some boats, out of sight and hearing of the few people in
the fishing-village and then stopped and faced me for the
first time.

"Stand there," she said. 'T want to look at you."

There was no mistaking the expression on her face. I in-
spired her with the strongest emotions of abhorrence and
disgust. Let me not be vain enough to say that no woman
had ever looked at me in this manner before. I will only
venture on the more modest assertion that no woman had
ever let me perceive it yet. There is a limit to the length
of the inspection which a man can endure, under certain cir-
cumstances. I attempted to direct Limping Lucy's attention
to some less revolting object than my face.

"I think you have got a letter to give me," I began. 'Ts it
the letter there in your hand?"

"Say that again," was the only answer I received.

I repeated the words, like a good child learning its lesson.

"No," said the girl, speaking to herself, but keeping her
eyes still mercilessly fixed on me. "I can't find out what she
sav/ in his face. I can't guess what she heard in his voice."
She suddenly looked away from me, and rested her head
wearily on the top of her crutch. "Oh my poor dear !" she
said, in the first soft tones which had fallen from her in my
hearing. "Oh my lost darling! what could you see in this
man?" She lifted her head again fiercely, and looked at me
once more. "Can you eat and drink ?" she asked.

I did my best to preserve my gravity, and answered, "Yes."

"Can vou sleep?"

"Yes."'

"When you see a poor girl in service, do you feel no re-
morse ?"

"Certainly not. Why should I ?"

She abruptly thrust the letter, as the phrase is, into my
face,

335

THE MOONSTONE

"Take it !" she exclaimed, furiously. "I never set eyes on
you before. God Almighty forbid I should ever set eyes on
you again."

With those parting words she limped away from me at the
top of her speed. The one interpretation that I could put on
her conduct has, no doubt, been anticipated by every body.
I could only suppose that she was mad.

Having reached that inevitable conclusion, I turned to the
more interesting object of investigation which was presented
to me by Rosanna Spearman's letter. The address was writ-
ten as follows : "For Franklin Blake, Esq. To be given into
his own hands, and not to be trusted to any one else, by Lucy
Yolland."

I broke the seal. The envelope contained a letter, and this,
in its turn, contained a slip of paper. I read the letter first :

"Sir, — If you are curious to know the meaning of my be-
havior to you, while you were staying in the house of my
mistress, Lady Verinder, do what you are told to do in the
memorandum inclosed with this — and do it without any per-
son being present to overlook you. Your humble ser-
vant, . Rosanna Spearman."

I turned to the slip of paper next. Here is the literal copy
of it, word for word :

"Memorandum : — To go to the Shivering Sand at the turn
of the tide. To walk out on the South Spit, until I get the
South Spit Beacon, and the flag-staflf at the Coast-guard sta-
tion above Cobb's Hole in a line together. To lay down on
the rocks, a stick, or any straight thing to guide my hand,
exactly in the line of the beacon and the flag-staff. To take
care, in doing this, that one end of the stick shall be at the
edge of the rocks, on the side of them which overlooks the
quicksand. To feel along the stick, among the sea-weed, be-
ginning from the end of the stick which points toward the
beacon, for the chain. To run my hand along the chain,
when found, until I come to the part of it which stretches
over the edge of the rocks, down into the quicksand. And
then, to pull the chain."

336

THE MOONSTONE

Just as I had read the last words — underHned in the orig-
inal— I heard the voice of Betteredge behind me. The in-
ventor of the detective-fever had completely succumbed to
that irresistible malady. "I can't stand it any longer, Mr.
Franklin. What does her letter say? For mercy's sake, sir,
tell us what does her letter say?"

I handed him the letter and the memorandum. He read
the first without appearing to be much interested in it. But
the second — the memorandum — produced a strong impression
on him.

"The Sergeant said it!" cried Betteredge. "From first to
last, sir, the Sergeant said she had got a memorandum of the
hiding-place. And here it is ! Lord save us, Mr. Franklin,
here is the secret that puzzled every body, from the great Cuff
downward, ready and waiting, as one may say, to show itself
to you! It's the ebb now, sir, as any body may see for them-
selves. How long will it be till the turn of the tide?" He
looked up, and observed a lad at work at some little distance
from us, mending a net. "Tammie Bright!" he shouted, at
the top of his voice.

"I hear you !" Tammie shouted back.

"When's the turn of the tide?"

"In an hour's time."

We both looked at our watches.

"We can go round by the coast, Mr, Franklin," said Bet-
teredge, "and get to the quicksand in that way, with plenty
of time to spare. What do you say, sir?"

"Come along."

On our way to the Shivering Sand I applied to Betteredge
to revive my memory of events, as affecting Rosanna Spear-
man, at the period of Sergeant Cuff's inquiry. With my old
friend's help I soon had the succession of circumstances
clearly registered again in my mind. Rosanna's journey to
Frizinghall, when the whole household believed her to be ill
in her own room — Rosanna's mysterious employment of the
night-time, with her door locked and her candle burning till
the morning — Rosanna's suspicious purchase of the japanned
tin case and the two dogs' chains from Mrs. Yolland — the
Sergeant's positive conviction that Rosanna had hidden some-
thing at the Shivering Sand, and the Sergeant's absolute igno-

337

THE MOONSTONE

ranee as to what that something could be — all these strange
results of the abortive inquiry into the loss of the Moonstone
were clearly present to me again when we reached the quick-
sand, and walked out together on the low ledge of rocks
called the South Spit.

With Betteredge's help I soon stood in the right position
to see the Beacon and the Coast-guard flag-staft in a line
together. Following the memorandum as our guide, we next
laid my stick in the necessary direction, as neatly as we could,
on the uneven surface of the rocks. And then we looked at
our watches once more.

It wanted nearly twenty minutes yet of the turn of the
tide. I suggested waiting through this interval on the beach,
instead of on the wet and slippery surface of the rocks. Hav-
ing reached the dry sand, I prepared to sit down ; and, greatly
to my surprise, Betteredge prepared to leave me.

"What are you going away for ?" I asked.

"Look at the letter again, sir, and you will see."

A glance at the letter reminded me that I was charged,
when I made my discovery, to make it alone.

"It's hard enough for me to leave you at such a time as
this," said Betteredge. "But she died a dreadful death, poor
soul! and I feel a kind of call on me, Mr. Franklin, to humor
that fancy of hers. Besides," he added, confidentially, "there's
nothing in the letter against your letting out the secret after-
ward. I'll hang about in the fir-plantation, and wait till you
pick me up. Don't be longer than you can help, sir. The
detective-fever isn't an easy disease to deal with, under these
circumstances."

With that parting caution he left me.

The interval of expectation, short as it was when reckoned
by the measure of time, assumed formidable proportions when
reckoned by the measure of suspense. This was one of the
occasions on which the invaluable habit of smoking becomes
especially precious and consolatory, I lit a cigar and sat
down on the slope of the beach.

The sunlight poured its unclouded beauty on every object
that I could see. The exquisite freshness of the air made
the mere act of living and breathing a luxury. Even the
lonely little bay welcomed the morning with a show of cheer-

338

THE MOONSTONE

fulness ; and the bared wet surface of the quicksand itself,
gUttering with a golden brightness, hid the horror of its false
brown face under a passing smile. It was the finest day I
had seen since my return to England.

The turn of the tide came before my cigar was finished.
I saw the preliminary heaving of the Sand, and then the awful
shiver that crept over its surface — as if some spirit of terror
lived and moved and shuddered in the fathomless deeps
beneath. I threw away my cigar and went back again to the
rocks.

My directions in the memorandum instructed me to feel
along the line traced by the stick, beginning with the end
which was nearest to the beacon.

I advanced in this manner more than half-way along the
stick, without encountering any thing but the edges of the
rocks. An inch or two farther on, however, my patience was
rewarded. In a narrow little fissure, just within reach of my
forefinger, I felt the chain. Attempting, next, to follow it
by touch in the direction of the quicksand, I found my prog-
ress stopped by a thick growth of sea-weed — which had fas-
tened itself into the fissure, no doubt, in the time that had
elapsed since Rosanna Spearman had chosen her hiding-
place.

It was equally impossible to pull up the sea-weed or to
force my hand through it. After marking the spot indicated
by the end of the stick which was placed nearest to the quick-
sand, I determined to pursue the search for the chain on a
plan of my own. My idea was to "sound" immediately
under the rocks, on the chance of recovering the lost
trace of the chain at the point at which it entered the sand.
I took up the stick and knelt down on the brink of the South
Spit.

In this position my face was within a few feet of the sur-
face of the quicksand. The sight of it so near me, still dis-
turbed at intervals by its hideous shivering fit, shook my
nerves for the moment. A horrible fancy that the dead
woman might appear on the scene of her suicide to assist my
search — an unutterable dread of seeing her rise through the
heaving surface of the sand and point to the place — forced
itself into my mind, and turned me cold in the warm sun-

339

THE MOONSTONE

light. I own I closed my eyes at the moment when the point
of the stick first entered the quicksand.

The instant afterward, before the stick could have been
submerged more than a few inches, I was free from the hold
of my own superstitious terror, and was throbbing with ex-
citement from head to foot. Sounding bHndfoId, at my first
attempt — at that first attempt I had sounded right ! The stick
struck the chain.

Taking a firm hold of the roots of the sea-weed with my
left hand, I laid myself down over the brink, and felt with
my right hand under the overhanging edges of the rock. My
right hand found the chain.

I drew it up without the slightest difficulty. And there
was the japanned tin case fastened to the end of it.

The action of the water had so rusted the chain that it
was impossible for me to unfasten it from the hasp which
attached it to the case. Putting the case between my knees,
and exerting my utmost strength, I contrived to draw off the
cover. Some white substance filled the whole interior when
I looked in. I put in my hand and found it to be linen.

In drawing out the linen I also drew out a letter crumpled
up with it. After looking at the direction, and discovering
that it bore my name, I put the letter in my pocket and com-
pletely removed the linen. It came out in a thick roll, molded,
of course, to the shape of the case in which it had been so
long confined, and perfectly preserved from any injury by
the sea.

I carried the linen to the dry sand of the beach, and there
unrolled and smoothed it out. There was no mistaking it
as an article of dress. It was a night-gown.

The uppermost side, when I spread it out, presented to
view innumerable folds and creases, and nothing more. I
tried the undermost side next, and instantly discovered the
smear of the paint from the door of Rachel's boudoir !

My eyes remained riveted on the stain, and my mind took
me back at a leap from present to past. The very words of
Sergeant Cufif recurred to me, as if the man himself was at
my side again, pointing to the unanswerable inference which
he drew from the smear on the door :

"Find out whether there is any article of dress in this

340

THE MOONSTONE

house with the stain of the paint on it. Find out who that
dress belongs to. Find out how the person can account for
having been in the room, and smeared the paint, between
midnight and three in the morning. If the person can't sat-
isfy you, you haven't far to look for the hand that took the
Diamond."

One after another those words traveled over my memory,
repeating themselves again and again with a wearisome, me-
chanical reiteration. I was roused from what felt like a trance
of many hours — from what was really, no doubt, the pause
of a few moments only — by a voice calling to me. I looked
up and saw that Betteredge's patience had failed him at last.
He was just visible between the sand-hills, returning to the
beach.

The old man's appearance recalled me, the moment I per-
ceived it, to my sense of present things and reminded me
that the inquiry which I had pursued thus far still remained
incomplete. I had discovered the smear on the night-gown.
To whom did the night-gown belong?

My first impulse was to consult the letter in my pocket —
the letter which I had found in the case.

As I raised my hand to take it out I remembered that
there was a shorter way to discovery than this. The night-
gown itself would reveal the truth ; for, in all probability,
the night-gown was marked with its owner's name.

I took it up from the sand and looked for the mark. I
found the mark, and read —

My own name!

There were the familiar letters which told me that the
night-gown was mine. I looked up from them. There was
the sun ; there were the glittering waters of the bay ; there
was old Betteredge, advancing nearer and nearer to me. I
looked back again at the letters. My own name. Plainly
confronting me — my own name.

"If time, pains, and money can do it, I will lay my hand
on the thief who took the Moonstone" — I had left London
with those words on my lips. I had penetrated the secret
which the quicksand had kept from every other living crea-
ture. And, on the unanswerable evidence of the paint-stain,
I had discovered myself as the thief.

341

THE MOONSTONE

CHAPTER IV.

I HAVE not a word to say about my own sensations.
My impression is, that the shock inflicted on me com-
pletely suspended my thinking and feeling power. I certainly
could not have known what I was about when Betteredge
joined me — for I have it on his authority that I laughed, when
he asked what was the matter, and, putting the night-gown
into his hands, told him to read the riddle for himself.

Of what \yas said between us on the beach I have not the
faintest recollection. The first place in which I can now see
myself again plainly is the plantation of firs. Betteredge and
I are walking back together to the house ; and Betteredge is
telling me that I shall be able to face it and he will be able
to face it, when we have had a glass of grog.

The scene shifts from the plantation to Betteredge's little
sitting-room. My resolution not to enter Rachel's house is
forgotten. I feel gratefully the coolness and shadiness and
quiet of the room. I drink the grog, a perfectly new luxury
to me, at that time of day, which my good old friend mixes
with icy-cool water from the well. Under any other circum-
stances the drink would simply stupefy me. As things are,
it strings up my nerves. I begin to "face it," as Betteredge
has predicted. And Betteredge, on his side, begins to "face
it" too.

The picture which I am now presenting of myself will, I
suspect, be thought a very strange one, to say the least of it.
Placed in a situation which may, I think, be described as
entirely without parallel, what is the first proceeding to which
I resort? Do I seclude myself from all human society? Do
I set my mind to analyze the abominable impossibility which,
nevertheless, confronts me as an undeniable fact? Do I hurry
back to London by the first train to consult the highest au-
thorities, and to set a searching inquiry on foot immediately?
No. I accept the shelter of a house which I had resolved
never to degrade myself by entering again ; and I sit, tippling
spirits and water in the company of an old servant, at ten
o'clock in the morning. Is this the conduct that might have
been expected from a man placed in my horrible position?

342

THE MOONSTONE

I can only answer, that the sight of old Betteredge's familiar
face was an inexpressible comfort to me and that the drinking
of old Betteredge's grog helped me, as I believe nothing else
would have helped me, in the state of complete bodily and
mental prostration into which I had fallen. I can only offer
this excuse for myself; and I can only admire that invariable
preservation of dignity and that strictly logical consistency
of conduct which distinguish every man and woman who may
read these lines, in every emergency of their lives from the
cradle to the grave.

"Now, Mr. Franklin, there's one thing certain, at any rate,"
said Betteredge, throwing the night-gown down on the
table between us, and pointing to it as if it was a living crea-
ture that could hear him. "He's a liar, to begin with."

This comforting view of the matter was not the view that
presented itself to my mind.

"I am as innocent of all knowledge of having taken the
Diamond as you are," I said. "But there is the witness
against me ! The paint on the night-gown and the name on
the night-gown, are facts."

Betteredge lifted my glass and put it persuasively into my
hand.

"Facts?" he repeated. "Take a drop more grog, Mr.
Franklin, and you'll get over the weakness of believing in
facts ! Foul play, sir !" he continued, dropping his voice con-
fidentially. "That is how I read the riddle. Foul play, some-
where— and you and I must find it out. Was there nothing
else in the tin case when you put your hand into it?"

The question instantly reminded me of the letter in my
pocket. I took it out and opened it. It was a letter of many
pages, closely written. I looked impatiently for the signature
at the end. "Rosanna Spearman."

As I read the name a sudden remembrance illuminated
my mind, and a sudden suspicion rose out of the new light.

"Stop !" I exclaimed. "Rosanna Spearman came to my
aunt out of a Reformatory? Rosanna Spearman had once
been a thief?"

"There's no denying that, Mr. Franklin. What of it now,
if you please?"

"What of it now? How do wc know she may not have

343

THE MOONSTONE

stolen the Diamond after all? How do we know she may
not have smeared my night-gown purposely with the
paint — ?"

Betteredge laid his hand on my arm, and stopped me before
I could say any more,

"You will be cleared of this, Mr. Franklin, beyond all
doubt. But I hope you won't be cleared in that way. See
what the letter says, sir. In justice to the girl's memory, see
what the letter says."

I felt the earnestness with which he spoke — felt it almost
as a rebuke to me. "You shall form your own judgment on
her letter," I said ; "I will read it out."

I began — and read these lines :

"Sir, — I have something to own to you. A confession
which means much misery may sometimes be made in very
few words. This confession can be made in three words.
I love you."

The letter dropped from my hand. I looked at Betteredge.
"In the name of Heaven," I said, "what does it mean?"

He seemed to shrink from answering the question.

"You and Limping Lucy were alone together this morning,
sir," he said. "Did she say nothing about Rosanna Spear-

man

"She never even mentioned Rosanna Spearman's name."
"Please to go back to the letter, Mr. Franklin. I tell you

plainly, I can't find it in my heart to distress you, after what

you have had to bear already. Let her speak for herself, sir.

And get on with your grog. For your own sake, get on with

your grog."

I resumed the reading of the letter.

"It would be very disgraceful to me to tell you this, if I
was a living woman when you read it. I shall be dead and
gone, sir, when you find my letter. It is that which makes
me bold. Not even my grave will be left to tell of me. I
may own the truth — with the quicksand waiting to hide me
when the words are written.

"Besides, you will find your night-gown in my hiding-

344 ^

THE MOONSTONE

place, with the smear of the paint on it; and you will want
to know how it came to be hidden by me? and why I said
nothing to you about it in my lifetime? I have only one
reason to give. I did these strange things because I loved
you.

"I won't trouble you with much about myself, or my life,
before you came to my lady's house. Lady Verinder took me
out of a Reformatory. I had gone to the Reformatory from
the prison. I was put in the prison, because I was a thief. I
was a thief, because my mother went on the streets when
I was quite a little girl. My mother went on the streets, be-
cause the gentleman who was my father deserted her. There
is no need to tell such a common story as this, at any length.
It is told quite often enough in the newspapers.

"Lady Verinder was very kind to me, and Mr. Betteredge
was very kind to me. Those two and the matron at the Re-
formatory, are the only good people I have ever met with in
all my life. I might have got on in my place — not happily —
but I might have got on, if you had not come visiting. I
don't blame you, sir. It's my fault — all my fault.

"Do you remember when you came out on us from among
the sand-hills, that morning, looking for Mr. Betteredge?
You were like a prince in a fairy-story. You were like a
lover in a dream. You were the most adorable human crea-
ture I had ever seen. Something that felt like the happy
life I had never led yet leaped up in me the instant I set
eyes on you. Don't laugh at this, if you can help it. Oh, if
I could only make you feel how serious it is to me!

"1 went back to the house, and wrote your name and mine
in my work-box, and drew a true-lovers' knot under them.
Then, some devil — no, I ought to say some good angel — whis-
pered to me, 'Go and look in the glass.' The glass told me
— never mind what. I was too foolish to take the warning.
I went on getting fonder and fonder of you, just as if I was
a lady in your own rank of life and the most beautiful crea-
ture your eyes ever rested on. T tried — oh dear, how I tried —
to get you to look at me. If you had known how I used to
cry at night with the misery and the mortification of your
never taking any notice of me, you would have pitied me,
perhaps, and have given me a look now and then to live on.

345

THE MOONSTONE

"It would have been no very kind look, perhaps, if you
had known how I hated Miss Rachel. I believe I found out
you were in love with her before you knew it yourself. She
used to give you roses to wear in your button-hole. Ah, Mr.
Franklin, you wore my roses oftener than either you or she
thought ! The only comfort I had at that time was putting
my rose secretly in your glass of water in place of hers —
and then throwing her rose away.

"If she had been really as pretty as you thouo^ht her, I
might have borne it better. No ; I believe I should have been
more spiteful against her still. Suppose you put Miss Rachel
into a servant's dress, and took her ornaments off — ? I don't
know what is the use of my writing in this way. It can't be
denied that she had a bad figure ; she was too thin. But who
can tell what the men like? And young ladies may behave
in a manner which would cost a servant her place. It's no
business of mine. I can't expect you to read my letter if I
write it in this way. But it does stir one up to hear Miss
Rachel called pretty, when one knows all the time that it's
her dress does it and her confidence in herself.

"Try not to lose patience with me, sir. I will get on as fast
as I can to the time which is sure to interest you — the time
when the Diamond was lost.

"But there is one thing which I have got it on my mind
to tell you first.

"My life was not a very hard life to bear, while I was a
thief. It was only when they had taught me at the Reforma-
tory to feel my own degradation, and to try for better things,
that the days grew long and weary. Thoughts of the future
forced themselves on me now. I felt the dreadful reproach
that honest people — even the kindest of honest people — were
to me in themselves. A heart-breaking sensation of loneliness
kept with me, go where I might, and do what I might, and
see what persons I might. It was my duty, I know, to try
and get on with my fellow-servants in my new place. Some-
how, I couldn't make friends with them. They looked, or
I thought they looked, as if they suspected what I had been.
I don't regret, far from it, having been roused to make the
effort to be a reformed woman ; but, indeed, indeed it was a
weary life. You had come across it like a beam of sunshine

346

THE MOONSTONE

at first — and then you too failed me. I was mad enough to
love you ; and I couldn't even attract your notice. There was
great misery — there really was great misery in that.

"Now I am coming to what I wanted to tell you. In
those days of bitterness I went two or three times, when it
was my turn to go out, to my favorite place — the beach above
the Shivering Sand. And I said to myself, 'I think it will
end here. When I can bear it no longer, I think it will end
here.' You will understand, sir, that the place had laid a
kind of spell on me before you came. I had always had a
notion that something would happen to me at the quicksand.
But I had never looked at it, with the thought of its being
the means of my making away with myself, till the time came
of which I am now writing. Then I did think that here was
a place which would end all my troubles for me in a moment
or two — and hide me forever afterward.

"This is all I have to say about myself, reckoning from
the morning when I first saw you, to the morning when
the alarm was raised in the house that the Diamond was
lost.

"I was so aggravated by the foolish talk among the women
servants, all wondering who was to be suspected first ; and
I was so angry with you, knowing no better at that time, for
the pains you took in hunting for the jewel, and sending for
the police, that I kept as much as possible away by myself,
until later in the day, when the officer from Frizinghall came
to the house.

"Mr. Seegrave began, as you may remember, by setting a
guard on the women's bedrooms ; and the women all followed
him up stairs in a rage, to know what he meant by the insult
he had put on them. I went with iihe rest, because if I had
done any thing different from the rest, Mr. Seegrave was
the sort of man who would have suspected me directly. We
found him in Miss Rachel's room. He told us he wouldn't
have a lot of women there ; and he pointed to the smear on
the painted door, and said some of our petticoats had done
the mischief, and sent us all down stairs again.

"After leaving Miss Rachel's room, I stopped a moment
on one of the landings, by myself, to see if I had got the
paint-stain by any chance on my gown. Penelope Betteredge,

347

THE MOONSTONE

the only one of the women with whom I was on friendly
terms, passed, and noticed what I was about.

" 'You needn't trouble yourself, Rosanna,' she said. 'The
paint on Miss Rachel's door has been dry for hours. If Mr.
Seegrave hadn't set a watch on our bedrooms, I might have
told him as much. I don't know what you think — / was
never so insulted before in my life !'

"Penelope was a hot-tempered girl. I quieted her, and
brought her back to what she had said about the paint on
the door having been dry for hours.

" 'How do you know that ?' I asked.

" 'I was with Miss Rachel and Mr. Franklin all yesterday
morning,' Penelope said, 'mixing the colors, while they fin-
ished the door. I heard Miss Rachel ask whether the door
would be dry that evening, in time for the birthday com-
pany to see it. And Mr. Franklin shook his head and said
it wouldn't be dry in less than twelve hours. It was long past
luncheon-time — it was three o'clock before they had done.
What does your arithmetic say, Rosanna? Mine says the
door was dry by three this morning.'

" 'Did some of the ladies go up stairs yesterday evening to
see it?' I asked. 'I thought I heard Miss Rachel warning
them to keep clear of the door.'

" 'None of the ladies made the smear,' Penelope answered.
'I left Miss Rachel in bed at twelve last night. And I noticed
the door, and there was nothing wrong with it then.'

" 'Oughtn't you to mention this to Mr. Seegrave, Penelope?'

" 'I wouldn't say a word to help Mr. Seegrave for any
thing that could be offered to me !'

"She went to her work, and I went to mine.

"My work, sir, was to make your bed, and to put your
room tidy. It was the happiest hour I had in the whole day.
I used to kiss the pillow on which your head had rested all
night. No matter who has done it since, you have never had
your clothes folded as nicely as I folded them for you. Of
all the little knickknacks in your dressing-case, there wasn't
one that had so much as a speck on it. You never noticed it,
any more than you noticed me. I beg your pardon ; I am
forgetting myself. I will make haste and go on again.

"Well, I went in that morning to do my work in your

348

THE MOONSTONE

room. There was your night-gown tossed across the bed,
just as you had thrown it off. I took it up to fold it — and I
saw the stain of the paint from Miss Rachel's door !

'T was so startled by the discovery that I ran out, with the
night-gown in my hand, and made for the back stairs and
locked myself into my own room, to look at it in a place where
nobody could intrude and interrupt me.

"As soon as I got my breath again I called to mind my
talk with Penelope, and I said to myself, 'Here's the proof
that he was in Miss Rachel's sitting-room between twelve last
night and three this morning !'

"I shall not tell you in plain words what was the first sus-
picion that crossed my mind when I had made that discovery.
You would only be angry — and, if you were angry, you might
tear my letter up and read no more of it.

"Let it he enough, if you please, to say only this. After
thinking it over to the best of my ability, I made it out that
the thing wasn't likely, for a reason that I will tell you. If
you had been in Miss Rachel's sitting-room at that time of
night, with Miss Rachel's knowledge, and if you had been
foolish enough to forget to take care of the wet door, she
would have reminded you — she would never have let you
carry away such a witness against her as the witness I was
looking at now ! At the same time, I own I was not com-
pletely certain in my own mind that I had proved my own
suspicion to be wrong. You will not have forgotten that I
have owned to hating Aliss Rachel. Try to think, if you
can, that there was a little of that hatred in all this. It ended
in my determining to keep the night-gown, and to wait, and
watch, and see what use I might make of it. At that time,
please to remember, not the ghost of an idea entered my head
that you had stolen the Diamond."

There, I broke off in the reading of the letter for the second
time.

I had read those portions of the miserable woman's con-
fession which related to myself with unaffected surprise, and,
I can honestly add, with sincere distress. I had regretted,
truly regretted, the aspersion which I had thoughtlessly cast
on her memory before I had seen a line of her letter. But

349

THE MOONSTONE

when I had advanced as far as the passage which is quoted
above, I own I felt my mind growing bitterer and bitterer
against Rosanna Spearman as I went on. "Read the rest
for yourself," I said, handing the letter to Betteredge across
the table. "If there is any thing in it that I must look at,
you can tell me as you go on."

'T understand you, Mr. Franklin," he answered. "It's
natural, sir, in you. And God help us all !" he added, in a
lower tone, "it's no less natural in her."

I proceed to copy the continuation of the letter from the
original, in my own possession.

"Having determined to keep the night-gown, and to see
what use my love or my revenge, I hardly know which, could
turn it to in the future, the next thing to discover was how
to keep it without the risk of being found out.

"There was only one way — to make another night-gown
exactly like it, before Saturday came and brought the laundry-
woman and her inventory to the house.

"I was afraid to put it ofif till the next day, the Friday ;
being in doubt lest some accident might happen in the in-
terval. I determined to make the new night-gown on that
same day, the Thursday, while I could count, if I played my
cards properly, on having my time to myself. The first
thing to do, after locking up your night-gown in my drawer,
was to go back to your bedroom — not so much to put it to
rights, Penelope would have done that for me, if I had asked
her, as to find out whether you had smeared ofif any of the
paint-stain from your night-gowm on the bed, or on any piece
of furniture in the room.

"I examined every thing narrowly and at last I found a
few faint streaks of the paint on the inside of your dressing-
gown — not the linen dressing-gown you usually wore in that
summer season, but a flannel dressing-gown which you had
with you also. I suppose you felt chilly after walking to and
fro in nothing but your night-dress and put on the warmest
thing you could find. At any rate, there were the stains,
just visible, on the inside of the dressing-gown. I easily got
rid of these by scraping away the stuff of the flannel. This
done, the only proof left against you was the proof locked up
in my drawer.

350

THE MOONSTONE

"I had just finished your room when I was sent for to be
questioned by Mr. Seegrave, along with the rest of the ser-
vants. Next came the examination of all our boxes. And
then followed the most extraordinary event of the day — to me
— since I had found the paint on your night-gown. It came
out of the second questioning of Penelope Betteredge by Su-
perintendent Seegrave.

"Penelope returned to us quite beside herself with rage
at the manner in which Mr. Seegrave had treated her. He
had hinted, beyond the possibility of mistaking him, that he
suspected her of being the thief. We were all equally aston-
ished at hearing this, and we all asked, Why?

" 'Because the Diamond was in Miss Rachel's sitting-room,'
Penelope answered. 'And because I was the last person in
the sitting-room at night !'

"Almost before the words had left her lips I remembered
that another person had been in the sitting-room later than
Penelope. That person was yourself. My head whirled
round and my thoughts were in dreadful confusion. In the
midst of it all, something in my mind whispered to me that
the smear on your night-gown might have a meaning entirely
different to the meaning which I had given to it up to that
time. 'If the last person who was in the room is the person
to be suspected,' I thought to myself, 'the thief is not Penel-
ope, but Mr. Franklin Blake !'

"In the case of any other gentleman I believe I should
have been ashamed of suspecting him of theft almost as soon
as the suspicion had passed through my mind.

"But the bare thought that you had let yourself down to
my level, and that I, in possessing myself of your night-gown,
had also possessed myself of the means of shielding you from
being discovered, and disgraced for life — I say, sir, the bare
thought of this seemed to open such a chance before me of
winning your good-will, that I passed blindfold, as one may
say, from suspecting to believing. I made up my mind, on
the spot, that you had shown yourself the busiest of any body
in fetching the police, as a blind to deceive us all ; and that
the hand which had taken Miss Rachel's jewel could by no
possibility be any other hand than yours.

"The excitement of this new discovery of mine must, T
think, have turned my head for a while. I felt such a de-

351

THE MOONSTONE

vouring eagerness to see you — to try you with a word or two
about the Diamond and to make you look at me and speak
to me, in that way — that I put my hair tidy, and made myself
as nice as I could, and went to you boldly in the library,
where I knew you were writing.

"You had left one of your rings up stairs, which made as
good an excuse for my intrusion as I could have desired. But
oh, sir ! if you have ever loved, you will understand how it
was that all my courage cooled when I walked into the room
and found myself in your presence. And then, you looked up
at me so coldly and you thanked me for finding your ring
in such an indifferent manner, that my knees trembled under
me and I felt as if I should drop on the floor at your feet.
When you had thanked me you looked back, if you remem-
ber, at your writing. I was so mortified at being treated in
this way that I plucked up spirit enough to speak. I said,
'This is a strange thing about the Diamond, sir.' And you
looked up again, and said, 'Yes, it is !' You spoke civilly, I
can't deny that ; but still you kept a distance — a cruel distance
between us. Believing, as I did, that you had got the lost
Diamond hidden about you while you were speaking, your
coolness so provoked me that I got bold enough, in the heat
of the moment, to give you a hint. I said, 'They will never
find the Diamond, sir, will they ? No ! nor the person who
took it — I'll answer for that.' I nodded, and smiled at you,
as much as to say, 'I know !' This time you looked up at
me with something like interest in your eyes ; and I felt that
a few more words on your side and mine might bring out
the truth. Just at that moment Mr. Betteredge spoiled it all
by coming to the door. I knew his footstep and I also knew
that it was against his rules for me to be in the library at that
time of day — let alone being there along with you. I had only
just time to get out of my own accord before he could come
in and tell me to go. I was angry and disappointed, but I
was not entirely without hope, for all that. The ice, you see,
was broken between us — and I thought I would take care, on
the next occasion, that Mr. Betteredge was out of the way.

"When I got back to the servants' hall the bell was going
for our dinner. Afternoon already ! and the materials for
making the new night-gown were still to be got ! There was

352

THE MOONSTONE

but one chance of getting them. I shammed ill at dinner;
and so secured the whole of the interval from then till tea-
time to my own use.

"What I was about while the household believed me to be
lying down in my own room and how I spent the night, after
shamming ill again at tea-time and having been sent up to
bed, there is no need to tell you. Sergeant Cuff discovered
that much, if he discovered nothing more. And I can guess
how. I was detected, though I kept my veil down, in the
draper's shop at Frizinghall. There was a glass in front of
me at the counter where I was buying the long-cloth ; and —
in that glass — I saw one of the shopmen point to my shoulder
and whisper to another. At night again, when I was secretly
at work, locked into my room, I heard the breathing of the
women servants who suspected me outside my door.

"It didn't matter then; it doesn't matter now. On the
Friday morning, hours before Sergeant Cuff entered the
house, there was the new night-gown — to make up your num-
ber in place of the night-gown that I had got — made, wrung
out, dried, ironed, marked, and folded as the laundry-woman
folded all the others, safe in your drawer. There was no fear,
if the linen in the house was examined, of the newness of
the night-gown betraying me. All your under-clothing had
been renewed when you came to our house — I suppose on
your return home from foreign parts.

"The next thing was the arrival of Sergeant Cuff and the
next great surprise was the announcement of what he thought
about the smear on the door.

"I had believed you to be guilty, as I have owned, more
because I wanted you to be guilty than for any other reason.
And now, the Sergeant had come round by a totally different
way to the same conclusion as mine ! And I had got the dress
that was the only proof against you ! And not a living crea-
ture knew it — yourself included ! I am afraid to tell you
how I felt when I called these things to mind — you would
hate my memory forever afterward."

At that place Betteredge looked up from the letter.
"Not a glimmer of light so far, Mr. Franklin." said the old
man, taking off his heavy tortoise-shell spectacles, and push-

-^ ^ ' 353

THE MOONSTONE

ing Rosanna Spearman's confession a little away from him.
"Have you come to any conclusion, sir, in your own mind,
while I have been reading?"

"Finish the letter first, Betteredge ; there may be some-
thing to enlighten us at the end of it. I shall have a word or
two to say to you after that."

"Very good, sir. I'll just rest my eyes, and then I'll go on
again. In the mean time, Mr. Franklin — I don't want to
hurry you — but would you mind telling me, in one word,
whether you see your way out of this dreadful mess yet?"

"I see my way back to London," I said; "to consult Mr.
Brufif. If he can't help me — "

"Yes, sir?"

"And if the Sergeant won't leave his retirement at Dork-
ing-"

"He won't, Mr. Franklin !"

"Then, Betteredge — as far as I can see now — I am at the
end of my resources. After Mr. Bruff and the Sergeant, I
don't know of a living creature who can be of the slightest
use to me."

As the words passed my lips some person outside knocked
at the door of the room.

Betteredge looked surprised as well as annoyed by the in-
terruption.

"Come in," he called out irritably, "whoever you are !"

The door opened, and there entered to us, quietly, the
most remarkable-looking man I had ever seen. Judging him
by his figure and his movements, he was still young. Judging
him by his face, and comparing him with Betteredge, he
looked the elder of the two. His complexion was of a gypsy
darkness : his fleshless cheeks had fallen into deep hollows,
over which the bone projected like a pent-house. His nose
presented the fine shape and modeling so often found among
the ancient people of the East, so seldom visible among the
newer races of the West. His forehead rose high and straight
from the brow. His marks and wrinkles were innumerable.
From this strange face eyes, stranger still, of the softest brown
— eyes dreamy and mournful, and deeply sunk in their orbits
— looked out at you, and, in my case, at least, took your atten-
tion captive at their will. Add to this a quantity of thick

354

THE MOONSTONE

closely-curling hair, which, by some freak of Nature, had
lost its color in the most startlingly partial and capricious
manner. Over the top of his head it was still of the deep
black which was its natural color. Round the sides of his
head — without the slightest gradation of gray to break the
force of the extraordinary contrast — it had turned completely
white. The line between the two colors preserved no sort of
regularity. At one place, the white hair ran up into the black ;
at another, the black hair ran down into the white. I looked
at the man with a curiosity which, I am ashamed to say, I
found it quite impossible to control. His soft brown eyes
looked back at me gently ; and he met my involuntary rude-
ness in staring at him, with an apology which I was conscious
that I had not deserved.

*T beg your pardon," he said. "I had no idea that Mr.
Betteredge was engaged." He took a slip of paper from his
pocket, and handed it to Betteredge. "The list for next
week," he said. His eyes just rested on me again — and he
left the room as quietly as he had entered it.

"Who is that?" I asked.

"Mr. Candy's assistant," said Betteredge. "By-the-bye,
Mr. Franklin, you v/ill be sorry to hear that the little doctor
has never recovered that illness he caught, going home from
the birthday dinner. He's pretty well in health ; but he lost
his memory in the fever, and he has never recovered more
than the wreck of it since. The work all falls on his assistant.
Not much of it now, except among the poor. They can't help
themselves, you know. TJicy must put up with the man with
the piebald hair and the gypsy complexion, or they would get
no doctoring at all."

"You don't seem to like him, Betteredge?"

"Nobody likes him, sir."

"Why is he so unpopular?"

"Well, Mr. Franklin, his appearance is against him, to be-
gin with. And then there's a story that Mr. Candy took him
with a very doubtful character. Nobody knows who he is —
and he hasn't a friend in the place. How can you expect one
to like him after that?"

"Quite impossible, of course ! May I ask what he wanted
with you when he gave you that bit of paper?"

355

THE MOONSTONE

"Only to bring me the weekly list of the sick people about
here, sir, who stand in need of a little wine. My lady always
had a regular distribution of good sound port and sherry
among the infirm poor; and Miss Rachel wishes the custom
to be kept up. Times have changed ; times have changed !
I remember when Mr. Candy himself brought the list to my
mistress. Now it's Mr. Candy's assistant who brings the list
to me. I'll go on with the letter, if you will allow me, sir,"
said Betteredge, drawing Rosanna Spearman's confession
back to him. "It isn't lively reading, I grant you. But, there !
it keeps me from getting sour with thinking of the past."
He put on his spectacles, and wagged his head gloomily.
"There's a bottom of good sense, Mr. Frankhn, in our con-
duct to our mothers, when they first start us on the journey of
life. We are all of us more or less unwilling to be brought
into the world. And we are all of us right."

Mr. Candy's assistant had produced too strong an impres-
sion on me to be immediately dismissed from my thoughts.
I passed over the last unanswerable utterance of the Better-
edge philosophy, and returned to the subject of the man with
the piebald hair,

"What is his name?" I asked.

"As ugly a name as need be," Betteredge answered, gruffly.
"Ezra Jennings."

CHAPTER V.

HAVING told me the name of Mr. Candy's assistant, Bet-
teredge appeared to think that we had wasted enough
of our time on an insignificant subject. He resumed the
perusal of Rosanna Spearman's letter.

On my side, I sat at the window, waiting until he had done.
Little by little, the impression produced on me by Ezra Jen-
nings— it seemed perfectly unaccountable, in such a situation
as mine, that any human being should have produced an
impression on me at all ! — faded from my mind. My thoughts
flowed back into their former channel. Once more, I forced
myself to look my own incredible position resolutely in the
face. Once more, I reviewed in my own mind the course

356

THE MOONSTONE

which I had at last summoned composure enough to plan out
for the future.

To go back to London that day ; to put the whole case be-
fore Mr. Bruff; and, last and most important, to obtain (no
matter by what means or at what sacrifice) a personal inter-
view with Rachel — this was my plan of action, so far as I
was capable of forming it at the time. There was more than
an hour still to spare before the train started. And there was
the bare chance that Betteredge might discover something in
the unread portion of Rosanna Spearman's letter, which it
might be useful for me to know before I left the house in
which the Diamond had been lost. For that chance I was
now waiting.

The letter ended in these terms :

"You have no need to be angry, Mr. Franklin, even if I
did feel some little triumph at knowing that I held all your
prospects in life in my own hands. Anxieties and fears soon
came back to me. With the view Sergeant Cuff took of the
loss of the Diamond, he would be sure to end in examining
our linen and our dresses. There was no place in my room
— there was no place in the house — which I could feel satis-
fied would be safe from him. How to hide the night-gown
so that not even the Sergeant could find it? and how to do
that without losing one moment of precious time? — these
were not easy questions to answer. My uncertainties ended
in my taking a way that may make you laugh. I undressed,
and put the night-gown on me. You had worn it — and I
had another little moment of pleasure in wearing it after you.

"The next news that reached us in the servants' hall showed
that I had not made sure of the night-gown a moment too
soon. Sergeant Cuff wanted to see the washing-book.

"I found it, and took it to him in my lady's sitting-room.
The Sergeant and I had come across each other more than
once in former days. I was certain he would know me again
— and I was not certain of what he might do when he found
me employed as servant in a house in which a valuable jewel
had been lost. In this suspense, I felt it would be a relief
to me to get the meeting between us over, and to know the
worst of it at once.

357

THE MOONSTONE

"He looked at me as if I was a stranger, when I handed
him the washing-book, and he was very specially polite in
thanking me for bringing it. I thought those were both bad
signs. There was no knowing what he might say of me be-
hind my back ; there was no knowing how soon I might not
find myself taken in custody on suspicion, and searched. It
was then time for your return from seeing Mr. Godfrey Able-
white off by the railway and I went to your favorite walk in
the shrubbery, to try for another chance of speaking to you
— the last chance, for all I knew to the contrary, that I might
have.

"You never appeared ; and, what was worse still, Mr. Bet-
teredge and Sergeant Cuff passed by the place where I was
hiding — and the Sergeant saw me.

"I had no choice, after that, but to return to my proper
place and my proper work, before more disasters happened
to me. Just as I was going to step across the path you came
back from the railway. You were making straight for the
shrubbery, when you saw me — I am certain, sir, you saw me
— and you turned away as if I had got the plague, and went
into the house. ^

"I made the best of my way indoors again, returning by
the servants^ entrance. There was nobody in the laundry-
room at that time; and I sat down there alone. I have told
you already of the thoughts which the Shivering Sand put
into my head. Those thoughts came back to me now. I
wondered in myself which it would be hardest to do, if things
went on in this way, — to bear Mr. Franklin Blake's indiffer-
ence to me, or to jump into the quicksand and end it forever
in that way?

"It's useless to ask me to account for my own conduct at
this time. I try — and I can't understand it myself.

"Why didn't I stop you, when you avoided me in that
cruel manner? Why didn't I call out, 'Mr. Franklin, I have
got something to say to you ; it concerns yourself, and you

1 Note: by Franklin Blake. — The writer is entirely mistaken, poor crea-
ture. I never noticed her. My intention was certainly to have taken a turn
in the shrubbery. But, remembering at the same moment that my aunt
might wish to see me, after my return from the railway, I altered my mind,
and went into the house.

THE MOONSTONE

must and shall hear it?' You were at my mercy — I had got
the whip-hand of you, as they say. And better than that, I
had the means, if I could only make you trust me, of being
useful to you in the future. Of course, I never supposed
that you — a gentleman — had stolen the Diamond for the mere
pleasure of stealing it. No. Penelope had heard Miss Rachel,
and I had heard Mr. Betteredge, talk about your extrava-
gance and your debts. It was plain enough to me that you
had taken the Diamond to sell it, or pledge it, and so to get
the money of which you stood in need. Well ! I could have
told you of a man in London who would have advanced a
good large sum on the jewel, and who would have asked no
awkward questions about it either.
^ "Why didn't I speak to you ! why didn't I speak to you !

"I wonder whether the risks and difficulties of keeping the
night-gown were as much as I could manage, without having
other risks and difficulties added to them? This might have
been the case with some women — but how could it be the case
with me? In the days when I was a thief, I had run fifty
times greater risks, and found my way out of difficulties to
which this difficulty was mere child's play. I had been ap-
prenticed, as you may say, to frauds and deceptions — some
of them on such a grand scale, and managed so cleverly, that
they became famous, and appeared in the newspapers. Was
such a little thing as the keeping of the night-gown likely to
weigh on my spirits, and to set my heart sinking within me,
at the time when I ought to have spoken to you? What
nonsense to ask the question ! the thing couldn't be.

"Where is the vise of my dwelling in this way on my own
folly ? The plain truth is plain enough, surely ? Behind your
back, I loved you with all my heart and soul. Before your
face — there's no denying it — I was frightened of you ; fright-
ened of making you angry with me ; frightened of what
vou might say to me, though you Jiad taken the Diamond,
if I presumed to tell you that I had found it out. I had
gone as near to it as I dared when I spoke to you in the
library. You had not turned your back on me then. You
had not started away from me as if I had got the plague. I
tried to provoke myself into feeling angry with you, and to
rouse up my courage in that way. No ! I couldn't feel any

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THE MOONSTONE

thing but the misery and the mortification of it. 'You're a
plain girl ; you have got a crooked shoulder ; you're only a
house-maid — what do you mean by attempting to speak to
me ?' You never uttered a word of that, Mr. FrankUn ; but
you said it all to me, nevertheless ! Is such madness as this
to be accounted for? No. There is nothing to be done but
to confess it, and let it be.

"I ask your pardon, once more, for this wandering of my
pen. There is no fear of its happening again. I am close at
the end now.

"The first person who disturbed me by coming into the
empty room was Penelope. She had found out my secret
long since, and she had done her best to bring me to my
senses — and done it kindly too.

" 'Ah !' she said, 'I know why you're sitting here and fret-
ting, all by yourself. The best thing that can happen for your
advantage, Rosanna, will be for Mr. Franklin's visit here to
come to an end. It's my belief that it won't be long now
before he leaves the house.'

"In all my thoughts of you I had never thought of your
going away. I couldn't speak to Penelope. I could only
look at her.

" 'I've just left Miss Rachel,' Penelope went on. 'And a
hard matter I have had of it to put up with her temper. She
says the house is unbearable to her with the police in it ;
and she's determined to speak to my lady this evening, and
to go to her Aunt Ablewhite to-morrow. If she does that,
Mr. Franklin will be the next to find a reason for going away,
you may depend on it !'

"I recovered the use of my tongue at that. 'Do you mean
to say Mr. Franklin will go with her?' I asked.

" 'Only too gladly, if she would let him ; but she won't.
He has been made to feel her temper ; he is in her black books
too — and that after having done all he can to help her, poor
fellow ! No, no ! If they don't make it up before to-morrow,
you will see Miss Rachel go one way, and Mr. Franklin
another. Where he may betake himself to I can't say. But
he will never stay here, Rosanna, after Miss Rachel has
left us.'

"I managed to master the despair I felt at the prospect of

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THE MOONSTONE

your going away. To own the truth, I saw a Httle glimpse
of hope for myself if there was really a serious disagreement
between Miss Rachel and you. 'Do you know,' I asked, 'what
the quarrel is between them ?'

" 'It's all on Miss Rachel's side,' Penelope said. 'And, for
any thing I know to the contrary, it's all Miss Rachel's temper
and nothing else. I am loath to distress you, Rosanna ; but
don't run away with the notion that Mr. Franklin is ever
likely to quarrel with her. He's a great deal too fond of her
for that !'

"She had only just spoken those cruel words when there
came a call to us from Mr. Betteredge. All the indoor ser-
vants were to assemble in the hall. And then we were to go
in, one by one, and be questioned in Mr. Bcttcredge's room
by Sergeant Cufif.

"It came to my turn to go in, after her ladyship's maid
and the upper house-maid had been questioned first. Ser-
geant Cuff's inquiries — though he wrapped them up very cun-
ningly— soon showed me that those two women, the bitterest
enemies I had in the house, had made their discoveries out-
side my door, on the Thursday afternoon, and again on the
Thursday night. They had told the Sergeant enough to open
his eyes to some part of the truth. He rightly believed me
to have made a new night-gown secretly, but he wrongly
believed the paint-stained night-gown to be mine. I felt
satisfied of another thing, from what he said, which it puzzled
me to understand. He suspected me, of course, of being
concerned in the disappearance of the Diamond. But, at the
same time, he let me see — purposely, as I thought — that he
did not consider me as the person chiefly answerable for the
loss of the jewel. He appeared to think that I had been act-
ing under the direction of somebody else. Who that person
might be, I couldn't guess then, and can't guess now.

"In this uncertainty, one thing was plain — that Sergeant
Cuff was miles away from knowing the whole truth. You
were safe as long as the night-gown was safe — and not a
moment longer.

"I quite despair of making you understand the distress and
terror which pressed upon me now. It was impossible for
me to risk wearing your night-gown any longer. I might

361

THE MOONSTONE

find myself taken off, at a moment's notice, to the police court
at Frizinghall, to be charged on suspicion and searched ac-
cordingly. While Sergeant Cuff still left me free, I had to
choose — and that at once — between destroying the night-
gown, or hiding it in some safe place, at some safe distance
from the house.

"If I had only been a little less fond of you, I think I should
have destroyed it. But, oh ! how could I destroy the only
thing I had which proved that I had saved you from dis-
covery? If we did come to an explanation together and if
you suspected me of having some bad motive and denied it
all, how could I win upon you to trust me, unless I had the
night-gown to produce? Was it wronging you to believe,
as I did and do still, that you might hesitate to let a poor girl
like me be the sharer of your secret, and your accomplice in
the theft which your money-troubles had tempted you to
commit? Think of your cold behavior to me, sir, and you
will hardly wonder at my unwillingness to destroy the only
claim on your confidence and your gratitude which it was my
fortune to possess.

"1 determined to hide it ; and the place I fixed on was the
place I knew best — the Shivering Sand.

"As soon as the questioning was over I made the first ex-
cuse that came into my head, and got leave to go out for a
breath of fresh air. I went straight to Cobb's Hole, to Mr.
Yolland's cottage. His wife and daughter were the best
friends I had. Don't suppose I trusted them with your
secret — I have trusted nobody. All I wanted was to
write this letter to you, and to have a safe opportunity of
taking the night-gown off me. Suspected as I was, I could
do neither of those things, with any sort of security, up at
the house.

"And now I have nearly got through my long letter, writ-
ing it alone in Lucy Yolland's bedroom. When it is done, I
shall go down stairs with the night-gown rolled up, and hid-
den under my cloak. I shall find the means I want for keep-
ing it safe and dry in its hiding-place, among the litter of
old things in Mrs. Yolland's kitchen. And then I shall go
to the Shivering Sand — don't be afraid of my letting my foot-
marks betray me ! — and hide the night-gown down in the

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sand, where no living creature can find it without being first
let into the secret by myself.

"And when that is done, what then?

"Then, Mr. Franklin, I shall have two reasons for making
another attempt to say the words to you which I have not
said yet. If you leave the house, as Penelope believes you
will leave it and if I haven't spoken to you before that, I
shall lose my opportunity forever. That is oj:ie reason. Then,
again, there is the comforting knowledge — if my speaking
does make you angry — that I have got the night-gown ready
to plead my cause for me as nothing else can. That is my
other reason. If these two together don't harden my heart
against the coldness which has hitherto frozen it up, I mean
the coldness of your treatment of me, there will be the end
of my efforts — and the end of my life.

"Yes ; if I miss my next opportunity — if you are as cruel
as ever, and if I feel it again as I have felt it already — good-
bye to the world which has grudged me the happiness that
it gives to others. Good-bye to life, which nothing but a little
kindness from yoii can ever make pleasurable to me again.
Don't blame yourself, sir, if it ends in this way. But try —
do try — to feel some forgiving sorrow for me ! I shall take
care that you find out what I have done for you when I am
past telling you of it myself. Will you say something kind
of me then — in the same gentle way that you have when you
speak to Miss Rachel? If you do that and if there are such
things as ghosts, I believe my ghost will hear it and tremble
with the pleasure of it.

"It's time I left off. I am making myself cry. How am I
to see my way to the hiding-place, if I let these useless tears
come and blind me?

"Besides, why should I look at the gloomy side ? Why not
believe, while I can, that it will end well after all? I may
find you in a good humor to-night — or, if not, I may succeed
better to-morrow morning. I sha'n't improve my poor plain
face by fretting — shall I ? Who knows but I may have filled
all these weary long pages of paper for nothing? They
will go, for safety's sake, never mind now for what other
reason, into the hiding-place, along with the night-gown.
It has been hard, hard work writing my letter. Oh ! if we

2>^3

THE MOONSTONE

only end in understanding each other, how I shall enjoy tear-
ing it up !

*T beg to remain, sir, your true-lover and humble servant,

"RosANNA Spearman."

The reading of the letter was completed by Betteredge in
silence. After carefully putting it back in the envelope, he
sat thinking, with his head bowed down, and his eyes on the
ground.

"Betteredge," I said, "is there any hint to guide us at the
end of the letter?"

He looked up slowly, with a heavy sigh.

"There is nothing to guide you, Mr. Franklin," he an-
swered. "If you will take my advice, you will keep the letter
in the cover till these present anxieties of yours have come
to an end. It will sorely distress you, whenever you read it.
Don't read it now."

I put the letter away in my pocket-book.

A glance back at the sixteenth and seventeenth chapters
of Betteredge's Narrative will show that there really was a
reason for my thus sparing myself, at a time when my forti-
tude had been already cruelly tried. Twice over, the un-
happy woman had made her last attempt to speak to me. And
twice over, it had been my misfortune — God knows how inno-
cently ! — to repel the advances she had made to me. On the
Friday night, as Betteredge truly describes it, she had found
me alone at the billiard-table. Her manner and her language
had suggested to me — and would have suggested to any man
under the circumstances — that she was about to confess a
guilty knowledge of the disappearance of the Diamond. For
her own sake, I had purposely shown no special interest in
what was coming ; for her own sake, I had purposely looked
at the billiard-balls, instead of looking at her — and what had
been the result? I had sent her away from me, wounded to
the heart ! On the Saturday again — on the day when she
must have foreseen, after what Penelope had told her, that
my departure was close at hand — the same fatality still pur-
sued us. She had once more attempted to meet me in the
shrubbery walk, and she had found me there in company with
Betteredge and Sergeant Cuff. In her hearing, the Sergeant,

364

THE MOONSTONE

with his own underhand object in view, had appealed to my
interest in Rosanna Spearman. Again, for the poor crea-
ture's own sake, I had met the poHce officer with a flat denial,
and had declared — loudly declared, so that she might hear me
too — that I felt "no interest whatever in Rosanna Spearman."
At those words, solely designed to warn her against attempt-
ing to gain my private ear, she had turned away, and left the
place : cautioned of her danger, as I then believed ; self-
doomed to destruction, as I know now. From that point, I
have already traced the succession of events which led me
to the astounding discovery at the quicksand. The retrospect
is now complete. I may leave the miserable story of Rosanna
Spearman- — to which, even at this distance of time, I can not
even revert without a pang of distress — to suggest for itself
all that is here purposely left unsaid. I may pass from the
suicide at the Shivering Sand, with its strange and terrible
influence on my present position and my future prospects,
to interests which concern the living people of this narrative
and to events which were already paving my way for the
slow and toilsome journey from the darkness to the light.

CHAPTER VI.

I WALKED to the railway station accompanied, it is need-
less to say, by Gabriel Betteredge. I had the letter in my
pocket and the night-gown safely packed in a little bag —
both to be submitted, before I slept that night, to the investi-
gation of Mr. Bruflf.

We left the house in silence. For the first time in my ex-
perience of him, I found old Betteredge in my company with-
out a word to say to me. Having something to say on my
side, I opened the conversation as soon as we were clear of
the lodge-gates.

"Before I go to London," I began, "I have two questions
to ask you. They relate to myself and I believe they will
rather surprise you."

"If they will put that poor creature's letter out of my head,

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THE MOONSTONE

Mr. Franklin, they may do any thing else they like with me.
Please to begin surprising me, sir, as soon as you can."

"My first question, Betteredge, is this : Was I drunk on
the night of Rachel's birthday ?"

"You drunk!" exclaimed the old man. "Why, it's the
great defect of your character, Mr. Franklin, that you only
drink with your dinner and never touch a drop of liquor
afterward !"

"But the birthday was a special occasion. I might have
abandoned my regular habits, on that night of all others."

Betteredge considered for a moment.

"You did go out of your habits, sir," he said. "And I'll
tell you how. You looked wretchedly ill — and we persuaded
you to have a drop of brandy and water to cheer you up a
little."

"I am not used to brandy and water. It is quite pos-
sible—"

"Wait a bit, Mr. Franklin. I knew you were not used, too.
I poured you out half a wine-glassful of our fifty-year-old
Cognac ; and — more shame for me ! — I drowned that noble
liquor in nigh on a tumblerful of cold water. A child couldn't
have got drunk on it, let alone a grown man !"

I knew I could depend on his memory in a matter of this
kind. It was plainly impossible that I could have been intoxi-
cated. I passed on to the second question.

"Before I was sent abroad, Betteredge, you saw a great
deal of me when I was a boy? Now tell me plainly, do you
remember any thing strange of me, after I had gone to bed
at night? Did you ever discover me walking in my sleep?"

Betteredge stopped, looked at me for a moment, nodded
his head, and walked on again.

"I see your drift now, Mr. Franklin!" he said. "You're
trying to account for how you got the paint on your night-
gown, without knowing it yourself. It won't do, sir. You're
miles away still from getting at the truth. Walk in your
sleep? You never did such a thing in 3'our life!"

Here again I felt that Betteredge must be right. Neither
at home nor abroad had my life ever been of the solitary sort.
If I had been a sleep-walker, there were hundreds on hun-
dreds of people who must have discovered me, and who, in

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THE MOONSTONE

the interests of my own safety, would have warned me of the
habit and have taken precautions to restrain it.

Still, admitting all this, I clung — with an obstinacy which
was surely natural and excusable, under the circumstances —
to one or other of the only two explanations that I could see
which accounted for the unendurable position in which I then
stood. Observing that I was not yet satisfied, Betteredge
shrewdly adverted to certain later events in the history of
the Moonstone ; and scattered both my theories to the winds
at once and forever.

"Let's try it another way, sir," he said. "Keep your own
opinion and see how far it will take you toward finding out
the truth. If w^e are to believe the night-gown — which I
don't, for one — you not only smeared off the paint from the
door without knowing it, but you also took the Diamond
without knowing it. Is that right, so far?"

"Quite right. Go on."

"Very good, sir. We'll say you were drunk, or walking
in your sleep, when you took the jewel. That accounts for
the night and morning after the birthday. But how does
it account for what has happened since that time? The Dia-
mond has been taken to London since that time. The
Diamond has been pledged to Mr. Luker since that time.
Did you do those two things, without knowing it, too ? Were
you drunk when I saw you off in the ponv-chaise on that
Saturday evening? And did you walk in your sleep to Mr.
Luker's, when the train had brought you to your journey's
end? Excuse me for saying it, Mr. Franklin, but this busi-
ness has so upset you, that you're not fit yet to judge for
yourself. The sooner you lay your head alongside of Mr.
Bruff's head, the sooner you will see your way out of the
dead-lock that has got you now."

We reached the station, with only a minute or two to
spare.

I hurriedly gave Betteredge my address in London, so that
he might write to me, if necessary ; promising, on my side,
to inform him of any news which I might have to communi-
cate. This done, and just as I was bidding him farewell, T
happened to glance toward the book-and-newspaper stall.
There was Mr. Candy's remarkable-looking assistant again,

367

THE MOONSTONE

speaking to the keeper of the stall ! Our eyes met at the
same moment. Ezra Jennings took off his hat to me. I re-
turned the salute and got into a carriage just as the train
started. It was a relief to my mind, I suppose, to dwell on
any subject which appeared to be, personally, of no sort of
importance to me. At all events, I began the momentous
journey back which was to take me to Mr. Bruff, wondering
— absurdly enough, I admit — that I should have seen the man
with the piebald hair twice in one day !

The hour at which I arrived in London precluded all hope
of my finding Mr. Bruff at his place of business. I drove
from the railway to his private residence at Hampstead, and
disturbed the old lawyer dozing alone in his dining-room,
with his favorite pug-dog on his lap, and his bottle of wine
at his elbow.

I shall best describe the effect which my story produced
on the mind of Mr. Bruff by relating his proceedings when
he had heard it to the end. He ordered lights and strong
tea, to be taken into his study ; and he sent a message to the
ladies of his family, forbidding them to disturb us on any
pretense whatever. These preliminaries disposed of, he first
examined the night-gown and then devoted himself to the
reading of Rosanna Spearman's letter.

The reading completed, Mr. Bruff addressed me for the
first time since we had been shut up together in the seclusion
of his own room.

"Franklin Blake," said the old gentleman, "this is a very
serious matter, in more respects than one. In my opinion,
it concerns Rachel quite as nearly as it concerns you. Her
extraordinary conduct is no mystery nozv. She believes you
have stolen the Diamond."

I had shrunk from reasoning my own way fairly to that
revolting conclusion. But it had forced itself on me never-
theless. My resolution to obtain a personal interview with
Rachel rested really and truly on the ground just stated by
Mr. Bruff.

"The first step to take in this investigation," the lawyer
proceeded, "is to appeal to Rachel. She has been silent all
this time, from motives which I, who know her character,

368

THE MOONSTONE

can readily understand. It is impossible, after what has hap-
pened, to submit to that silence any longer. She must be
persuaded to tell us, or she must be forced to tell us, on what
grounds she bases her belief that you took the Moonstone.
The chances are, that the whole of this case, serious as it
seems now, will tumble to pieces, if we can only break through
Rachel's inveterate reserve, and prevail upon her to speak
out."

"That is a very comforting opinion for me," I said. "I
own I should like to know — "

"You would like to know how I can justify it," interposed
Mr. Bruff. "I can tell you in two minutes. Understand, in
the first place, that I look at this matter from a lawyer's point
of view. It's a question of evidence with me. Very well.
The evidence breaks down, at the outset, on one important
point."

"On what point?"

"You shall hear. I admit that the mark of the name proves
the night-gown to be yours. I admit that the mark of the
paint proves the night-gown to have made the smear on
Rachel's door. But what evidence is there, before you or be-
fore me, to prove that you are the person who wore the night-
gown ?"

The objection electrified me. It had never occurred to
my mind vmtil that moment.

"As to this," pursued the lawyer, taking up Rosanna Spear-
man's confession, "I can understand that the letter is a dis-
tressing one to yon. I can understand that you may hesitate
to analyze it from a purely impartial point of view. But /
am not in your position. I can bring my professional experi-
ence to bear on this document, just as I should bring it to
bear on any other. Without alluding to the woman's career
as a thief, I will merely remark that her letter proves her to
have been an adept at deception, on her own showing; and
I argue from that, that I am justified in suspecting her of
not having told the whole truth. I won't start any theory,
at present, as to what she may or may not have done. I will
only say that, if Rachel has suspected you on the evidence of
the night-gown only, the chances are ninety-nine to a hundred
that Rosanna Spearman was the person who showed it to

24 369

THE MOONSTONE

her. In that case, there is the woman's letter, confessing that
she was jealous of Rachel, confessing that she changed the
roses, confessing that she saw a glimpse of hope for herself,
in the prospect of a quarrel between Rachel and you. I don't
stop to ask who took the Moonstone — as a means to her end,
Rosanna Spearman would have taken fifty Moonstones — I
only say that the disappearance of the jewel gave this re-
claimed thief, who was in love with you, an opportunity of
setting you and Rachel at variance for the rest of your lives.
She had not decided on destroying herself, then, remember ;
and, having the opportunity, I distinctly assert that it was
in her character, and in her position at the time, to take it.
What do you say to that?"

"Some such suspicion," I answered, "crossed my own
mind, as soon as I opened the letter."

"Exactly ! And when you had read the letter, you pitied
the poor creature, and couldn't find it in your heart to suspect
her. Does you credit, my dear sir — does you credit !"

"But suppose it turns out that I did wear the night-gown?
What then?"

"I don't see how that fact is to be proved," said Mr. Bruif.
"But assuming the proof to be possible, the vindication of
your innocence would be no easy matter. We won't go into
that, now. Let us wait and see whether Rachel hasn't sus-
pected you on the evidence of the night-gown only."

"Good God, how coolly you talk of Rachel suspecting me !"
I broke out. "What right has she to suspect me, on any evi-
dence, of being a thief?"

"A very sensible question, my dear sir. Rather hotly put
— but well worth considering for all that. What puzzles you,
puzzles me too. Search your memory, and tell me this : Did
any thing happen while you were staying at the house — not,
of course, to shake Rachel's belief in your honor — but, let
us say, to shake her belief, no matter with how little reason,
in your principles generally?"

I started, in ungovernable agitation, to my feet. The law-
yer's question reminded me, for the first time since I had left
England, that something had happened.

In the eighth chapter of Betteredge's Narrative, an allusion
will be found to the arrival of a foreigner and a stranger at

3,7°

THE MOONSTONE

my aunt's house, who came to see me on business. The
nature of his business was this :

I had been foohsh enough, being, as usual, straitened
for money at the time, to accept a loan from the keeper of a
small restaurant in Paris, to whom I was well known as a
customer. A time was settled between us for paying the
money back ; and when the time came, I found it, as thousands
of other honest men have found it, impossible to keep my
engagement. I sent the man a bill. My name was unfortu-
nately too well known on such documents : he failed to nego-
tiate it. His affairs had fallen into disorder, in the interval
since I had borrowed of him ; bankruptcy stared him in the
face ; and a relative of his, a French lawyer, came to England
to find me and to insist on the payment of my debt. He was
a man of violent temper ; and he took the wrong way with
me. High words passed on both sides ; and my aunt and
Rachel were unfortunately in the next room and heard us.
Lady Verinder came in, and insisted on knowing what was
the matter. The Frenchman produced his credentials, and
declared me to be responsible for the ruin of a poor man, who
had trusted in my honor. My aunt instantly paid him the
money and sent him off. She knew me better, of course,
than to take the Frenchman's view of the transaction. But
she was shocked at my carelessness, and justly angry with
me for placing myself in a position which, but for her inter-
ference, might have become a very disgraceful one. Either
her mother told her, or Rachel heard what passed — I can't
say which. She took her own romantic, high-flown view of
the matter. I was ''heartless" ; I was "dishonorable" ; I had
"no principle" ; there was "no knowing what I might do next"
— in short, she said some of the severest things to me which
I had ever heard from a young lady's lips. The breach be-
tween us lasted for the whole of the next day. The day
after, I succeeded in making my peace and thought no more
of it. Had Rachel reverted to this unlucky accident at the
critical moment when my place in her estimation was again,
and far more seriously, assailed? Mr. Bruff, when I had
mentioned the circumstances to him, answered that question
at once in the affirmative.

"It would have its effect on her mind," he said, gravely.

371

THE MOONSTONE

"And I wish, for your sake, the thing had not happened.
However, we have discovered that there was a predisposing
influence against you — and there is one uncertainty cleared
out of our way, at any rate. I see nothing more that we can
do now. Our next step in this inquiry must be the step that
tal<es us to Rachel."

He rose, and began walking thoughtfully up and down the
room. Twice I was on the point of telling him that I had
determined on seeing Rachel personally ; and twice, having
regard to his age and his character, I hesitated to take him
by surprise at an unfavorable moment.

"The grand difficulty is," he resumed, "how to make her
show her whole mind in this matter, without reserve. Have
you any suggestion to offer?"

"I have made up my mind, Mr. Bruff, to speak to Rachel
myself."

"You !" He suddenly stopped in his walk, and looked at
me as if he thought I had taken leave of my senses. "You,
of all the people in the world !" He abruptly checked him-
self and took another turn in the room. "Wait a little," he
said. "In cases of this extraordinary kind, the rash way is
sometimes the best way." He considered the question for a
moment or two, under that new light, and ended boldly by a
decision in my favor. "Nothing venture, nothing have," the
old gentleman resumed. "You have a chance in your favor
which I don't possess — and you shall be the first to try the
experiment."

"A chance in my favor?" I repeated, in the greatest sur-
prise.

Mr. Bruff's face softened, for the first time, into a smile.

"This is how it stands," he said. "I tell you fairly, I don't
trust your discretion, and I don't trust your temper. But I
do trust in Rachel's still preserving, in some remote little
corner of her heart, a certain perverse weakness for yon.
Touch that — and trust to the consequences for the fullest dis-
closure that can flow from a woman's lips ! The question is
— how are you to see her?"

"She has been a guest of yours at this house," I answered.
"May I venture to suggest — if nothing was said about me
beforehand — that I might see her here?"

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THE MOONSTONE

"Cool !" said Mr. Bruff. With that one word of comment
on the reply that I had made to him, he took another turn
up and down the room.

"In plain English," he said, "my house is to be turned into
a trap to catch Rachel; with a bait to tempt her, in the
shape of an invitation from my wife and daughters. If you
were any body else but Franklin Blake, and if this matter
was one atom less serious than it really is, I should refuse
point-blank. As things are, I firmly believe Rachel will live
to thank me for turning traitor to her in my old age. Con-
sider me your accomplice. Rachel shall be asked to spend the
day here ; and you shall receive due notice of it."

"When ? To-morrow ?"

"To-morrow won't give us time enough to get her answer.
Say the day after."

"How shall I hear from you ?"

"Stay at home all the morning, and expect me to call on
you."

I thanked him for the inestimable assistance which he was
rendering to me, with the gratitude which I really felt ; and,
declining a hospitable invitation to sleep that night at Hamp-
stead, returned to my lodgings in London.

Of the day that followed, I have only to say that it was
the longest day of my life. Innocent as I knew myself to
be, certain as I was that the abominable imputation which
rested on me must sooner or later be cleared off, there was
nevertheless a sense of self-abasement in my mind which in-
stinctively disinclined me to see any of my friends. We often
hear, almost invariably, however, from superficial observers,
that guilt can look like innocence. I believe it to be infinitely
the truer axiom of the two that innocence can look like guilt.
I caused myself to be denied, all day, to every visitor who
called ; and I only ventured out under cover of the night.

The next morning Mr. Bruff surprised me at the breakfast-
table. He handed me a large key, and announced that he
felt ashamed of himself for the first time in his life.

"Is she coming?"

"She is coming to-day, to lunch and spend the afternoon
with my wife and my girls."

"Are Mrs. Bruff and your daughters in the secret?"

373

THE MOONSTONE

"Inevitably. But women, as you may have observed, have
no principles. My family don't feel my pangs of conscience.
The end being to bring you and Rachel together again, my
wife and daughters pass over the means employed to gain it,
as composedly as if they were Jesuits."

"I am infinitely obliged to them. What is this key?"

"The key of the gate in my back-garden wall. Be there
at three this afternoon. Let yourself into the garden, and
make your way in by the conservatory door. Cross the small
drawing-room, and open the door in front of you which leads
into the music-room. There you will find Rachel — and find
her alone."

"How can I thank you?"

"I will tell you how. Don't blame me for what happens
afterward."

With those words, he went out.

I had many weary hours still to wait through. To while
away the time, I looked at my letters. Among them was a
letter from Betteredge.

I opened it eagerly. To my surprise and disappointment,
it began with an apology warning me to expect no news of
any importance. In the next sentence the everlasting Ezra
Jennings appeared again ! He had stopped Betteredge on the
way out of the station, and had asked who I was. Informed
on this point, he had mentioned having seen me to his master,
Mr. Candy. Mr. Candy hearing of this, had himself driven
over to Betteredge, to express his regret at our having missed
each other. He had a reason for wishing particularly to speak
to me ; and when I was next in the neighborhood of Frizing-
hall, he begged I would let him know. Apart from a few
characteristic utterances of the Betteredge philosophy, this
was the sum and substance of my correspondent's letter. The
warm-hearted, faithful old man acknowledged that he had
written "mainly for the pleasure of writing to me."

I crumpled up the letter in my pocket, and forgot it the
moment after, in the all-absorbing interest of my coming
interview with Rachel.

As the clock of Hampstead church struck three, I put Mr.
Bruff's key into the lock of the door in the wall. When I
first stepped into the garden and while I was securing the

374

THE MOONSTONE

door again on the inner side, I own to having felt a certain
guilty doubtfulness about what might happen next. I looked
furtively on either side of me, suspicious of the presence of
some unexpected witness in some unknown corner of the
garden. Nothing appeared, to justify my apprehensions.
The walks were, one and all, solitudes ; and the birds and
the bees were the only witnesses.

I passed through the garden ; entered the conservatory ;
and crossed the small drawing-room. As I laid my hand on
the door opposite, I heard a few plaintive chords struck on
the piano in the room within. She had often idled over the
instrument in this way, when I was staying at her mother's
house. I was obliged to wait a little, to steady myself. The
past and present rose, side by side, at that supreme moment
— and 'the contrast shook me.

After the lapse of a few moments, I roused my manhood,
and opened the door.

CHAPTER Vn.

AT the moment when I showed myself in the door-way,
. Rachel rose from the piano.

I closed the door behind me. We confronted each other
in silence, with the full length of the room between us. The
movement she had made in rising appeared to be the one
exertion of which she was capable. All use of every other
faculty, bodily or mental, seemed to be merged in the mere
act of looking at me.

A fear crossed my mind that I had shown myself too sud-
denly. I advanced a few steps toward her. I said gently,
"Rachel !"

The sound of my voice brought the life back to her limbs,
and the color to her face. She advanced, on her side, still
without speaking. Slowly, as if she was acting under some
influence independent of her own will, she came nearer and
nearer to me ; the warm dusky color flushing her cheeks, the
light of reviving intelligence brightening every instant in her
eyes. I forgot the object that had brought me into her pres-
ence ; I forgot the vile suspicion that rested on my good name

375

THE MOONSTONE

— I forgot every consideration, past, present, and future^
which I was bound to remember. I saw nothing but the
woman I loved coming nearer and nearer to me. She trem-
bled ; she stood irresolute. I could resist it no longer — I
caught her in my arms, and covered her face with kisses.

There was a moment when I thought the kisses were re-
turned; a moment when it seemed as if she, too, might have
forgotten. Almost before the idea could shape itself in my
mind, her first voluntary action made me feel that she remem-
bered. With a cry which was like a cry of horror — with a
strength which I doubt if I could have resisted if I had tried
— she thrust me back from her. I saw merciless anger in her
eyes ; I saw merciless contempt on her lips. She looked me
over, from head to foot, as she might have looked at a stranger
who had insulted her.

"You coward !" she said. "You mean, miserable, heartless
coward !"

Those were her first words ! The most unendurable re-
proach tliat a woman can address to a man was the reproach
that she picked out to address to me.

'T remember the time, Rachel," I said, ."when you could
have told me that I had offended you in a worthier way than
that. I beg your pardon."

Something of the bitterness that I felt may have commu-
nicated itself to my voice. At the first words of my reply,
her eyes, which had been turned away the moment before,
looked back at me unwillingly. She answered in a low tone,
with a sullen submission of manner which was quite new in
my experience of her.

"Perhaps there is some excuse for me," she said. "After
what you have done, it seems a mean action, on your part,
to find your way to me as you have found it to-day. It seems
a cowardly experiment, to try an experiment on my weakness
for you. It seems a cowardly surprise, to surprise me into
letting you kiss me. But that is only a woman's view. I
ought to have known it couldn't be 3'our view. I should have
done better if I had controlled myself and said nothing."

The apology was more unendurable than the insult. The
most degraded man living would have felt humiliated by it.

"If my honor was not in your hands," I said, "I would

376

THE MOONSTONE

leave you this instant, and never see you again. You have
spoken of what I have done. What have I done ?"

"What have you done ! Yoti ask that question of me ?"

'T ask it."

"I have kept your infamy a secret," she answered. "And
I have suffered the consequences of conceahng it. Have I
no claim to be spared the insult of your asking me what you
have done? Is all sense of gratitude dead in you? You
were once a gentleman. You were once dear to my mother,
and dearer still to me — "

Her voice failed her. She dropped into a chair, and turned
her back on me, and covered her face with her hands.

I waited a little before I trusted myself to say any more.
In that moment of silence I hardly know which I felt most
keenly — the sting which her contempt had planted in me, or
the proud resolution which shut me out from all community
with her distress.

"If you will not speak first," I said, "I must. I have come
here with something serious to say to you. Will you do mc
the common justice of listening while I say it?"

She neither moved nor answered. I made no second ap-
peal to her ; I never advanced an inch nearer to her chair.
With a pride which was as obstinate as her pride, I told her
of my discovery at the Shivering Sand, and of all that had
led to it. The narrative, of necessity, occupied some little
time. From beginning to end she never looked round at mc,
and she never uttered a word.

I kept my temper. My whole future depended, in all prob-
ability, on my not losing possession of myself at that moment.
The time had come to put Mr. Bruff's theory to the test. In
the breathless interest of trying that experiment, I moved
round so as to place myself in front of her.

"I have a question to ask you," I said. "It obliges me to
refer again to a painful subject. Did Rosanna Spearman
show you the night-gown? Yes, or No?"

She started to her feet ; and walked close up to mc
of her own accord. Her eyes looked me scarchingly in the
face, as if to read something there which they had never
read yet.

"Are you mad?" she asked.

377

THE MOONSTONE

I still restrained myself. I said, quietly, "Rachel, will you
answer my question ?"

She went on, without heeding me,

"Have you some object to gain which I don't understand?
Some mean fear about the future, in which I am concerned?
They say your father's death has made you a rich man. Have
you come here to compensate me for the loss of my Diamond ?
And have you heart enough left to feel ashamed of your
errand? Is that the secret of your pretense of innocence,
and your story about Rosanna Spearman ? Is there a motive
of shame at the bottom of all the falsehood, this time?"

I stopped her there. I could control myself no longer.

"You have done me an infamous wrong !" I broke out
hotly. "You suspect me of stealing your Diamond. I have
a right to know, and I zeill know, the reason why !"

"Suspect you !" she exclaimed, her anger rising with mine.
"You villain, I saw you take the Diamond with my ozvn eyes!"

The revelation which burst upon me in those words, the
overthrow which they instantly accomplished of the whole
view of the case on which Mr. Bruff had relied, struck me
helpless. Innocent as I was, I stood before her in silence.
To her eyes, to any eyes, I must have looked like a man over-
whelmed by the discovery of his own guilt.

She drew back from the spectacle of my humiliation, and
of her triumph. The sudden silence that had fallen upon
me seemed to frighten her. "I spared you at the time," she
said. "I would have spared you now, if you had not forced
me to speak." She moved away as if to leave the room —
and hesitated before she got to the door. "Why did you come
here to humiliate yourself?" she asked. "Why did you come
here to humiliate me?" She went on a few steps, and paused
once more. "For God's sake say something!" she exclaimed,
passionately. "If you have any mercy left, don't let me de-
grade myself in this way ! Say something — and drive me out
of the room !"

I advanced toward her, hardly conscious of what I was
doing. I had possibly some confused idea of detaining her
until she had told me more. From the moment when I knew
that the evidence on which I stood condemned in Rachel's
mind, was the evidence of her own eyes, nothing — not even

378

THE MOONSTONE

my conviction of my own innocence — was clear in my mind.
I took her by the hand ; I tried to speak firmly and to the
purpose. All I could say was, "Rachel, you once loved me."
She shuddered, and looked away from me. Her hand lay
powerless and trembling in mine. "Let go of it," she said,
faintly.

My touch seemed to have the same effect on her
which the sound of my voice had produced when I first
entered the room. After she had said the word which called
me a coward, after she had made the avowal which branded
me as a thief — while her hand lay in mine I was her mas-
ter still!

1 drew her gently back into the middle of the room. I
seated her by the side of me. "Rachel," I said, 'T can't ex-
plain the contradiction in what I am going to tell you. I
can only speak the truth as you have spoken it. You saw
me — with your own eyes, you saw me take the Diamond.
Before God who hears us, I declare that I now know I took
it for the first time ! Do you doubt me still ?"

She had neither heeded nor heard me. "Let go of my
hand," she repeated, faintly. That was her only answer.
Her head sank on my shoulder; and her hand unconsciously
closed on mine, at the moment when she asked me to re-
lease it.

I refrained from pressing the question. But there my for-
bearance stopped. My chance of ever holding up my head
again among honest men depended on my chance of inducing
her to make her disclosure complete. The one hope left for
me was the hope that she might have overlooked something
in the chain of evidence — some mere trifle, perhaps, which
might nevertheless, under careful investigation, be made the
means of vindicating my innocence in the end. I own I kept
possession of her hand. I own I spoke to her with all that
I could summon back of the sympathy and the confidence
of the by-gone time.

"I want to ask you something," I said. "I want you to
tell me every thing that happened, from the time when we
wished each other good-night, to the time when you saw me
take the Diamond."

She lifted her head from my shoulder, and made an eflFort

379

THE MOONSTONE

to release her hand. "Oh, why go back to it!" she said.
"Why go back to it!"

"I will tell you why, Rachel. You are the victim, and I
am the victim, of some monstrous delusion which has worn
the mask of truth. If we look at what happened on the
night of your birthday, together, we may end in understand-
ing each other yet."

Her head dropped back on my shoulder. The tears gath-
ered in her eyes, and fell slowly over her cheeks. "Oh !" she
said, "have / never had that hope? Have / not tried to see
it, as you are trying now ?"

"You have tried by yourself," I answered. "You have not
tried with me to help you."

Those words seemed to awaken in her something of the
hope which I felt myself when I uttered them. She replied
to my questions with more than docility — she exerted her
intelligence ; she willingly opened her whole mind to me.

"Let us begin," I said, "with what happened after we had
wished each other good-night. Did you go to bed? or did
you sit up ?"

"I went to bed."

"Did you notice the time? Was it late?"

"Not very. About twelve o'clock, I think."

"Did you fall asleep?"

"No. I couldn't sleep that night."

"You were restless?"

"I was thinking of you."

The answer almost unmanned me. Something in the tone,
even more than in the words, went straight to my heart. It
was only after pausing a little first that I was able to go on.

"Had you any light in your room?" I asked.

"None — until I got up again, and lit my candle."

"How long was that after you had gone to bed?"

"About an hour after, I think. About one o'clock."

"Did you leave your bedroom?"

"I was going to leave it. I had put on my dressing-gown ;
and I was going into my sitting-room to get a book — "

"Had you opened your bedroom door?"

'T had just opened it."

"But you had not gone into the sitting-room?"

380

THE MOONSTONE

"No — I was stopped from going into it."

"What stopped you?"

"I saw a light under the door; and I heard footsteps ap-
proaching it."

"Were you frightened?"

"Not then. I knew my poor mother was a bad sleeper ;
and I remembered that she had tried hard that evening to
persuade me to let her take charge of my Diamond. She
was unreasonably anxious about it, as I thought ; and I
fancied she was coming to me to see if I was in bed, and to
speak to me about the Diamond again, if she found that I
was up."

"What did you do?"

"I blew out my candle, so that she might think I was in
bed. I was unreasonable, on my side — I was determined to
keep my Diamond in the place of my own choosing."

"After blowing the candle out, did you go back to bed?"

"I had no time to go back. At the moment when I blew
the candle out the sitting-room door opened, and I saw — "

"You saw?"

"You."

"Dressed as usual?"

"No."

"In my night-gown?"

"In your night-gown — with your bedroom candle in your
hand."

"Alone?"

"Alone."

"Could you see my face?"

"Yes."

"Plainly?"

"Quite plainly. The candle in your hand showed it to me."

"Were my eyes open?"

"Yes."

"Did you notice any thing strange in them? Any thing
like a fixed, vacant expression ?"

"Nothing of the sort. Your eyes were bright — brighter
than usual. You looked about in the room as if you knew
you were where you ought not to be and as if you were afraid
of being found out."

381

THE MOONSTONE

"Did you observe one thing when I came into the room —
did you observe how I walked?"

"You walked as you always do. You came in as far as
the middle of the room — and then you stopped and looked
about you."

"What did you do on first seeing me?"

"I could do nothing. I was petrified. I couldn't speak,
I couldn't call out, I couldn't even move to shut my door."

"Could I see you where you stood?"

"You might certainly have seen me. But you never looked
toward me. It's useless to ask the question. I am sure you
never saw me."

"How are you sure ?"

"Would you have taken the Diamond? would you have
acted as you did afterward? would you be here now — if you
had seen that I was awake and looking at you ? Don't make
me talk of that part of it! I want to answer you quietly.
Help me to keep as calm as I can. Go on to something else."

She was right — in every way, right. I went on to other
things.

"What did I do after I had got to the middle of the room
and had stopped there?"

"You turned away, and went straight to the corner near
the window — where my Indian cabinet stands."

"When I was at the cabinet my back must have been turned
toward you. How did you see what I was doing?"

"When you moved, I moved."

"So as to see what I was about with my hands?"

"There are three glasses in my sitting-room. As you stood
there I saw all that you did reflected in one of them."

"What did you see?"

"You put your candle on the top of the cabinet. You opened
and shut one drawer after another until you came to the
drawer in which I had put my Diamond. You looked at the
drawer for a moment. And then you put your hand in and
took the Diamond out."

"How do you know I took the Diamond out?"

"I saw your hand go into the drawer. And I saw the
gleam of the stone, between your finger and thumb, when
you took your hand out."

382

THE MOONSTONE

"Did my hand approach the drawer again — to close it, for
instance?"

"No. You had the Diamond in your right hand; and
you took the candle from the top of the cabinet with your
left hand."

"Did I look about me again after that?"

"No."

"Did I leave the room immediately?"

"No. You stood quite still for what seemed a long time.
I saw your face sideways in the glass. You looked like a
man thinking and dissatisfied with his own thoughts."

"What happened next?"

"You roused yourself on a sudden, and you went straight
out of the room."

"Did I close the door after me?"

"No. You passed out quickly into the passage, and left
the door open."

"And then?" _

"Then your light disappeared, and the sound of your steps
died away, and I was left alone in the dark."

"Did nothing happen — from that time to the time when
the whole house knew that the Diamond was lost?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure of that ? Might you not have been asleep a
part of the time ?"

"I never slept. I never went back to my bed. Nothing
happened until Penelope came in, at the usual time in the
morning."

I dropped her hand, and rose, and took a turn in the room.
Every question that I could put had been answered. Every
detail that I could desire to know had been placed before
me. I had even reverted to the idea of sleep-walking and
the idea of intoxication ; and, again, the worthlessness of the
one theory and the other had been proved — on the authorit}',
this time, of the witness who had seen me. What was to be
said next? what was to be done next? There rose the hor-
rible fact of the Theft — the one visible, tangible object that
confronted me, in the midst of the impenetrable darkness
which enveloped all besides ! Not a glimpse of light to guide
me, when I had possessed myself of Rosanna Spearman's

3^3

THE MOONSTONE

secret at the Shivering Sand. And not a ghmpse of Hght
now, when I had appealed to Rachel herself, and had heard
the hateful story of the night from her own lips.

She was the first, this time, to break the silence.

"Well?" she said, "you have asked, and I have answered.
You have made me hope something from all this, because
you hoped something from it. What have you to say now?"

The tone in which she spoke warned me that my influence
over her was a lost influence once more.

"We were to look at what happened on my birthday night,
together," she went on ; "and we were then to understand
each other. Have we done that?"

She waited pitilessly for my reply. In answering her I
committed a fatal error — I let the exasperating helplessness
of my situation get the better of my self-control. Rashly
and uselessly, I reproached her for the silence which had kept
me until that moment in ignorance of the truth.

"If you had spoken when you ought to have spoken," I
began; "if you had done me the common justice to explain
yourself — "

She broke in on me with a cry of fury. The few words I
had said seemed to have lashed her on the instant into a
frenzy of .rage.

"Explain myself !" she repeated. "Oh ! is there another
man like this in the world? I spare him, when my heart is
breaking; I screen him when my own character is at stake;
and he — of all human beings, he — turns on me now, and tells
me that I ought to have explained myself! After believing
in him as I did, after loving him as I did, after thinking of
him by day, and dreaming of him by night — he wonders why
I didn't charge him with his disgrace the first time we met :
'My heart's darling, you are a thief! My hero whom I love
and honor, you have crept into my room under cover of the
night, and stolen my Diamond !' That is what I ought to
have said. You villain, you mean, mean, mean villain, I
would have lost fifty Diamonds rather than see your face
lying to me, as I see it lying now !"

I took up my hat. In mercy to her — yes ! I can honestly
say it — in mercy to her, I turned away without a word, and
opened the door by which I had entered the room.

384

THE MOONSTONE

She followed, and snatched the door out of my hand ; she
closed it, and pointed back to the place that I had left.

"No!" she said. "Not yet! It seems that / owe a justi-
fication of my conduct to you. You shall stay and hear it.
Or you shall stoop to the lowest infamy of all and force your
way out."

It wrung my heart to see her; it wrung my heart to hear
it. I answered by a sign — it was all I could do — that I sub-
mitted myself to her will.

The crimson flush of anger began to fade out of her face
as I went back and took my chair in silence. She waited a
little, and steadied herself. When she went on but one sign
of feeling was discernible in her. She spoke without looking
at me. Her hands were fast clasped in her lap, and her eyes
were fixed on the ground.

"I ought to have done you the common justice to explain
myself," she said, repeating my own words. "You shall see
whether I did try to do you justice or not. I told you just
now that I never slept, and never returned to my bed, after
you had left my sitting-room. It's useless to trouble you
by dwelling on what I thought — you wouldn't understand
my thoughts — I will only tell you what I did when time
enough had passed to help me to recover myself. I refrained
from alarming the house, and telling every body what had
happened — as I ought to have done. In spite of what I had
seen I was fond enough of you to believe — no matter what !
— any impossibility, rather than admit it to my own mind
that you were deliberately a thief. I thought and thought
— and I ended in writing to you."

"I never received the letter."

"I know you never* received it. Wait a little, and you
shall hear why. My letter would have told you nothing
openly. It would not have ruined you for life, if it had fallen
into some other person's hands. It would only have said —
in a manner which you yourself could not possibly have mis-
taken— that I had reason to know you were in debt, and that
it was in my experience and in my mother's experience of
you, that you were not very discreet, or very scrupulous about
how you got money when you wanted it. You would have
remembered the visit of the French lawyer, and you would

^ 385

THE MOONSTONE

have known what I referred to. If you had read on with
some interest after that, you would have come to an offer I
had to make to you — the offer, privately — not a word, mind,
to be said openly about it between us! — of the loan of as
large a sum of money as I could get. — And I would have got
it!" she exclaimed, her color beginning to rise again, and her
eyes looking up at me once more. "I would have pledged
the Diamond myself, if I could have got the money in no
other way ! In those words, I wrote to you. Wait ! I did
more than that. I arranged with Penelope to give you the
letter when nobody was near. I planned to shut myself into
my bedroom, and to have the sitting-room left open and
empty all the morning. And I hoped — with all my heart and
soul I hoped ! — that you would take the opportunity, and put
the Diamond back secretly in the drawer."

I attempted to speak. She lifted her hand impatiently and
stopped me. In the rapid alternations of her temper, her
anger was beginning to rise again. She got up from her chair
and approached me.

"I know what you are going to say," she went on. "You
are going to remind me again that you never received my
letter. I can tell you why. I tore it up."

"For what reason?" I asked.

"For the best of reasons. I preferred tearing it up to
throwing it away upon such a man as you ! What was the
first news that reached me in the morning? Just as my little
plan was complete, what did I hear? I heard that you —
you ! — were the foremost person in the house in fetching the
police. You were the active man ; you were the leader ; you
were working harder than any of them to recover the jewel !
You even carried your audacity far enough to ask to speak
to me about the loss of the Diamond — the Diamond which you
yourself had stolen ; the Diamond which was all the time in
your own hands ! After that proof of your horrible falseness
and cunning, I tore up my letter. But even then — even when
I was maddened by the searching and questioning of the
policeman, whom you had sent in — even then, there was some
infatuation in my mind which wouldn't let me give you up.
I said to myself, 'He has played his vile farce before every
body else in the house. Let me try if he can play it before

386

THE MOONSTONE

me.' Somebody told me you were on the terrace. I went
down to the terrace. I forced myself to look at you ; I forced
myself to speak to you. Have you forgotten what I said?"

I might have answered that I remembered every word of
it. But what purpose, at that moment, would the answer
have served?

How could I tell her that what she had said had aston-
ished me, had distressed me, had suggested to me that she
was in a state of dangerous nervous excitement, had even
roused a moment's doubt in my mind whether the loss of
the jewel was as much a mystery to her as to the rest of us —
but had never once given me so much as a glimpse at the
truth ? Without the shadow of a proof to produce in vindica-
tion of my innocence, how could I persuade her that I knew
no more than the veriest stranger could have known of what
was really in her thoughts when she spoke to me on the
terrace ?

"It may suit your convenience to forget ; it suits my con-
venience to remember," she went on. "I know what I said
— for I considered it with myself before I said it. I gave
you one opportunity after another of owning the truth. I
left nothing unsaid that I cotild say — short of actually telling
you that I knew you had committed the theft. And all the
return you made was to look at me with your vile pretense
of astonishment and your false face of innocence — just as
you have looked at me to-day ; just as you are looking at me
now ! I left you that morning knowing you at last for what
you were — for what you are — as base a wretch as ever
walked the earth !"

"If you had spoken out at the time you might have left
me, Rachel, knowing that you had cruelly wronged an inno-
cent man."

"If I had spoken out before other people," she retorted,
with another burst of indignation, "you would have been
disgraced for life! If I had spoken out to no ears but yours,
you would have denied it, as you are denying it now ! Do
you think I should have believed you ? Would a man hesitate
at a lie who had done what I saw you do — who had behaved
about it afterward as I saw you behave? I tell you again,
T shrank from the horror of hearing you lie, after the horror

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of seeing you thieve. You talk as if this was a misunder-
standing which a few words might have set right ! Well !
the misunderstanding is at an end. Is the thing set right?
No! the thing is just where it was. I don't believe you now!
I don't believe you found the night-gown, I don't believe in
Rosanna Spearman's letter, I don't believe a word you have
said. You stole it — I saw you ! You affected to help the
police — I saw you ! You pledged the Diamond to the money-
lender in London — I am sure of it! You cast the suspicion
of your disgrace — thanks to my base silence ! — on an innocent
man ! You fled to the Continent with your plunder the next
morning! After all the vileness, there was but one thing
more you could do. You could come here with a last false-
hood on your lips — you could come here and tell me that I
have wronged you !"

If I had stayed a moment more, I know not what words
might have escaped me which I should have remembered
with vain repentance and regret. I passed by her and opened
the door for the second time. For the second time — with
the frantic perversity of a roused woman — she caught me by
the arm and barred my way out.

"Let me go, Rachel," I said. "It will be better for both
of us. Let me go."

The hysterical passion swelled in her bosom — her quick-
ened convulsive breathing almost beat on my face, as she held
me back at the door.

"Why did you come here?" she persisted, desperately. "I
ask you again — why did you come here? Are you afraid I
shall expose you? Now you are a rich man, no^y you have
got a place in the world, now you may marry the best lady
in the land — are you afraid I shall say the words which I
have never said yet to any body but you? I can't say the
words ! I can't expose you ! I am worse, if worse can be,
than you are yourself." Sobs and tears burst from her. She
struggled with them fiercely ; she held me more and more
firmly. "I can't tear you out of my heart," she said, "even
now ! You may trust in the shameful, shameful weakness
which can only struggle against you in this way !" She sud-
denly let go of me — she threw up her hands and wrung them
frantically in the air. "Any other living woman would shrink

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THE MOONSTONE

from the disgrace of touching him !" she exclaimed. "Oh,
God! I despise myself even more heartily than I despise him!"

The tears were forcing their way into my eyes in spite of
me — the horror of it was to be endured no longer.

"You shall know that you have wronged me, yet," I said.
"Or you shall never see me again!"

With those words I left her. She started up from the chair
on which she had dropped the moment before : she started
up — the noble creature ! — and followed me across the outer
room, with a last merciful word at parting.

"Franklin !" she said, "I forgive you ! Oh, Franklin !
Franklin! we shall never meet again. Say you forgive me!"

I turned, so as to let my face show her that I was past
speaking — I turned, and waved my hand, and saw her dimly,
as in a vision, through the tears that had conquered me at
last.

The next moment the worst bitterness of it was over. I
was out in the garden again. I saw her and heard her no
more.

CHAPTER Vni.

LVTE that evening I was surprised at my lodgings by a
/ visit from Mr. Bruff.

There was a noticeable change in the lawyer's manner. It
had lost its usual confidence and spirit. He shook hands with
me, for the first time in his life, in silence.

"Are you going back to Hampstead?" I asked, by way of
saying something.

"I have just left Hampstead," he answered. "I know,
Mr. Franklin, that you have got at the truth at last. But I
tell you plainly, if I could have foreseen the price that was
to be paid for it, I should have preferred leaving you in the
dark."

"You have seen Rachel?"

"I have come here after taking her back to Portland Place ;
it was impossible to let her return in the carriage by herself.
I can hardly hold you responsible — considering that you saw
her in my house and by my permission — for the shock that

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THE MOONSTONE

this unlucky interview has inflicted on her. All I can do
is to provide against a repetition of the mischief. She is
young — she has a resolute spirit — she will get over this, with
time and rest to help her. I want to be assured that you
will do nothing to hinder her recovery. May I depend on
your making no second attempt to see her — except with my
sanction and approval ?"

"After what she has suffered, and after what I have suf-
fered," I said, "you may rely on me."

"I have your promise?"

"You have my promise."

Mr. Bruff looked relieved. He put down his hat and drew
his chair nearer to mine.

"That's settled !" he said. "Now about the future — your
future, I mean. To my mind the result of the extraordinary
turn which the matter has now taken is briefly this. In the
first place, we are sure that Rachel has told you the whole
truth, as plainly as words can tell it. In the second place —
though we know that there must be some dreadful mistake
somewhere — we can hardly blame her for believing you to
be guilty, on the evidence of her own senses, backed, as that
evidence has been, by circumstances which appear, on the face
of them, to tell dead against you."

There I interposed. "I don't blame Rachel," I said. "I
only regret that she could not prevail on herself to speak
more plainly to me at the time."

"You might as well regret that Rachel is not somebody
else," rejoined Mr. Bruff. "And even then I doubt if a girl
of any delicacy, whose heart had been set on marrying you,
could have brought herself to charge you to your face with
being a thief. Anyhow, it was not in Rachel's nature to do
it. In a very different matter to this matter of yours — which
placed her, however, in a position not altogether unlike her
position toward you — I happen to know that she was influ-
enced by a similar motive to the motive which actuated her
conduct in your case. Besides, as she told me herself, on our
way to town this evening, if she had spoken plainly, she would
no more have believed your denial then than she believes it
now. What answer can you make to that? There is no
answer to be made to it. Come ! come ! Mr. Franklin, my

390

THE MOONSTONE

view of the case has been proved to be all wrong, I admit —
but, as things are now, my advice may be worth having for
all that. I tell you plainly, we shall be wasting our time and
cudgeling our brains to no purpose if we attempt to try back
and unravel this frightful complication from the beginning.
Let us close our minds resolutely to all that happened last
year at Lady Verinder's country house ; and let us look to
what we can discover in the future, instead of to what we
can not discover in the past."

"Surely you forget," I said, "that the whole thing is essen-
tially a matter of the past — so far as I am concerned?"

"Answer me this," retorted Mr. Bruff. "Is the Moon-
stone at the bottom of all the mischief — or is it not?"

"It is — of course."

"Very good. What do we believe was done with the
Moonstone when it was taken to London?"

"It was pledged to Mr. Luker."

"We know that you are not the person who pledged it.
Do we know who did ?"

"No."

"Where do we believe the Moonstone to be now ?"

"Deposited in the keeping of Mr. Luker's bankers."

"Exactly. Now observe. We are already in the month
of June. Toward the end of the month, I can't be particular
to a day, a year will have elapsed from the time when we
believe the jewel to have been pledged. There is a chance —
to say the least — that the person who pawned it may be pre-
pared to redeem it when the year's time has expired. If he
redeems it, Mr. Luker must himself — according to the terms
of his own arrangement — take the Diamond out of his bank-
ers' hands. Under these circumstances I propose setting a
watch at the bank as the present month draws to an end,
and discovering who the person is to whom Mr. Luker re-
stores the Moonstone. Do you see it now ?"

I admitted, a little unwillingly, that the idea was a new
one, at any rate.

"It's Mr, Murthwaite's idea quite as much as mine," said
Mr. Brufif. "It might have never entered my head but for
a conversation we had together some time since. If Mr.
Murthwaite is right, the Indians are likely to be on the look-

391

THE MOONSTONE

out at the bank, toward the end of the month too — and some-
thing serious may come of it. What comes of it doesn't
matter to you and me — except as it may help us to lay our
hands on the mysterious Somebody who pawned the Dia-
mond. That person, you may rely on it, is responsible, I don't
pretend to know how, for the position in which you stand at
this moment ; and that person alone can set you right in
Rachel's estimation."

'T can't deny," I said, "that the plan you propose meets
the difficulty in a way that is very daring and very ingenious
and very new. But — "

"But you have an objection to make?"

"Yes. My objection is that your proposal obliges us to
wait."

"Granted. As I reckon the time, it requires you to wait
about a fortnight — more or less. Is that so very long?"

"It's a lifetime, Mr. Bruff, in such a situation as mine. My
existence will be simply unendurable to me, unless I do some-
thing toward clearing my character at once."

"Well, well, I understand that. Have you thought yet of
what you can do?"

"I have thought of consulting Sergeant Cuff."

"He has retired from the police. It's useless to expect
the Sergeant to help you."

"I know where to find him ; and I can but try."

"Try," said Mr. Bruff, after a moment's consideration.
"The case has assumed such an extraordinary aspect since
Sergeant Cuff's time that you may revive his interest in the
inquiry. Try, and let me hear the result. In the mean
while," he continued, rising, "if you make no discoveries be-
tween this and the end of the month, am I free to try, on my
side, what can be done by keeping a lookout at the bank?"

"Certainly," I answered — "unless I relieve you of all
necessity for trying the experiment in the interval."

Mr. Bruff smiled, and took up his hat.

"Tell Sergeant Cuff," he rejoined, "that 7 say the dis-
covery of the truth depends on the discovery of the person
who pawned the Diamond. And let me hear what the Ser-
geant's experience says to that."

So we parted for that night.

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THE MOONSTONE

Early the next morning I set forth for the Httle town of
Dorking — the place of Sergeant Cuff's retirement, as indi-
cated to me by Betteredge.

Inquiring at the hotel, I received the necessary directions
for finding the Sergeant's cottage. It was approached by
a quiet by-road, a httle way out of the town, and it stood
snugly in the middle of its own plot of garden ground, pro-
tected by a good brick wall at the back and the sides, and
by a high quickset hedge in front. The gate, ornamented
at the upper part by smartly-painted trellis-work, was locked.
After ringing at the bell, I peered through the trellis-work,
and saw the great Cuff's favorite flower everywhere : bloom-
ing in his garden, clustering over his door, looking in at his
windows. Far from the crimes and the mysteries of the
great city, the illustrious thief-taker was placidly living out
the last Sybarite years of his life, smothered in roses !

A decent elderly woman opened the gate to me, and at
once annihilated all the hopes I had built on securing the
assistance of Sergeant Cuff. He had started, only the day
before, on a journey to Ireland.

"Has he gone there on business ?" I asked.

The woman smiled. "He has only one business now, sir,"
she said, "and that's roses. Some great man's gardener in
Ireland has found out something new in the growing of roses
— and Mr. Cuff's away to inquire into it."

"Do you know when he will be back?"

"It's quite uncertain, sir. Mr. Cuff said he should come
back directly, or be away some time, just according as he
found the new discovery worth nothing, or worth looking
into. If you have any message to leave for him, I'll take care,
sir, that he gets it."

I gave her my card, having first written on it in pencil :
"I have something to say about the Moonstone. Let me
hear from you as soon as you get back." That done, there
was nothing left but to submit to circumstances, and return
to London.

In the irritable condition of my mind, at the time of which
I am now writing, the abortive result of my journey to the
Sergeant's cottage simply aggravated the restless impulse in

393

THE MOONSTONE

me to be doing something. On the day of my return from
Dorking, I determined that the next morning should find me
bent on a new effort, forcing my way, through all obstacles,
from darkness to the light.

What form was my next experiment to take?

If the excellent Betteredge had been present while I was
considering that question, and if he had been let into the
secret of my thoughts, he would, no doubt, have declared that
the German side of me was, on this occasion, my uppermost
side. To speak seriously, it is perhaps possible that my Ger-
man training was in some degree responsible for the labyrinth
of useless speculations in which I now involved myself. For
the greater part of the night I sat smoking, and building
up theories, one more profoundly improbable than another.
When I did get to sleep my waking fancies pursued me in
dreams. I rose the next morning, with objective-subjective
and subjective-objective inextricably entangled together in
my mind ; and I began the day which was to witness my next
effort at practical action of some kind, by doubting whether
I had any sort of right, on purely philosophical grounds, to
consider any sort of thing, the Diamond included, as exist-
ing at all.

How long I might have remained lost in the mist of my
own metaphysics, if I had been left to extricate myself, it is
impossible for me to say. As the event proved, accident came
to my rescue, and happily delivered me. I happened to wear,
that morning, the same coat which I had worn on the day
of my interview with Rachel. Searching for something else
in one of the pockets, I came upon a crumpled piece of paper,
and, taking it out, found Betteredge's forgotten letter in my
hand.

It seemed hard on my good old friend to leave him with-
out a reply. I went to my writing-table, and read his letter
again.

A letter which has nothing of the slightest importance in
it is not always an easy letter to answer. Betteredge's present
effort at corresponding with me came within this category.
Mr. Candy's assistant, otherwise Ezra Jennings, had told his
master that he had seen me ; and Mr. Candy, in his turn,
wanted to see me and say something to me, when I was next

394

THE MOONSTONE

in the neighborhood of Frizinghall. What was to be said in
answer to that, which would be worth the paper it was writ-
ten on? I sat idly drawing likenesses from memory of Mr.
Candy's remarkable-looking assistant, on the sheet of paper
which I had vowed to dedicate to Betteredge — until it sud-
denly occurred to me that here was the irrepressible Ezja
Jennings getting in my way again ! I threw a dozen por-
traits, at least, of the man with the piebald hair — the hair in
every case remarkably like — into the waste-paper basket —
and then and there wrote my answer to Betteredge. It was
a perfect commonplace letter — but it had one excellent effect
on me. The effort of writing a few sentences, in plain Eng-
lish, completely cleared my mind of the cloudy nonsense
which had filled it since the previous day.

Devoting myself once more to the elucidation of the im-
penetrable puzzle which my own position presented me, I
now tried to meet the difficulty by investigating it from a
plainly practical point of view. The events of the memorable
night being still unintelligible to me, I looked a little farther
back, and searched my memory of the earlier hours of the
birthday for any incident which might prove of some assist-
ance to me in finding the clue.

Had any thing happened while Rachel and I were finishing
the painted door ? or, later, when I rode over to Frizinghall ?
or afterward, when I went back with Godfrey Ablewhite and
his sisters? or, later again, when I put the Moonstone into
Rachel's hands? or, later still, when the company came, and
we all assembled round the dinner-table ? My memory dis-
posed of that string of questions readily enough until I came
to the last. Looking back at the social events of the birthday
dinner, I found myself brought to a standstill at the outset
of the inquiry. I was not even capable of accurately remem-
bering the number of the guests who had sat at the same
table with me.

To feel myself completely at fault here, and to conclude,
thereupon, that the incidents of the dinner might especially
repay the trouble of investigating them, formed parts of the
same mental process in my case. I believe other people, in
a similar situation, would have reasoned as I did. When
the pursuit of our own interests causes us to become objects

305

THE MOONSTONE

of inquiry to ourselves, we are naturally suspicious of what
we don't know. Once in possession of the names of the per-
sons who had been present at the dinner, I resolved — as a
means of enriching the deficient resources of my own memory
— to appeal to the memories of the rest of the guests ; to write
(]pwn all that they could recollect of the social events of the
birthday ; and to test the result, thus obtained, by the light of
what had happened afterward when the company had left
the house.

This last and newest of my many contemplated experi-
ments in the art of inquiry — which Betteredge would prob-
ably have attributed to the clear-headed, or French, side of
me being uppermost for the moment — may fairly claim record
here, on its own merits. Unlikely as it may seem, I had now
actually groped my way to the root of the matter at last.
All I wanted was a hint to guide me in the right direction
at starting. Before another day had passed over my head
that hint was given me by one of the company who had been
present at the birthday feast.

With the plan of proceeding which I now had in view, it
was first necessary to possess the complete list of the guests.
This I could easily obtain from Gabriel Betteredge. I deter-
mined to go back to Yorkshire on that day, and to begin my
contemplated investigation the next morning.

It was just too late to start by the train which left London
before noon. There was no alternative but to wait, nearly
three hours, for the departure of the next train. Was there
any thing I could do in London which might usefully occupy
this interval of time?

My thoughts went back again obstinately to the birthday
dinner.

Though I had forgotten the numbers, and, in many cases,
the names of the guests, I remembered readily enough that
by far the larger proportion of them came from Frizinghall,
or from its neighborhood. But the larger proportion was
not all. Some few of us were not regular residents in the
county. I myself was one of the few. Mr. Murthwaite was
another. Godfrey Ablewhite was a third. Mr. Bruff — no;
I called to mind that business had prevented Mr. Bruff from
making one of the party. Had any ladies been present whose

396

THE MOONSTONE

usual residence was in London ? I could only remember Miss
Clack as coming within this latter category. However, here
were three of the guests, at any rate, whom it was clearly
advisable for me to see before I left town. I drove off at
once to Mr. BrulT's office ; not knowing the addresses of the
persons of whom I was in search, and thinking it probabl.c
that he might put me in the way of finding them.

Mr. Brufif proved to be too busy to give me more than a
minute of his valuable time. In that minute, however, he
contrived to dispose — in the most discouraging manner — of
all the questions I had put to him.

In the first place, he considered my newly-discovered
method of finding a clue to the mystery as something too
purely fanciful to be seriously discussed. In the second,
third, and fourth places, Mr. Murthwaite was now on his way
back to the scene of his past adventures ; Miss Clack had suf-
fered losses, and had settled, from motives of economy, in
France ; Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite might or might not be dis-
coverable somewhere in London. Suppose I inquired at his
club? And suppose I excused Mr. Bruff if he went back
to his business and wished me good-morning?

The field of inquiry in London being now so narrowed as
only to include the one necessity of discovering Godfrey's
address, I took the lawyer's hint, and drove to his club.

In the hall I met with one of the members, who was an
old friend of my cousin's, and who was also an acquaintance
of my own. This gentleman, after enlightening me on the
subject of Godfrey's address, told me of two recent events
in his life, which were of some importance in themselves, and
which had not previously reached my ears.

It appeared that Godfrey, far from being discouraged b}'
Rachel's withdrawal from her engagement to him, had made
matrimonial advances soon afterward to another young lady,
reputed to be a great heiress. His suit had prospered, and
his marriage had been considered as a settled and certain
thing. But here, again, the engagement had been suddenly
and unexpectedly broken ofif — owing, it was said, on this occa-
sion, to a serious difference of opinion between the bride-
groom and the lady's father on the question of settlements.

As some compensation for this second matrimonial disas-

397

THE MOONSTONE

ter, Godfrey had soon afterward found himself the object of
fond pecuniary remembrance, on the part of one of his many
admirers. A rich old lady — highly respected at the Mothers'-
Small-Clothes-Conversion-Society, and a great friend of Miss
Clack's, to whom she had left nothing but a mourning ring,
had bequeathed to the admirable and meritorious Godfrey a
legacy of five thousand pounds. After receiving this hand-
some addition to his own modest pecuniary resources, he had
been heard to say that he felt the necessity of getting a little
respite from his charitable labors, and that his doctor pre-
scribed "a run on the Continent, as likely to be productive
of much future benefit to his health." If I wanted to see
him, it would be advisable to lose no time in paying my con-
templated visit.

I went, then and there, to pay my visit.

The same fatality which had made me just one day too
late in calling on Sergeant Cuff made me again one day too
late in calling on Godfrey. He had left London, on the pre-
vious morning, by the tidal train for Dover. He was to cross
to Ostend and his servant believed he was going on to Brus-
sels. The time of his return was a little uncertain; but I
might be sure that he would be away at least three months.

I went back to my lodgings a little depressed in spirits.
Three of the guests at the birthday dinner — and those three
all exceptionally intelligent people — were out of my reach,
at the very time when it was most important to be able to
communicate with them. My last hopes now rested on Bet-
teredge, and on the friends of the late Lady Verinder whom
I might still find living in the neighborhood of Rachel's coun-
try house.

On this occasion I traveled straight to Frizinghall — the town
being now the central point in my field of inquiry. I arrived
too late in the evening to be able to communicate with Bet-
teredge. The next morning I sent a messenger with a letter,
requesting him to join me at the hotel at his earliest con-
venience.

Having taken the precaution — partly to save time, partly
to accommodate Betteredge — of sending my messenger in a
fly, I had a reasonable prospect, if no delays occurred, of

398

THE MOONSTONE

seeing the old man within less than two hours from the time
when I had sent for him. During this interval I arranged
to employ myself in opening my contemplated inquiry among
the guests present at the birthday dinner who were personally
known to me, and who were easily within my reach. These
were my relatives, the Ablewhites, and Mr. Candy. The doc-
tor had expressed a special wish to see me, and the doctor
lived in the next street. So to Mr. Candy I went first.

After what Betteredge had told me, I naturally anticipated
finding traces in the doctor's face of the severe illness from
which he had suffered. But I was utterly unprepared for
such a change as I saw in him when he entered the room and
shook hands with me. His eyes were dim ; his hair had turned
completely gray ; his face was wizen ; his figure had shrunk.
I looked at the once lively, rattle-pated, humorous little doctor
— associated in my remembrance with the perpetration of
incorrigible social indiscretions and innumerable boyish jokes
— and I saw nothing left of his former self but the old ten-
dency to vulgar smartness in his dress. The man was a
wreck; but his clothes and his jewelry — in cruel mockery of
the change in him — were as gay and as gaudy as ever.

"I have often thought of you, Mr. Blake," he said ; "and
I am heartily glad to see you again at last. If there is any
thing I can do for you, pray command my services, sir — pray
command my services !"

He said those few commonplace words with needless hurry
and eagerness, and with a curiosity to know what had brought
me to Yorkshire, which he was perfectly — I might say child-
ishly— incapable of concealing from notice.

With the object that I had in view, I had of course fore-
seen the necessity of entering into some sort of personal ex-
planation, before I could hope to interest people, mostly
strangers to me, in doing their best to assist my inquiry. On
the journey to Frizinghall I had arranged what my explana-
tion was to be — and I seized the opportunity now offered to
me of trying the effect of it on Mr. Candy.

"I was in Yorkshire the other day, and I am in Yorkshire
again now, on rather a romantic errand," I said. "It is a
matter, Mr. Candy, in which the late Lady Verinder's friends
all took some interest. You remember the mysterious loss of

399

THE MOONSTONE

the Indian Diamond, now nearly a year since? Circum-
stances have lately happened which lead to the hope that it
may yet be found — and I am interesting myself, as one of the
family, in recovering it. Among the obstacles in my way,
there is the necessity of collecting again all the evidence
which was discovered at the time, and more if possible. There
are peculiarities in this case, which make it desirable to revive
my recollection of every thing that happened in the house
on the evening of Miss Verinder's birthday. And I venture
to appeal to her late mother's friends who were present on
that occasion to lend me the assistance of their memories — "

I had got as far as that in rehearsing my explanatory
phrases, when I was suddenly checked by seeing plainly in
Mr. Candy's face that my experiment on him was a total
failure.

The little doctor sat restlessly picking at the points of his
fingers all the time I was speaking. His dim, watery eyes
were fixed on my face with an expression of vacant and wist-
ful inquiry very painful to see. What he was thinking of it
was impossible to divine. The one thing clearly visible was
that I had failed, after the first two or three words, in fixing
his attention. The only chance of recalling him to himself
appeared to lie in changing the subject. I tried a new topic
immediately.

"So much," I said, gayly, "for what brings me to Frizing-
hall ! Now, Mr. Candy, it's your turn. You sent me a mes-
sage by Gabriel Betteredge — "

He left off picking at his fingers, and suddenly bright-
ened up.

"Yes ! yes ! yes !" he exclaimed, eagerly. "That's it ! I
sent you a message !"

"And Betteredge duly communicated it by letter," I went
on. "You had something to say to me the next time I was
in your neighborhood. Well, Mr. Candy, here I am !"

"Here you are !" echoed the doctor. "And Betteredge was
quite right. I had something to say to you. That was my
message. Betteredge is a wonderful man. What a memory!
At his age, what a memory !"

He dropped back into silence, and began picking at his
fingers again. Recollecting what I had heard from Better-

400

. THE MOONSTONE

edge about the effect of the fever on his memory, I went on
with the conversation in the hope that I might help him at
starting.

"It's a long time since we met," I said. "We last saw
each other at the last birthday dinner my poor aunt was ever
to give."

"That's it!" cried Mr. Candy. "The birthday dinner!"
He started impulsively to his feet and looked at me. A deep
flush suddenly overspread his faded face, and he abruptly sat
down again, as if conscious of having betrayed a weakness
which he would fain have concealed. It was plain, pitiably
plain, that he was aware of his own defect of memory, and
that he was bent on hiding it from the observation of his
friends.

Thus far he had appealed to my compassion only. But
the words he had just said, few as they were, roused my
curiosity instantly to the highest pitch. The birthday dinner
had already become the one event in the past at which 1
looked back with strangely-mixed feelings of hope and dis-
trust. And here was the birthday dinner unmistakably pro-
claiming itself as the subject on which' Mr. Candy had
something important to say to me !

I attempted to help him out once more. But this time
my own interests were at the bottom of my compassionate
motive, and they hurried me on a little too abruptly to the
end that I had in view.

"It's nearly a year now," I said, "since we sat at that
pleasant table. Have you made any memorandum — in your
diary, or otherwise — of what you wanted to say to me?"

Mr. Candy understood the suggestion, and showed me
that he understood it, as an insult.

"I require no memorandums, Mr. Blake," he said, stiffly
enough. "I am not such a very old man yet — and my mem-
ory, thank God, is to be thoroughly depended on !"

It is needless to say that I declined to understand that he
was offended with me.

"I wish I could say the same of my memory," I answered.
"When / try to think of matters that are a year old, I seldom
find my remembrance as vivid as I could wish it to be. Take
the dinner at Lady Verinder's, for instance — "
26 401

THE MOONSTONE

Mr. Candy brightened up again, the moment the allusion
passed my lips.

"Ah ! the dinner, the dinner at Lady Verinder's !" he ex-
claimed, more eagerly than ever. 'T have got something to
say to you about that."

His eyes looked at me again with the painful expression
of inquiry, so wistful, so vacant, so miserably helpless to see.
He was evidently trying hard, and trying in vain, to recover
the lost recollection. 'Tt was a very pleasant dinner," he
burst out suddenly, with an air of saying exactly what he
had wanted to say. "A very pleasant dinner, Mr. Blake,
wasn't it?" He nodded and smiled, and appeared to think,
poor fellow, that he had succeeded in concealing the total
failure of his memory by a well-timed exertion of his own
presence of mind.

It was so distressing that I at once shifted the talk — deeply
as I was interested in his recovering the lost remembrance —
to topics of local interest.

Here he got on glibly enough. Trumpery little scandals
and quarrels in the town, some of them as much as a month
old, appeared to recur to his memory readily. He chattered
on, with something of the smooth gossiping fluency of former
times. But there were moments, even in the full flow of his
talkativ.eness, when he suddenly hesitated — looked at me for
a moment with the vacant inquiry once more in his eyes —
controlled himself — and went on again. I submitted patiently
to my martyrdom — it is surely nothing less than martyrdom,
to a man of cosmopolitan sympathies, to absorb in silent res-
ignation the news of a country town — until the clock on the
chimney-piece told me that my visit had been prolonged be-
yond half an hour. Having now some right to consider the
sacrifice as complete, I rose to take leave. As we shook hands,
Mr. Candy reverted to the birthday festival of his own
accord.

"I am so glad we have met again," he said. "I had it on
my mind — I really had it on my mind, Mr. Blake, to speak
to you. About the dinner at Lady Verinder's, you know?
A pleasant dinner — really a pleasant dinner now, wasn't it?"

On repeating the phrase he seemed to feel hardly as cer-
tain of having prevented me from suspecting his lapse of

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THE MOONSTONE

memory as he had felt on the first occasion. The wistful
look clouded his face again ; and, after apparently designing
to accompany me to the street door, he suddenly changed his
mind, rang the bell for the servant, and remained in the
drawing-room.

I went slowly down the doctor's stairs, feeling the dis-
heartening conviction that he really had something to say
which it was vitally important to me to hear, and that he
was morally incapable of saying it. The effort of remember-
ing that he wanted to speak to me was but too evidently
the only effort that his enfeebled memory was now able to
achieve.

Just as I had reached the bottom of the stairs, and had
turned a corner on my way to the outer hall, a door opened
softly somewhere on the ground-floor of the house, and a
gentle voice said behind me :

"I am afraid, sir, you find Mr. Candy sadly changed?"

I turned round, and found myself face to face with Ezra
Jennings.

CHAPTER IX.

THE doctor's pretty house-maid stood waiting for me,
with the street door open in her hand. Pouring brightly
into the hall, the morning light fell full on the face of Mr.
Candy's assistant when I turned and looked at him.

It was impossible to dispute Betteredge's assertion that
the appearance of Ezra Jennings, speaking from the popular
point of view, was against him. His gypsy complexion, his
fleshless cheeks, his gaunt facial bones, his dreamy eyes, his
extraordinary party-colored hair, the puzzling contradiction
between his face and figure, which made him look old and
young both together — were all more or less calculated to pro-
duce an unfavorable impression of him on a stranger's mind.
And yet — feeling this as I certainly did — it is not to be denied
that Ezra Jennings made some inscrutable appeal to my
sympathies, which I found it impossible to resist. While my
knowledge of the world warned me to answer the question
which he had put, by acknowledging that I did indeed find

403

THE MOONSTONE

Mr. Candy sadly changed, and then to proceed on my way
out of the house — my interest in Ezra Jennings held me rooted
to the place, and gave him the opportunity of speaking to me
in private about his employer, for which he had been evi-
dently on the watch.

"Are you walking my way, Mr. Jennings?" I said, ob-
serving that he held his hat in his hand. "I am going to call
on my aunt, Mrs. Ablewhite."

Ezra Jennings replied that he had a patient to see, and
that he was walking my way.

We left the house together. I observed that the pretty
servant-girl — who was all smiles and amiability when I
wished her good-morning on my way out — received a modest
little message from Ezra Jennings, relating to the time at
which he might be expected to return, with pursed-up lips
and with eyes which ostentatiously looked anywhere rather
than look in his face. The poor wretch was evidently no
favorite in the house. Out of the house, I had Betteredge's
word for it that he was unpopular everywhere. "What a
life !" I thought to myself as we descended the doctor's door-
steps.

Having already referred to Mr. Candy's illness on his side,
Ezra Jennings now appeared determined to leave it to me
to resume the subject. His silence said, significantly, "It's
your turn now." I, too, had my reasons for referring to the
doctor's illness and I readily accepted the responsibility of
speaking first.

"Judging by the change I see in him," I began, "Mr.
Candy's illness must have been far more serious than I had
supposed ?"

"It is almost a miracle," said Ezra Jennings, "that he lived
through it."

"Is his memory never any better than I have found it to-
day? He has been trying to speak to me — "

"Of something which happened before he was taken ill ?"
asked the assistant, observing that I hesitated.

"Yes."

"His memory of events at that past time is hopelessly en-
feebled," said Ezra Jennings. "It is almost to be deplored,
poor fellow, that even the wreck of it remains. While he

404

THE MOONSTONE

remembers dimly plans that he formed — things, here and
there, that he had to say or do before his ilhiess — he is per-
fectly incapable of recalling what the plans were, or what
the thing was that he had to say or do. He is painfully con-
scious of his own deficiency, and painfully anxious, as you
must have seen, to hide it from observation. If he could only
have recovered in a complete state of oblivion as to the past,
he would have been a happier man. Perhaps we should all
be happier," he added, with a sad smile, "if we could but
completely forget !"

"There are some events surely in all men's lives," I replied,
"the memory of which they would be unwilling entirely to
lose?"

"That is, I hope, to be said of most men, Mr. Blake. I am
afraid it can not truly be said of all. Have you any reason
to suppose that the lost remembrance which Mr. Candy tried
to recover — while you were speaking to him just now — was
a remembrance which it was important to yoti that he should
recall ?"

In saying those words he had touched, of his own accord,
on the very point upon which I was anxious to consult him.
The interest I felt in this strange man had impelled me, in
the first instance, to give him the opportunity of speaking to
me, reserving what I might have to say on my side in rela-
tion to his employer until I was first satisfied that he was
a person in whose delicacy and discretion I could trust. The
little that he had said thus far had been sufficient to con-
vince me that I was speaking to a gentleman. He had what
I may venture to describe as the unsought self-possession
which is a sure sign of good-breeding, not in England only,
but everywhere else in the civilized world. Whatever the
object which he had in view in putting the question that he
had just addressed to me, I felt no doubt that I was justified
— so far — in answering him without reserve.

"I believe I have a strong interest," I said, "in tracing the
lost remembrance which Mr. Candy was unable to recall.
May I ask whether you can suggest to me any method by
which I might assist his memory ?"

Ezra Jennings looked at me, with a sudden flash of interest
in his dreamy brown eyes.

405

THE MOONSTONE

"Mr. Candy's memory is beyond the reach of assistance,"
he said. *T have tried to help it often enough since his re-
covery to be able to speak positively on that point."

This disappointed me ; and I owned it.

"I confess you led me to hope for a less discouraging an-
swer than that/' I said.

Ezra Jennings smiled. "It may not perhaps be a final
answer, Mr. Blake. It may be possible to trace Mr. Candy's
lost recollection without the necessity of appealing to Mr.
Candy himself."

"Indeed? Is it an indiscretion on my part to ask — how?"

"By no means. My only difficulty in answering your
question is the difficulty of explaining myself. May I trust
to your patience if I refer once more to Mr. Candy's illness :
and if I speak of it this time without sparing you certain <
professional details ?"

"Pray go on ! You have interested me already in hear-
ing the details."

My eagerness seemed to amuse — perhaps I might rather
say, to please him. He smiled again. We had by this time
left the last houses in the town behind us. Ezra Jennings
stopped for a moment and picked some wild flowers from
the hedge by the road-side. "How beautiful they are !" he
said, simply, showing his little nosegay to me. "And how
few people in England seem to admire them as they de-
serve !"

"You have not always been in England?" I said.

"No. I was born and partly brought up in one of our
colonies. My father was an Englishman, but my mother —
We are straying away from our subject, Mr. Blake; and
it is my fault. The truth is, I have associations wdth
these modest little hedge-side flowers — It doesn't mat-
ter ; we were speaking of Mr. Candy. To Mr. Candy let us
return."

Connecting the few words about himself which thus re-
luctantly escaped him with the melancholy view of life
which led him to place the conditions of human happiness in
complete oblivion of the past, I felt satisfied that the story
which I had read in his face was, in two particulars at least,
the story that it really told. He had suffered as few men

406

THE MOONSTONE

suffer ; and there was the mixture of some foreign race in his
English blood.

"You have heard, I dare say, of the original cause of Mr.
Candy's illness?" he resumed. "The night of Lady Verin-
der's dinner-party was a night of heavy rain. My employer
drove home through it in his gig and reached the house
wetted to the skin. He found an urgent message from a pa-
tient waiting for him, and he most unfortunately went at
once to visit the sick person without stopping to change his
clothes. I was myself professionally detained that night by
a case at some distance from Frizinghall. When I got back
the next morning I found Mr. Candy's groom waiting in
great alarm to take me to his master's room. By that time
the mischief was done ; the illness had set in."

"The illness has only been described to me, in general
terms, as a fever," I said.

"I can add nothing which will make the description more
accurate," answered Ezra Jennings. "From first to last the
fever assumed no specific form. I sent at once to two of
Mr. Candy's medical friends in the town, both physicians, to
come and give me their opinion of the case. They agreed
with me that it looked serious ; but they both strongly dis-
sented from the view I took of the treatment. We differed
entirely in the conclusions which we drew from the patient's
pulse. The two doctors, arguing from the rapidity of the
beat, declared that a lowering treatment was the only treat-
ment to be adopted. On my side, I admitted the rapidity
of the pulse ; but I also pointed to its alarming feebleness as
indicating an exhausted condition of the system, and as show-
ing a plain necessity for the administration of stimulants.
The two doctors were for keeping him on gruel, lemonade,
barley-water, and so on. I was for giving him champagne
or brandy, ammonia, and quinine. A serious difference of
opinion, as you see ! a difference between two physicians of
established local repute and a stranger who was only an as-
sistant in the house. For the first few days I had no choice
but to give way to my elders and betters ; the patient stead-
ily sinking all the time. I made a second attempt to appeal
to the plain, undeniably plain, evidence of the pulse. Its ra-
pidity was unchecked and its feebleness had increased. The

407

THE MOONSTONE

two doctors took offense at my obstinacy. They said, * Mr.
Jennings, either we manage this case, or you manage it.
Which is it to be?' I said, 'Gentlemen, give me five min-
utes to consider, and that plain question shall have a plain
reply.' When the time had expired I was ready with my
answer. I said, 'You positively refuse to try the stimulant
treatment?' They refused in so many words. 'I mean to
try it at once, gentlemen.' — Try it, Mr. Jennings, and we
withdraw from the case.' I sent down to the cellar for a
bottle of champagne ; and I administered half a tumblerful
of it to the patient with my own hand. The two physicians
took up their hats in silence, and left the house."

"You had assumed a serious responsibility," I said. "In
your place, I am afraid I should have shrunk from it."

"In my place, Mr. Blake, you would have remembered
that Mr. Candy had taken you into his employment, under
circumstances which made you his debtor for life. In my
place, you would have seen him sinking hour by hour ; and
you would have risked any thing rather than let the one
man on earth who had befriended you die before your eyes.
Don't suppose that I had no sense of the terrible position in
which I had placed myself! There were moments when I
felt all the misery of my friendlessness, all the peril of my
dreadful responsibility. If I had been a happy man, if I had
led a prosperous life, I believe I should have sunk under the
task I had imposed on myself. But / had no happy time to
look back at, no past peace of mind to force itself into con-
trast with my present anxiety and suspense — and I held firm
to my resolution through it all. I took an interval in the
middle of the day, when my patient's condition was at its
best, for the repose I needed. For the rest of the four-and-
twenty hours, as long as his life was in danger, I never left
his bedside. Toward sunset, as usual in such cases, the de-
lirium incidental to the fever came on. It lasted more or
less through the night, and then intermitted at that terrible
time in the early morning — from two o'clock to five — when
the vital energies even of the healthiest of us are at their
lowest. It is then that Death gathers in his human harvest
most abundantly. It was then that Death and I fought our
fight over the bed which should have the man who la}' on

408

THE MOONSTONE

it. I never hesitated in pursuing the treatment on which I
had staked every thing. When wine failed, I tried brandy.
When the other stimulants lost their influence, I doubled
the dose. After an interval of suspense — the like of which
I hope to God I shall never feel again — there came a day
when the rapidity of the pulse slightly, but appreciably, di-
minished ; and, better still, there came also a change in the
beat — an unmistakable change to steadiness and strength.
Then I knew that I had saved him ; and then I own I broke
down. I laid the poor fellow's wasted hand back on the
bed, and burst out crying. An hysterical relief, Mr. Blake
— nothing more ! Physiology says, and says truly, that
some men are born with female constitutions — and I am one
of them !"

He made that bitterly professional apology for his tears,
speaking quietly and unaffectedly, as he had spoken through-
out. His tone and manner, from beginning to end, showed *'^
him to be especially, almost morbidly anxious not to set
himself up as an object of interest to me.

"You may well ask why I have wearied you with all these
details ?" he went on. "It is the only way I can see, Mr.
Blake, of properly introducing to you what I have to say
next. . Now you know exactly what my position was at the
time of Mr. Candy's illness, you will the more readily under-
stand the sore need I had of lightening the burden on my
mind by giving it, at intervals, some sort of relief. I have
had the presumption to occupy my leisure, for some years
past, in writing a book, addressed to the members of my
profession — a book on the intricate and delicate subject of
the brain and the nervous system. My work will probably
never be finished ; and it will certainly never be published.
It has none the less been the friend of many lonely hours
and it helped me to while away the anxious time — the time
of waiting, and nothing else — at Mr. Candy's bedside. I
told you he was delirious, I think ? And I mentioned the
time at which his delirium came on?"

"Yes."

" Well, I had reached a section of my book at that time
which touched on the same question of delirium. I won't
trouble you at any length with my theory on the subject —

409

THE MOONSTONE

I will confine myself to telling you only what it is your pres-
ent interest to know. It has often occurred to me in the
course of my medical practice to doubt whether we can justi-
fiably infer — in cases of delirium — that the loss of the faculty
of speaking connectedly implies of necessity the loss of the
faculty of thinking connectedly as well. Poor Mr. Candy's
illness gave me an opportunity of putting this doubt to the
test. I understand the art of writing in short-hand ; and I
was able to take down the patient's 'wanderings' exactly as
they fell from his lips. Do you see, Mr. Blake, what I am
coming to at last ?"

I saw it clearly, and waited with breathless interest to
hear more.

"At odds and ends of time," Ezra Jennings went on, "I
reproduced my short-hand notes, in the ordinary form of
writing — leaving large spaces between the broken phrases,
% and even the single words, as they had fallen disconnectedl}^
from Mr. Candy's lips. I then treated the result thus ob-
tained on something like the principle which one adopts in
putting together a child's 'puzzle.' It is all confusion to be-
gin with ; but it may be all brought into order and shape,
if you can only find the right way. Acting on this plan, I
filled in the blank spaces on the paper with what the words
or phrases on either side of it suggested to me as the speak-
er's meaning; altering over and over again, until my addi-
tions followed naturally on the spoken words which came
before them and fitted naturally into the spoken words
which came after them. The result was that I not only oc-
cupied in this way many vacant and anxious hours, but that
I arrived at something which was, as it seemed to me, a
confirmation of the theory that I held. In plainer words,
after putting the broken sentences together, I found the su-
perior faculty of thinking going on, more or less connectedly,
in my patient's mind, while the inferior faculty of expression
was in a state of almost complete incapacity and confusion."

"One word !" I interposed, eagerly. "Did my name oc-
cur in any of his wanderings?"

"You shall hear, Mr. Blake. Among my written proofs
of the assertion which I have just advanced — or, I ought to
say, among the written experiments, tending to put my as-

410

THE MOONSTONE

sertion to the proof — there is one, in which your name oc-
curs. For nearly the whole of one night Mr, Candy's mind
was occupied with something between himself and you, I
have got the broken words, as they dropped from his lips,
on one sheet of paper. And I have got the links of my own
discovering, which connect those words together, on another;
sheet of paper. The product, as the arithmeticians would
say, is an intelligible statement — first, of something actually
done in the past ; secondly, of something which Mr. Candy
contemplated doing in the future, if his illness had not got
in the way and stopped him. The question is whether this
does, or does not, represent the lost recollection which he
vainly attempted to find when you called on him this morn-
ing?"

"Not a doubt of it !" I answered. "Let us go back di-
rectly, and look at the papers."

"Quite impossible, Mr. Blake."

"Why ?"

"Put yourself in my position for a moment," said Ezra
Jennings. "Would you disclose to another person what had
dropped unconsciously from the lips of your sufifering patient
and your helpless friend, without first knowing that there
was a necessity to justify you in opening your lips?"

I felt that he was unanswerable here ; but I tried to argue
the question, nevertheless.

"My conduct in such a delicate matter as you describe,"
I replied, "would depend greatly on whether the disclosure
was of a nature to compromise my friend or not."

"I have disposed of all necessity for considering that side
of the question long since," said Ezra Jennings. " Wherever
my notes included any thing which Mr. Candy might have
wished to keep secret, those notes have been destroyed. My
manuscript experiments at my friend's bedside include noth-
ing now which he would have hesitated to communicate to
others, if he had recovered the use of his memory. In your
case I have even reason to suppose that my notes contain
something which he actually wished to say to you — "

"And yet, you hesitate ?"

"And yet, I hesitate. Remember the circumstances under
which I obtained the information which I possess ! Harmless

411

THE MOONSTONE

as it is, I can not prevail upon myself to give it up to you,
unless you first satisfy me that there is a reason for doing
so. He was so miserably ill, Mr. Blake ! and he was so help-
lessly dependent upon me ! Is it too much to ask, if I re-
quest you only to hint to me what your interest is in the lost
recollection — or what you believe that lost recollection to
be?"

To have answered him with the frankness which his lan-
guage and his manner both claimed from me, would have
been to commit myself to openly acknowledging that I was
suspected of the theft of the Diamond. Strongly as Ezra
Jennings had intensified the first impulsive interest which I
had felt in him, he had not overcome my unconquerable re-
luctance to disclose the degrading position in which I stood.
I took refuge once more in the explanatory phrases with
which I had prepared myself to meet the curiosity of stran-
gers.

This time I had no reason to complain of a want of atten-
tion on the part of the person to whom I addressed myself.
Ezra Jennings listened patiently, even anxiously, until I had
done.

'T am sorry to have raised your expectations, Mr. Blake,
only to disappoint them," he said. "Throughout the whole
period of Mr. Candy's illness, from first to last, not one word
about the Diamond escaped his lips. The matter with which
I heard him connect your name has, I can assure you, no dis-
coverable relation whatever with the loss or the recovery of
Miss Verinder's jewel."

We arrived, as he said those words, at a place where the
highway along which we had been walking branched off into
two roads. One led to Mr. Ablewhite's house, and the other
to a moor-land village some two or three miles off. Ezra
Jennings stopped at the road which led to the village.

"My way lies in this direction," he said. 'T am really
and truly sorry, Mr. Blake, that I can be of no use to you."

His voice told me that he spoke sincerely. His soft brown
eyes rested on me for a moment with a look of melancholy ,
interest. He bowed and went, without another word, on his
way to the village.

For a minute or more I stood and watched him, walking

412

THE MOONSTONE

farther and farther away from me ; carrying farther and far-
ther away with him what I now firmly believed to be the
clue of which I was in search. He turned, after walking on
a little way, and looked back. Seeing me still standing at
the place where we had parted, he stopped, as if doubting
whether I might not wish to speak to him again. There was
no time for me to reason out my own situation — to remind
myself that I was losing my opportunity, at what might be
the turning-point of my life, and all to flatter nothing more
important than my own self-esteem ! There was only time
to call him back first and to think afterward. I suspect I
am one of the rashest of existing men. I called him back —
and then I said to myself, "Now there is no help for it. I
must tell him the truth !"

He retraced his steps directly. I advanced along the road
to meet him.

"Mr. Jennings," I said, "I have not treated you quite
fairly. My interest in tracing Mr. Candy's lost recollection
is not the interest of recovering the Moonstone. A serious
personal matter is at the bottom of my visit to Yorkshire.
I have but one excuse for not having dealt frankly with you
in this matter. It is more painful to me than I can say, to
mention to any body what my position really is."

Ezra Jennings looked at me with the first appearance of
embarrassment which I had seen in him yet.

"I have no right, Mr. Blake, and no wish," he said, "to in-
trude myself into your private affairs. Allow me to ask
your pardon, on my side, for having, most innocently, put
you to a painful test."

"You have a perfect right," I rejoined, "to fix the terms
on which you feel justified in revealing what you heard at
Mr. Candy's bedside. I understand and respect the delicacy
which influences you in this matter. How can I expect to
be taken into your confidence if I decline to admit you into
mine? You ought to know and you shall know why I am
interested in discovering what Mr. Candy wanted to say to
me. If I turn out to be mistaken in my anticipations, and
if you prove unable to help me when you are really aware
of what I want, I shall trust to your honor to keep my secret
— and something tells me that I shall not trust in vain."

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THE MOONSTONE

"Stop, Mr. Blake. I have a word to say, which must be
said before you go any further."

I looked at him in astonishment. The grip of some terri-
ble emotion seemed to have seized him, and shaken him to
the soul. His gypsy complexion had altered to a livid gray-
ish paleness ; his eyes had suddenly become wild and glitter-
ing; his voice had dropped to a tone — low, stern, and reso-
lute— which I now heard for the first time. The latent
resources in the man for good or for evil — it was hard at that
moment to say which — leaped up in him and showed them-
selves to me with the suddenness of a flash of light.

"Before you place any confidence in me," he wen-t on,
"you ought to know, and you must know, under what cir-
cumstances I have been received into Mr. Candy's house. It
won't take long. I don't profess, sir, to tell my story, as
the phrase is, to any man. My story will die with me. All
I ask is to be permitted to tell you what I have told ]\Ir.
Candy. If you are still in the mind, when you have heard
that, to say what you have proposed to say, you will com-
mand my attention and command my services. Shall we
walk on ?"

The suppressed misery in his face silenced me. I answered
his question by a sign. We walked on.

After advancing a* few hundred yards, Ezra Jennings
stopped at a gap in the rough stone wall which shut off the
moor from the road at this part of it.

"Do you mind resting a little, Mr. Blake?" he asked. "I
am not what I was — and some things shake me."

I agreed of course. He led the way through the gap to a
patch of turf on the heathy ground, screened by bushes and
dwarf trees on the side nearest to the road and command-
ing in the opposite direction a grandly desolate view over
the broad brown wilderness of the moor. The clouds had
gathered within the last half hour. The light was dull; the
distance was dim. The lovely face of Nature met us, soft
and still and colorless — met us without a smile.

We sat down in silence. Ezra Jennings laid aside his hat,
and passed his hand wearily over his forehead, wearily
through his startling white and black hair. He tossed his
little nosegay of wild flowers away from him, as if the re-

414

THE MOONSTONE

membrances which it recalled were remembrances which hurt
him now.

"Mr. Blake !" he said, suddenly, "you are in bad company.
The cloud of a horrible accusation has rested on me for years.
I tell you the worst at once. I am a man whose life is a
wreck and whose character is gone."

I attempted to speak. He stopped me.

"No," he said. "Pardon me ; not yet. Don't commit your-
self to expressions of sympathy which you m^y afterward
wish to recall. I have mentioned an accusation which has
rested on me for years. There are circumstances in con-
nection with it that tell against me. I can not bring myself
to acknowledge what the accusation is. And I am inca-
pable, perfectly incapable, of proving my innocence. I can
only assert my innocence. I assert it, sir, on my oath as a
Christian. It is useless to appeal to my honor as a man."

He paused again. I looked round at him. He never looked
at me in return. His whole being seemed to be absorbed in
the agony of recollecting and in the effort to speak.

"There is much that I might say," he went on, "about
the merciless treatment of me by my own family and the
merciless enmity to which I have fallen a victim. But the
harm is done ; the wrong is beyond all remedy now. I de-
cline to weary or distress you, sir, if I can help it. At the
outset of my career in this country, the vile slander to which
I have referred struck me down at once and forever. I re-
signed my aspirations in my profession — obscurity was the
only hope left for me. I parted with the woman I loved —
how could I condemn her to share my disgrace? A medical
assistant's place offered itself, in a remote corner of England.
I got the place. It promised me peace ; it promised me ob-
scurity, as I thought. I was wrong. Evil report, with time
and chance to help it, travels patiently, and travels far. The
accusation from which I had fled followed me. I got warn-
ing of its approach. I was able to leave my situation vol-
untarily, with the testimonials that I had earned. They got
me another situation, in another remote district. Time passed
again ; and again the slander that was death to my char-
acter found me out. On this occasion I had no warning.
My employer said, ' ]\Ir. Jennings, I have no complaint to

415

THE MOONSTONE

make against you; but you must set yourself right, or leave
me.' I had but one choice — I left him. It's useless to dwell
on what ;^- suffered after that. I am only forty years old
now. Look at my face, and let it tell for me the story of
some miserable years. It ended in my drifting to this place,
and meeting with Mr. Candy. He wanted an assistant. I
referred him, on the question of capacity, to my last employer.
The question of character remained. I told him what I
have told you — and more. I warned him that there were
difficulties in the way, even if he believed me. ' Here, as
elsewhere,' I said, T scorn the guilty evasion of living under
an assumed name ; I am no safer at Frizinghall than at other
places from the cloud that follows me, go where I may.'
He answered, T don't do things by halves — I believe you,
and I pity you. If you will risk what may happen, / will
risk it too.' God Almighty bless him ! He has given me
shelter, he has given me employment, he has given me rest
of mind — and I have the certain conviction, I have had it
for some months past, that nothing will happen now to make
him regret it."

"The slander has died out?" I said.

"The slander is as active as ever. But when it follows
me here it will come too late."

"You will have left the place?"

"No, Mr. Blake — I shall be dead. For ten years past I
have suffered froin an incurable internal complaint. I don't
disguise from you that I should have let the agony of it kill
me long since but for one last interest in life, which makes
my existence of some importance to me still. I want to pro-
vide for a person — very dear to me — whom I shall never see
again. My own little patrimony is hardly sufficient to make
her independent of the world. The hope, if I could only live
long enough, of increasing it to a certain sum, has impelled
me to resist the disease by such palliative means as I could
devise. The one effectual palliative in my case is — opium.
To that all-potent and all-merciful drug I am indebted for a
respite of many years from my sentence of death. But even
the virtues of opium have their limit. The progress of the
disease has gradually forced me from the use of opium to the
abuse of it. I am feeling the penalty at last. My nervous

4.16

THE MOONSTONE

system is shattered; my nights are nights of horror. The
end is not far off now. Let it come — I have not Hved and
worked in vain. The Httle sum is nearly made 4Jp ; and I
have the means of completing it, if my last reserA^s of life
fail me sooner than I expect. I hardly know how I have
wandered into telling you this. I don't think I am mean
enough to appeal to your pity. Perhaps, I fancy you may
be all the readier to believe me, if you know that what I
have said to you I have said with the certain knowledge in
me that I am a dying man. There is no disguising, Mr.
Blake, that you interest me. I have attempted to make my
poor friend's loss of memory the means of bettering my ac-
quaintance with you. I have speculated on the chance of
your feeling a passing curiosity about what he wanted to
say and of my he'ing able to satisfy it. Is there no excuse
for my intruding myself on you? Perhaps there is some ex-
cuse. A man who has lived as I have lived has his bitter
moments when he ponders over human destiny. You have
youth, health, riches, a place in the world, a prospect before
you — you, and such as you, show me the sunny side of hu-
man life, and reconcile me with the world that I am leaving,
before I go. However this talk between us may end, I shall
not forget that you have done me a kindness in doing that.
It rests with you, sir, to say what you proposed saying, or to
wish me good-morning."

I had but one answer to make to that appeal. Without a
moment's hesitation I told him the truth as unreservedly as
I have told it in these pages.

He started to his feet, and looked at me with breathless
eagerness as I approached the leading incident of my story.

" It is certain that I went into the room," I said ; " it is
certain that I took the Diamond. I can only meet those two
plain facts by declaring that, do what I might, I did it with-
out my own knowledge. You may believe that I have spoken
the truth—"

Ezra Jennings caught me excitedly by the arm.

"Stop !" he said. "You have suggested more to me than
you suppose. Have you ever been accustomed to the use
of opium?"

"I never tasted it in my life."

27 417

THE MOONSTONE

"Were your nerves out of order at this time last year?
Were you unusually restless and irritable?"

"Yes."

"Did you sleep badly?"

"Wretchedly. Many nights I never slept at all."

"Was the birthday night an exception? Try and remem-
ber. Did you sleep well on that one occasion?"

'T do remember ! I slept soundly."

He dropped my arm as suddenly as he had taken it — and
looked at me with the air of a man whose mind was relieved
of the last doubt that rested on it.

"This is a marked day in your life and in mine," he
said, gravely. "I am absolutely certain, Mr. Blake, of
one thing — I have got what Mr. Candy wanted to say to
you, this morning, in the notes that I took at my patient's
bedside. Wait ! that is not all. I am firmly persuaded
that I can prove you to have been unconscious of what
you were about when you entered the room and took
the Diamond. Give me time to think, and time to ques-
tion you. I believe the vindication of your innocence is in
my hands !"

"Explain yourself, for God's sake! What do you mean?"

In the excitement of our colloquy we had walked on a
few steps beyond the clump of dwarf trees which had
hitherto screened us from view. Before Ezra Jennings
could answer me he was hailed from the high-road by a man,
in great agitation, who had been evidently on the lookout
for him.

"I am coming," he called back ; "I am coming as fast as
I can !" He turned to me. "There is an urgent case wait-
ing for me at the village yonder ; I ought to have been there
half an hour since — I must attend to it at once. Give me
two hours from this time, and call at Mr. Candy's again —
and I will engage to be ready for you."

"How am I to wait !" I exclaimed, impatiently. "Can't
you quiet my mind by a word of explanation before we
part?"

"This is far too serious a matter to be explained in a hurry,
Mr. Blake. I am not willfully trying your patience — I should
only be adding to your suspense if I attempted to relieve

418

THE MOONSTONE

it as things are now. At Frizinghall, sir, in two hours' time !"
The man on the high-road hailed him again. He hurried
away and left me.

CHAPTER X.

HOW the interval of suspense to which I was now con-
demned might have affected other men in my position, 'I
can not pretend to say. The influence of the two hours' proba-
tion upon my temperament was simply this : I felt physi-
cally incapable of remaining still in any one place, and mor-
ally incapable of speaking to any one human being, until I
had first heard all that Ezra Jennings had to say to me.

In this frame of mind I not only abandoned my contem-
plated visit to Mrs. Ablewhite — I even shrank from encoun-
tering Gabriel Betteredge himself.

Returning to Frizinghall, I left a note for Betteredge, tell-
ing him that I had been unexpectedly called away for a few
hours, but that he might certainly expect me to return to-
ward three o'clock in the afternoon, I requested him, in the
interval, to order his dinner at the usual hour, and to amuse
himself as he pleased. He had, as well as I knew, hosts of
friends in Frizinghall ; and he would be at no loss how to
fill up his time until I returned to the hotel.

This done, I made the best of my way out of the town
again, and roamed the lonely moor-land country which sur-
rounds Frizinghall, until my watch told me that it was time,
at last, to return to Mr. Candy's house.

I found Ezra Jennings ready and waiting for me.

He was sitting alone in a bare little room, which commu-
nicated by a glazed door with a surgery. Hideous colored
diagrams of the ravages of hideous diseases, decorated the
barren buff-colored walls. A book-case filled with dingy
medical works and ornamented at the top with a skull, in
place of the customary bust ; a large deal table copiously
splashed with ink ; wooden chairs of the sort that are seen
in kitchens and cottages ; a threadbare drugget in the mid-
dle of the floor; a sink of water, with a basin and waste-pipe
roughly let into the wall, horribly suggestive of its connec-

419

THE MOONSTONE

tion with surgical operations — comprised the entire furniture
of the room. The bees were humming among a few flowers
placed in pots outside the window ; the birds were singing
in the garden; and the faint intermittent jingle of a tuneless
piano in some neighboring house, forced itself now and again
on the ear. In any other place, these every-day sounds might
have spoken pleasantly of the every-day world outside. Here
they came in as intruders on a silence which nothing but
human suffering had the privilege to disturb. I looked at
the mahogany instrument-case and at the huge roll of lint,
occupying places of their own on the book-shelves, and shud-
dered inwardly as I thought of the sounds, familiar and ap-
propriate to the every-day use of Ezra Jennings's room.

"I make no apology, Mr. Blake, for the place in which I
am receiving you," he said. "It is the only room in the
house, at this hour of the day, in which we can feel quite
sure of being left undisturbed. Here are my papers ready
for you ; and here are two books to which we may have oc-
casion to refer, before we have done. Bring your chair to
the table, and we shall be able to consult them together."

I drew up to the table ; and Ezra Jennings handed me his
manuscript notes. They consisted of two large folio leaves
of paper. One leaf contained writing which only covered
the surface at intervals. The other presented writing, in
red and black ink, which completely' filled the page from
top to bottom. In the irritated state of my curiosity at that
moment, I laid aside the second sheet of paper in despair.

"Have some mercy on me !" I said. "Tell me what I am
to expect before I attempt to read this."

"Willingly, Mr. Blake. Do you mind my asking you one
or two more questions?"

"Ask me anything you like!"

He looked at me with a sad smile on his lips, and the
kindly interest in his soft brown eyes.

"You have already told me," he said, "that you have never
— to your knowledge — tasted opium in your life."

"To my knowledge?" I repeated.

"You will understand directly why J speak with that res-
ervation. Let us go on. You are not aware of ever having
taken opium. At this time, last year, you were suffering

420

THE MOONSTONE

from nervous irritation, and you slept wretchedly at night.
On the night of tlie birthday, however, there was an exception
to the rule — you slept soundly. Am I right, so far?"

"Quite right."

"Can you assign any cause for your nervous suffering and
your want of sleep?"

"I can assign no cause. Old Betteredge made a guess at
the cause, I remember. But that is hardly worth mentioning."

"Pardon me. Any thing is worth mentioning in such a
case as this. Betteredge attributed your sleeplessness to
something. To what?"

"To my leaving off smoking."

"Had you been an habitual smoker?"

"Yes."

"Did you leave off the habit suddenly?"

"Yes."

"Betteredge v/as perfectly right, Mr. Blake. When smok-
ing is a habit, a man must have no common constitution who
can leave it off suddenly without some temporary damage
to his nervous system. Your sleepless nights are accounted
for, to my mind. My next question refers to Mr. Candy.
Do you remember having entered into any thing like a dis-
pute with him — at the birthday dinner or afterward — on the
subject of his profession?"

The question instantly awakened one of my dormant re-
membrances in connection with the birthday festival. The
foolish wrangle which took place on that occasion, between
Mr. Candy and myself, will be found, described at much
greater length than it deserves, in the tenth chapter of Bet-
teredge's Narrative. The details there presented of the dis-
pute— so little had I thought of it afterward — entirely failed
to recur to my memory. All that I could now recall, and
all that I could tell Ezra Jennings was that I had attacked
the art of medicine at the dinner-table with sufificient rash-
ness and sufficient pertinacity to put even Mr. Candy out of
temper for the moment. I also remembered that Lady Ver-
inder had interfered to stop the dispute, and that the little
doctor and I had "made it up again," as the children say,
and had become as good friends as ever before we shook
hands that night.

421

THE MOONSTONE

"There is one thing more," said Ezra Jennings, "which it
is very important that I should know. Had you any reason
for feeUng any special anxiety about the Diamond at this
time last year?"

"I had the strongest reasons for feeling anxiety about the
Diamond. I knew it to be the object of a conspiracy; and
I was warned to take measures for Miss Verinder's protec-
tion, as the possessor of the stone."

"Was the safety of the Diamond the subject of conversa-
tion between you and any other person immediately before
you retired to rest on the birthday night?"

"It was the subject of a conversation between Lady Ver-
inder and her daughter — "

"Which took place in your hearing?"

"Yes."

Ezra Jennings took up his notes from the table and placed
them in my hands.

"Mr. Blake," he said, "if you read those notes now, by the
light which my questions and your answers have thrown on
them, you will make two astounding discoveries concerning
yourself. You will find : First, that you entered Miss Ver-
inder's sitting-room and took the Diamond, in a state of
trance produced by opium. Secondly, that the opium was
given to you by Mr. Candy — without your own knowledge
— as a practical refutation of the opinions which you had
expressed to him at the birthday dinner."

I sat, with the papers in my hand, completely stupefied.

"Try and forgive poor Mr. Candy," said the assistant,
gently. "He has done dreadful mischief, I own ; but he has
done it innocently. If you will look at the notes you will
see that — but for his illness — he would have returned to
Lady Verinder's the morning after the party, and would
have acknowledged the trick that he had played you. Miss
Verinder would have heard of it, and Miss Verinder would
have questioned him — and the truth which has laid hidden
for a year would have been discovered in a day."

I began to regain my self-possession. "Mr. Candy is be-
yond the reach of my resentment," I said, angrily. "But
the trick that he played me is not the less an act of treach-
ery for all that. I may forgive, but I shall not forget it."

I

THE MOONSTONE

"Every medical man commits that act of treachery, Mr.
Blake, in the course of his practice. The ignorant distrust
of opium, in England, is by no means confined to the lower
and less cultivated classes. Every doctor in large practice
finds himself, every now and then, obliged to deceive his
patients, as Mr. Candy deceived you. I don't defend the folly
of playing you a trick under the circumstances. I only plead
with you for a more accurate and more merciful construction
of motives."

"How was it done?" I asked. "Who gave me the lauda-
num without my knowing it myself?"

"I am not able to tell you. Nothing relating to that part
of the matter dropped from Mr. Candy's lips, all through his
illness. Perhaps your own memory may point to the person
to be suspected?"

"No."

"It is useless, in that case, to pursue the inquiry. The
laudanum was secretly given to you in some way. Let us
leave it there and go on to matters of more immediate im-
portance. Read my notes, if you can. Familiarize your
mind with what has happened in the past. I have something
very bold and very startling to propose to you which relates
to the future."

Those last words roused me.

I looked at the papers, in the order in which Ezra Jennings
had placed them in my hands. The paper which contained
the smaller quantity of writing was the uppermost of the
two. On this the disconnected words and fragments of sen-
tences which had dropped from Mr. Candy in delirium ap-
peared, as follows :

"....Mr. Franklin Blake.... and agreeable. .. .down a
peg. . . .medicine. . . .confesses. . . .sleep at night. . . .tell him
.... out of order .... medicine .... he tells me .... and grop-
ing in the dark mean one and the same thing. . . .all the com-
pany at the dinner-table. . . .1 say. . . .groping after sleep. . . .
nothing but medicine. . . .he says. . . .leading the blind. . . .
know what it means. .. .witty. .. .a night's rest in spite of
his teeth. . . .wants sleep. . . .Lady Verinder's medicine-chest
. . . . five-and-twenty minims. .. .without his knowing it....
to-morrow morning. . . .Well, Mr. Blake. . . .medicine to-day

423

THE MOONSTONE

... .never. .. .without it.... out, Mr. Candy. .. .excellent
. . . .without it. . . .down on him. . . .truth. . . .something be-
sides. .. .excellent. .. .dose of laudanum, sir. . . .bed. . . ,
what. . . .medicine now."

There the first of the two sheets of paper came to an end.
I handed it back to Ezra Jennings.

"That is what you heard at his bedside?" I said.

"Literally and exactly what I heard," he answered; "ex-
cept that the repetitions are not transferred here from my
short-hand notes. He reiterated certain words and phrases
a dozen times over, fifty times over, just as he attached more
or less importance to the idea which they represented. The
repetitions, in this sense, were of some assistance to me in
putting together those fragments. Don't suppose," he added,
pointing to the second sheet of paper, "that I claim to have
reproduced the expressions which Mr. Candy himself would
have used if he had been capable of speaking connectedly.
I only say that I have penetrated through the obstacle of the
disconnected expression to the thought which was underlying
it connectedly all the time. Judge for yourself."

I turned to the second sheet of pSper, which I now knew
to be the key to the first.

Once more, Mr. Candy's wanderings appeared, copied in
black ink ; the intervals between the phrases being filled up
by Ezra Jennings in red ink. I reproduce the result here, in
one plain form ; the original language and the interpreta-
tion of it coming close enough together in these pages to be
easily compared and verified.

"....Mr. Franklin Blake is clever and agreeable, but he
wants taking down a peg when he talks of medicine. He
confesses that he has been suffering from want of sleep at
night. I tell him that his nerves are out of order, and that
he ought to take medicine. He tells me that taking medi-
cine and groping in the dark mean one and the same thing.
This before all the company at the dinner-table. I say to
him, you are groping after sleep, and nothing but medicine
can help you to find it. He says to me, I have heard of the
blind leading the blind, and now I know what it means.
Witty — but I can give him a night's rest in spite of his teeth.
He really wants sleep; and Lady Verinder's medicine-chest

424

THE MOOlN

is at my disposal. Give him five,
laudanum to-night, without his know.,
to-morrow morning. 'Well, Mr. Blake, ■•.
medicine to-day? You will never sleep Wi'
you are out, Mr. Candy : I have had an excehv
without it.' Then come down on him with tht
have had something besides an excellent nigi
had a dose of laudanum, sir, before you went tc
do you say to the art of medicine now ?' "

Admiration of the ingenuity which had woven l
and finished texture out of the raveled skein was
the first impression that I felt on handing the ma
back to Ezra Jennings. He modestly interrupted th
few words in which my sense of surprise expressed itseL
asking me if the conclusion which he had drawn from hi
notes was also the conclusion at which my own mind had
arrived.

"Do you believe as I believe," he said, "that you were
acting under the influence of the laudanum in doing all that
you did, on the night of Miss Verinder's birthday, in Lady
Verinder's house?"

"I am too ignorant of the influence of laudanum to have
an opinion of my own," I answered. "I can only follow your
opinion, and feel convinced that you are right."

"Very well. The next question is this : You are con-
vinced ; and I am convinced — how are we to carry our con-
viction to the minds of other people?"

I pointed to the two manuscripts, lying on the table be-
tween us. Ezra Jennings shook his head.

"Useless, Mr. Blake ! Quite useless, as they stand now,
for three unanswerable' reasons. In the first place, those
notes have been taken under circumstances entirely out of
the experience of the mass of mankind. Against them, to
begin with ! In the second place, those notes represent a
medical and metaphysical theory. Against them, once more .'
In the third place, those notes are of my making; there is
nothing but my assertion to the contrary to guarantee that
they are not fabrications. Remember what I told you on
the moor — and ask yourself what my assertion is worth.
No ! my notes have but one value, looking to the verdict of

425

JONSTONE

.- innocence is to be vindicated ; and
je done. We must put our conviction
jU are the man to prove it."
a.
igerly nearer to me across the table that di-
cing to try a bold experiment?"
anything to clear myself of the suspicion that

-OW.

1 submit to some personal inconvenience for a

.y inconvenience, no matter what it may be."
X you be guided implicitly by my advice? It may
jC you to the ridicule of fools ; it may subject you to

\i remonstrances of friends whose opinions you are bound
to respect — "

"Tell me what to do!" I broke out impatiently. ''And,
come what may, I'll do it."

"You shall do this, Mr. Blake," he answered. "You shall
steal the Diamond, unconsciously, for the second time, in the
presence of witnesses whose testimony is beyond dispute."

I started to my feet. I tried to speak. I could only look
at him.

"I believe it can be done," he went on. "And it shall be
done — if you will only help me. Try to compose yourself —
sit down and hear what I have to say to you. You have
resumed the habit of smoking; I have seen that for myself.
How long have you resumed it ?"

"For nearly a year."

"Do you smoke more or less than you did?"

"More."

"Will you give up the habit again ? Suddenly, mind ! as
you gave it up before."

I began dimly to see his drift. "I will give it up from
this moment," I answered.

"If the same consequences follow which followed last
June," said Ezra Jennings — "if you suffer once more as you
suffered then, from sleepless nights, we shall have gained our
first step. We shall have put you back again into something
assirnilating to your nervous condition on the birthday night.

426

THE MOONSTONE

If we can next revive, or nearly revive, the domestic circum-
stances which surrounded you ; and if we can occupy your
mind again with the various questions concerning the Dia-
mond which formerly agitated it, we shall have replaced you,
as nearly as possible, in the same position, physically and
morally, in which the opium found you last year. In that
case we may fairly hope that a repetition of the dose will
lead, in a greater or lesser degree, to a repetition of the re-
sult. There is my proposal, expressed in a few hasty words.
You shall now see what reasons I have to justify me in mak-
ing it."

He turned to one of the books at his side, and opened it
at a place marked by a small slip of paper.

"Don't suppose that I am going to weary you with a lec-
ture on physiology," he said. "I think myself bound to
prove, in justice to both of us, that I am not asking you to
try this experiment in deference to any theory of my own
devising. Admitted principles and recognized authorities
justify me in the view that I take. Give me five minutes
of your attention, and I will undertake to show you that
science sanctions my proposal, fanciful as it may seem.
Here, in the first place, is the physiological principle on
which I am acting, stated by no less a person than Dr. Car-
penter. Read it for yourself."

He handed me the slip of paper which had marked the
place in the book. It contained a few lines of writing, as
follows :

"There seems much ground for the belief that every sen-
sory impression which has once been recognized by the per-
ceptive consciousness, is registered, so to speak, in the brain,
and may be reproduced at some subsequent time, although
there may be no consciousness of its existence in the mind
during the whole intermediate period."

"Is that plain, so far?" asked Ezra Jennings.

"Perfectly plain."

He pushed the open book across the table to me, and pointed
to a passage marked by pencil lines.

"Now," he said, "read that account of a case which has
- — as I believe — a direct bearing on your own position, and
on the experiment which I am tempting you to try. Ob-

4-^7

THE MOONSTONE

serve, Mr. Blake, before you begin, that I am now referring
you to one of the greatest of English physiologists. The
book in your hand is Doctor EUiotson's Human Physiology ;
and the case which the doctor cites rests on the well-known
authority of Mr. Combe."

The passage pointed out to' me was expressed in these
terms :

"Doctor Abel informed me," says Mr. Combe, "of an Irish
porter to a warehouse, who forgot, when sober, what he had
done when drunk ; but, being drunk, again recollected the
transactions of his former state of intoxication. On one oc-
casion, being drunk, he had lost a parcel of some value, and
in his sober moments could give no account of it. Next time
he was intoxicated he recollected that he had left a parcel at
a certain house, and there being no address on it, it had re-
mained there safely, and was got on his calling for it."

"Plain again ?" asked Ezra Jennings.

"As plain as need be."

He put back the slip of paper in its place, and closed the
book.

"Are you satisfied that I have not spoken without good
authority to support me?" he asked. 'Tf not, I have only
to go to those book-shelves, and you have only to read the
passages which I can point out to you."

"I am quite satisfied," I said, "without reading a word
more."

"In that case, we m_ay return to your own personal inter-
est in this matter. I am bound to tell you that there is
something to be said against the experiment as well as for
it. If we could, this year, exactly reproduce, in your case,
the conditions as they existed last year, it is physiologically
certain that we should arrive at exactly the same result.
But this — there is no denying it — is simply impossible. We
can only hope to approximate to the conditions ; and if we
don't succeed in getting you nearly enough back to what
you were, this venture of ours will fail. If we do succeed —
and I am myself hopeful of success — 3'ou may at least so far
repeat your proceedings on the birthday night as to satisfy
any reasonable person that you are guiltless, morally speak-
ing, of the theft of the Diamond. I believe, Mr. Blake, I

428

THE MOONSTONE

have now stated the question, on both sides of it, as fairly
as I can, within the limits that I have imposed on myself.
If there is any thing that I have not made clear to you, tell
me what it is — and if I can enlighten you, I will."

"All that you have explained to me," I said, 'T under-
stand perfectly. But I own I am puzzled on one point, which
you have not made clear to me yet."

"What is the point?"

"I don't understand the effect of the laudanum on me. I
don't understand my walking down stairs, and along corri-
dors, and my opening and shutting the drawers of a cabinet,
and my going back again to my own room. All these are
active proceedings. I thought the influence of opium was
first to stupefy you, and then to send you to sleep."

"The common error about opium, Mr. Blake ! I am at this
moment exerting my intelligence, such as it is, in your ser-
vice, under the influence of a dose of laudanum, some ten
times larger than the dose Mr. Candy administered to you.
But don't trust to my authority — even on a question which
comes within my own personal experience. I anticipated
the objection you have just made; and I have again pro-
vided myself with independent testimony, which will carry
its due weight with it in your own mind, and in the minds
of your friends."

He handed me the second of the two books which he had
by him on the table.

"There," he said, "are the far-famed 'Confessions of an
English Opium Eater!' Take the book away with you, and
read it. At the passage which I have marked you will find
that when De Quincey had committed what he calls 'a. de-
bauch of opium,' he either went to the gallery at the Opera
to enjoy the music, or he wandered about the London mar-
kets on Saturday night, and interested himself in observing
all the little shifts and bargainings of the poor in providing
their Sunday dinners. So much for the capacity of a man
to occupy himself actively and to move about from place to
place under the influence of opium."

"I am answered so far," I said ; "but I am not answered
yet as to the effect produced by the opium on myself."

"I will try to answer you in few words," said Ezra Jen-

429

THE MOONSTONE

nings. "The action of opium is comprised, in the majority
of cases, in two influences — a stimulating influence first, and
a sedative influence afterward. Under the stimulating influ-
ence, the latest and most vivid impressions left on your mind
— namely, the impressions relating to the Diamond — would
be likely, in your morbidly sensitive nervous condition, to
become . intensified in your brain and would subordinate to
themselves your judgment and your will — exactly as an or-
dinary dream subordinates to itself your judgment and your
will. Little by little, under this action, any apprehensions
about the safety of the Diamond which you might have felt
during the day, would be liable to develop themselves from
the state of doubt to the state of certainty — would impel
you into practical action to preserve the jewel — would di-
rect your steps, with that motive in view, into the room
which you entered — and would guide your hand to the
drawers of the cabinet, until you had found the drawer which
held the stone. In the spiritualized intoxication of opium,
you would do all that. Later, as the sedative action began
to gain on the stimulant action, you would slowly become
inert and stupefied. Later still, you would fall into a deep
sleep. When the morning came and the effect of the opium
had been all slept off, you would wake as absolutely igno-
rant of what you had done in the night as if you had been
living at the Antipodes. — Have I made it tolerably clear to
you, so far?"

"You have made it so clear," I said, "that I want you to
go farther. You have shown me how I entered the room,
and how I came to take the Diamond. But Aliss Verinder
saw me leave the room again, with the jewel in my hand.
Can you trace my proceedings from that moment? Can you
guess what I did next?"

"That is the very point I was coming to," he rejoined.
"It is a question with me whether the experiment which I
propose as a means of vindicating your innocence may not
also be made a means of recovering the lost Diamond as
well. When you left Miss Verinder's sitting-room, with the
jewel in your hand, you went back in all probability to your
own room — "

"Yes; and what then?"

430

THE MOONSTONE

"It is possible, Mr. Blake — I dare not say more — that your
idea of preserving the Diamond led, by a natural sequence,
to the idea of hiding the Diamond, and that the place in
which you hid it was somewhere in your bedroom. In that
event, the case of the Irish porter may be your case. You
may remember, under the influence of the second dose of
opium, the place in which you hid the Diamond under the
influence of the first."

It was my turn, now, to enlighten Ezra Jennings. I stopped
him before he could say any more.

"You are speculating," I said, "on a result which can not
possibly take place. The Diamond is, at this moment, in
London."

He started, and looked at me in great surprise.

"In London?" he repeated. "How did it get to London
from Lady Verinder's house?"

"Nobody knows."

"You removed it with your own hand from Miss Verin-
der's room. How was it taken out of your keeping?"

"I have no idea how it was taken out of my keeping."

"Did you see it, when you woke in the morning?"

"No."

"Has Miss Verinder recovered possession of it?"

"No."

"Mr. Blake ! there seems to be something here which wants
clearing up. May I ask how you know that the Diamond
is, at this moment, in London?"

I had put precisely the same question to Mr. Bruff, when
I made my first inquiries about the Moonstone, on my return
to England. In answering Ezra Jennings, I accordingly re-
peated what I had myself heard from the lawyer's own lips
— and what is already familiar to the readers of these pages.

He showed plainly that he was not satisfied with my reply.

"With all deference to you," he said, "and with all defer-
ence to your legal adviser, I maintain the opinion which I
expressed just now. It rests, I am well aware, on a mere as-
sumption. Pardon me for reminding you that your opinion
also rests on a mere assumption as well."

The view he took of the matter w^as entirely new to me.
I waited anxiously to hear how he would defend it.

43^

THE MOONSTONE

'7 assume," pursued Ezra Jennings, "that the influence
of the opium — after impelling you to possess yourself of the
Diamond, with the purpose of securing its safety — might
also impel you, acting under the same influence and the same
motive, to hide it somewhere in your own room. You assume
that the Hindoo conspirators could by no possibility commit
a mistake. The Indians went to Mr. Luker's house after
the Diamond — and, therefore, in Mr. Luker's possession the
Diamond must be ! Have you any evidence to prove that the
Moonstone was taken to London at all? You can't even
guess how, or by whom, it was removed from Lady Verin-
der's house! Have you any evidence that the jewel was
pledged to Mr. Luker? He declares that he never heard of
the Moonstone : and his bankers' receipt acknowledges no-
thing but the deposit of a valuable of great price. The In-
dians assume that Mr. Luker is lying — and you assume again
that the Indians are right. All I say in defense of my view
is — that it is possible. What more, Mr. Blake, either logically
or legally, can be said for yours?"

It was put strongly ; but there was no denying that it was
put truly as well.

"I confess you stagger me," I replied. "Do you object to
my writing to Mr, Bruflf, and telling him what you have
said?"

"On the contrary, I shall be glad if you will write to Mr.
Bruff. If we consult his experience we may see the matter
under a new light. For the present, let us return to our ex-
periment with the opium. We have decided that you leave
off the habit of smoking from this moment?"

"From this moment."

"That is the first step. The next step is to reproduce, as
nearly as we can, the domestic circumstances which sur-
rounded you last year."

How was this to be done? Lady Verinder was dead.
Rachel and I, so long as the suspicion of theft rested on
me, were parted irrevocably. Godfrey Ablewhite was away,
traveling on the Continent. It was simply impossible to
re-assemble the people who had inhabited the house when I
had slept in it last. The statement of this objection did not
appear to embarrass Ezra Jennings. He attached very little

432

THE MOONSTONE

importance, he said, to re-assembling the same people — see-
ing that it would be vain to expect them to re-assume the
various positions which they had occupied toward me in the
past time. On the other hand, he considered it essential to
the success of the experiment that I should see the same ob-
jects about me which had surrounded me when I was last
in the house.

"Above all things," he said, "you must sleep in the room
which you slept in on the birthday night, and it must be
furnished in the same way. The stairs, the corridors, and
Miss Verinder's sitting-room, must also be restored to what
they were when you saw them last. It is absolutely neces-
sary, Mr. Blake, to replace every article of furniture in that
part of the house which may now be put away. The sacri-
fice of your cigars will be useless unless we can get Miss
Verinder's permission to do that."

"Who is to apply to her for permission?" I asked.

"Is it not possible for yoit to apply ?"

"Quite out of the question. After what has passed be-
tween us on the subject of the lost Diamond, I can neither
see her, nor write to her, as things are now."

Ezra Jennings paused, and considered for a moment.

"May I ask you a delicate question?" he said.

I signed to him to go on.

"Am I right, Mr. Blake, in fancying (from one or two
things which have dropped from you) that you felt no com-
mon interest in Miss Verinder in former times?"

"Quite right."

"Was the feeling returned?"

"It was."

"Do you think Miss Verinder would be likely to feel a
strong interest in the attempt to prove your innocence?"

"I am certain of it."

"In that case / will write to Miss Verinder — if you will
give me leave."

"Telling her of the proposal that you have made to me?"

"Telling her of everything that has passed between us
to-day."

It is needless to say that I eagerly accepted the service
which he had offered to me.

^ 433

THE MOONSTONE

"I shall have time to write by to-day's post," he said,
looking at his watch. "Don't forget to lock up your cigars
when you get back to the hotel ! I will call to-morrow
morning and hear how you have passed the night."

I rose to take leave of him, and attempted to express the
grateful sense of his kindness which I really felt.

He pressed my hand gently. "Remember what I told you
on the moor," he answered. "H I can do you this little ser-
vice, Mr. Blake, I shall feel it like a last gleam of sunshine
falling on the evening of a long and cloudy day."

We parted. It was then the fifteenth of June. The
events of the next ten days — every one of them more or less
directly connected with the experiment of which I was the
passive object — are all placed on record, exactly as they
happened, in the journal habitually kept by Mr. Candy's
assistant. In the pages of Ezra Jennings nothing is con-
cealed, and nothing is forgotten. Let Ezra Jennings tell how
the venture with the opium was tried, and how it ended.

FOURTH NARRATIVE

Extracted from the Journal of Ezra Jennings,

1849. — June 1 5.... With some interruption from patients,
and some interruption from pain, I finished my letter to Miss
Verinder in time for to-day's post. I failed to make it as
short a letter as I could have wished. But I think I have
made it plain. It leaves her entirely mistress of her own
decision. If she consents to assist the experiment, she con-
sents of her own free-will, and not as a favor to Mr. Frank-
lin Blake or to me.

Jime 16. — Rose late, after a dreadful night; the vengeance
of yesterday's opium pursuing me through a series of fright-
ful dreams. At one time, I was whirling through empty
space with the phantoms of the dead, friends and enemies
together. At another, the one beloved face which I shall

434

THE MOONSTONE

never see again rose at my bedside, hideously phosphores-
cent in the black darkness, and glared and grinned at me.
A slight return of the old pain, at the usual time in the early
morning, was welcome as a change. It dispelled the visions
^and it was bearable because it did that.

My bad night made it late in the morning before I could
get to Mr. Franklin Blake. I found him stretched on the
sofa, breakfasting on brandy and soda-water, and a dry
biscuit.

'T am beginning as well as you could possibly wish," he
said. "A miserable, restless night and a total failure of appe-
tite this morning. Exactly what happened last year when
I gave up my cigars. The sooner I am ready for my second
dose of laudanum the better I shall be pleased."

"You shall have it on the earliest possible day," I answered.
'Tn the mean time, we must be as careful of your health
as we can. If we allow you to become exhausted, we shall
fail in that way. You must get an appetite for your dinner.
In other words, you must get a ride or a walk this morning
in the fresh air."

"I will ride, if they can find me a horse here. By-the-bye,
I wrote to Mr. Bruff yesterday. Have you written to Miss
Verinder?"

"Yes — by last night's post."

"Very good. We shall have some news worth hearing to
tell each other to-morrow. Don't go yet. I have a word
to say to you. You appeared to think, yesterday, that our
experiment with the opium was not likely to be viewed very
favorably by some of my friends. You were quite right; I
call old Gabriel Betteredge one of my friends and you will
be amused to hear that he protested strongly when I saw
him yesterday. 'You have done a wonderful number of
foolish things in the course of your life, Mr. Franklin ; but
this tops them all !' There is Betteredge's opinion ! You
will make allowances for his prejudices, I am sure, if you and
he happen to meet."

I left Mr. Blake, to go my rounds among my patients;
feeling the better and the happier even for the short inter-
view that I had had with him.

What is the secret of the attraction that there is for me in

435

THE MOONSTONE

this man? Does it only mean that I feel the contrast be-
tween the frankly kind manner in which he has allowed me
to become acquainted with him and the merciless dislike and
distrust with which I am met by other people? Or is there
really something in him which answers to the yearning that
I have for a little human sympathy — the yearning, which
has survived the solitude and persecution of many years ;
which seems to grow keener and keener, as the time comes
nearer and nearer when I shall endure and feel no more?
How useless to ask these questions ! Mr. Blake has given
me a new interest in life. Let that be enough, without seeking
to know what the new interest is.

June 17. — Before breakfast this morning Mr. Candy in-
formed me that he was going away for a fortnight, on a visit
to a friend in the south of England. He gave me as many
special directions, poor fellow, about the patients, as if he
still had the large practice which he possessed before he was
taken ill. The practice is worth little enough now ! Other
doctors have superseded him; and nobody who can help it
will employ ine.

It is perhaps fortunate that he is to be away just at this
time. He would have been mortified if I had not informed
him of the experiment which I am going to try with Mr.
Blake. And I hardly know what undesirable results might
not have happened if I had taken him into my confidence.
Better as it is. Unquestionably, better as it is.

The post brought me Miss Verinder's answer, after Mr.
Candy had left the house.

A charming letter ! It gives me the highest opinion of
her. There is no attempt to conceal the interest that she
feels in our proceedings. She tells me, in the prettiest man-
ner, that my letter has satisfied her of Mr. Blake's innocence,
without the slightest need, so far as she is concerned, of put-
ting my assertion to the proof. She even upbraids herself —
most undeservedly, poor thing! — for not having divined at
the time what the true solution of the mystery might really
be. The motive underlying all this proceeds evidently from
something more than a generous eagerness to make atone-
ment for a wrong which she has innocently inflicted on an-

436

THE MOONSTONE

other person. It is plain that she has loved him throughout
the estrangement between them. In more than one place
the rapture of discovering that he has deserved to be loved
breaks its way innocently through the stoutest formalities of
pen and ink and even defies the stronger restraint still of
writing to a stranger. Is it possible, I ask myself, in read-
ing this delightful letter, that I, of all men in the world, am
chosen to be the means of bringing these two young people
together again? My own happiness has been trampled un-
der foot ; my own love has been torn from me. Shall I live
to see a happiness of others, which is of my making — a love
renewed, which is of my bringing back? Oh merciful Death,
let me see it before your arms enfold me, before your voice
whispers to me, "Rest at last !"

There are two requests contained in the letter. One of
them prevents me from showing it to Mr. Franklin Blake. I
am authorized to tell him that Miss Verinder willingly con-
sents to place her house at our disposal ; and, that said, I
am desired to add no more.

So far, it is easy to comply with her wishes. But the sec-
ond request embarrasses me seriously.

Not content with having written to Mr. Betteredge, in-
structing him to carry out whatever directions I may have
to give. Miss Verinder asks leave to assist me, by personally
superintending the restoration of her own sitting-room. She
only waits a word of reply from me, to make the journey to
Yorkshire and to be present as one of the witnesses on the
night when the opium is tried for the second time.

Here, again, there is a motive under the surface ; and,
here again, I fancy that I can find it out.

What she has forbidden me to tell Mr. Franklin Blake,
she is, as I interpret it, eager to tell him with her own lips,
before he is put to the test which is to vindicate his charac-
ter in the eyes of other people. I understand and admire
this generous anxiety to acquit him, without waiting until
his innocence may, or may not, be proved. It is the atone-
ment that she is longing to make, poor girl, after having in-
nocently and inevitably wronged him. But the thing can
not be done. I have no sort of doubt that the agitation
which a meeting between them would produce on both sides

437

THE MOONSTONE

— the old feelings which it would revive, the new hopes
which it would awaken — would, in their effect on the mind
of Mr. Blake, be almost certainly fatal to the success of our
experiment. It is hard enough, as things are, to re-produce
in him the conditions as they existed, or nearly as they ex-
isted, last year. With new interests and new emotions to
agitate him, the attempt would be simply useless.

And yet, knowing this, I can not find it in my heart to
disappoint her. I must try if I can discover some new ar-
rangement, before post-time, which will allow me to say Yes
to Miss Verinder, without damage to the service which I
have bound myself to render to Mr. Franklin Blake.

Two o'clock. — I have just returned from my round of med-
ical visits ; having begun, of course, by calling at the hotel.

Mr. Blake's report of the night is the same as before. He
has had some intervals of broken sleep and no more. But
he feels it less to-day, having slept after yesterday's dinner.
This after-dinner sleep is the result, no doubt, of the ride
which I advised him to take. I fear I shall have to curtail
his restorative exercise in the fresh air. He must not be too
well ; he must not be too ill. It is a case, as the sailors say,
of very fine steering.

He has not heard yet from Mr. Bruff. I found him eager"
to know if I had received any answer from Miss Verinder.

I told him exactly what I was permitted to tell, and no
more. It was quite needless to invent excuses for not show-
ing him the letter. He told me bitterly enough, poor fellow,
that he understood the delicacy which disinclined me to pro-
duce it. "She consents, of course, as a matter of common
courtesy and common justice," he said. "But she keeps her
own opinion of me and waits to see the result." I was sorely
tempted to hint that he was now wronging her as she had
wronged him. On reflection, I shrank from forestalling her
in the double luxury of surprising and forgiving him.

My visit was a very short one. After the experience of
the other night, I have been compelled once more to give
up my dose of opium. As a necessary result, the agony
of the disease that is in me has got the upper hand again.
I felt the attack coming on, and left abruptly, so as not to
alarm or distress him. It only lasted a quarter of an hour

438

THE MOONSTONE

this time, and it left me strength enough to go on with my
work.

Five o'clock. — I have written my reply to Miss Verinder.

The arrangement I have proposed reconciles the interest
on both sides, if she will only consent to it. After first stat-
ing the objections that there are to a meeting between Mr.
Blake and herself, before the experiment is tried, I have sug-
gested that she should so time her journey as to arrive at
the house privately, on the evening when we make the at-
tempt. Traveling by the afternoon train from London, she
would delay her arrival until nine o'clock. At that hour, I
have undertaken to see Mr. Blake safely into his bed-cham-
ber ; and so to leave Miss Verinder free to occupy her own
rooms until the time comes for administering the laudanum.
When that has been done, there can be no objection to her
watching the result, with the rest of us. On the next morn-
ing she shall show ]\Ir. Blake, if she likes, her correspondence
with me and shall satisfy him in that way that he was ac-
quitted in her estimation, before the question of his innocence
was put to the proof.

In that sense I have written to her. This is all that I can
do to-day. To-morrow I must see Mr. Betteredge, and give
the necessary directions for re-opening the house.

June i8. — Late again, in calling on Mr. Franklin Blake.
More of that horrible pain in the early morning; followed,
this time, by complete prostration, for some hours. I fore-
see, in spite of the penalties which it exacts from me, that I
shall have to return to the opium for the hundredth time.
If I had only myself to think of, I should prefer the sharp
pains to the frightful dreams. But the physical suffering
exhausts me. If I let myself sink, it may end in my becom-
ing useless to Mr. Blake at the time when he wants me
most.

It was nearly nine o'clock before I could get to the hotel
to-day. The visit, even in my shattered condition, proved
to be a most amusing one — thanks entirely to the presence,
on the scene, of Gabriel Betteredge.

I found him in the room when I went in. He withdrew
to the window and looked out. while I put my first custoni-

439

THE MOONSTONE

ary question to my patient. Mr. Blake had slept badly
again, and he felt the loss of rest this morning more than he
had felt it yet.

I asked next if he had heard from Mr. Bruff.

A letter had reached him that morning. Mr. Bruff ex-
pressed the strongest disapproval of the course which his
friend and client was taking under my advice. It was mis-
chievous— for it excited hopes that might never be realized.
It was quite unintelligible to his mind, except that it looked
like a piece of trickery, akin to the trickery of mesmerism,
clairvoyance, and the like. It unsettled Miss Verinder's
house, and it would end in unsettling Miss Verinder her-
self. He had put the case, without mentioning names, to
an eminent physician ; and the eminent physician had
smiled, had shaken his head, and had said — nothing. On
these grounds, Mr. Bruff entered his protest, and left it
there.

My next inquiry related to the subject of the Diamond.
Had the lawyer produced any evidence to prove that the
jewel was in London?

No, the lawyer had simply declined to discuss the ques-
tion. He was himself satisfied that the Moonstone had been
pledged to Mr. Luker. His eminent absent friend, Mr. Mur-
thwaite, whose consummate knowledge of the Indian charac-
ter no one could deny, was satisfied also. Under these cir-
cumstances, and with the many demands already made on
him, he must decline entering into any disputes on the sub-
ject of evidence. Time would show and Mr. Bruff was
willing to wait for time.

It was quite plain — even if Mr, Blake had not made it
plainer still by reporting the substance of the letter, instead
of reading what was actually written — that distrust of me
was at the bottom of all this. Having myself foreseen that
result, I was neither mortified nor surprised. I asked Mr.
Blake if his friend's protest had shaken him. He answered
emphatically that it had not produced the slightest effect on
his mind. I was free after that to dismiss Mr. Bruff from
consideration — and I did dismiss him, accordingly.

A pause in the talk between us followed — and Gabriel
Betteredge came out from his retirement at the window,

440

THE MOONSTONE

"Can you favor me with your attention, sir?" he inquired,
addressing himself to me.

"I am quite at your service," I answered.

Betteredge took a chair and seated himself at the table.
He produced a huge old-fashioned leather pocket-book, with
a pencil of dimensions to match. Having put on his specta-
cles, he opened the pocket-book at a blank page and addressed
himself to me once more.

"I have lived," said Betteredge, looking at me sternly,
"nigh on fifty years in the service of my late lady. I was
page-boy before that in the service of the old lord, her father.
I am now somewhere between seventy and eighty years of
age — never mind exactly where ! I am reckoned to have
got as pretty a knowledge and experience of the world as
most men. And what does it all end in? It ends, Mr. Ezra
Jennings, in a conjuring trick being performed on Mr. Frank-
lin Blake by a doctor's assistant with a bottle of laudanum ;
and, by the living jingo, I'm appointed, in my old age, to be
conjurer's boy! "

Mr. Blake burst out laughing. I attempted to speak.
Betteredge held up his hand, in token that he had not done yet.

"Not a word, Mr. Jennings !" he said. "It don't want a
word, sir, from you. I have got my principles, thank God.
If an order comes to me which is own brother to an order
come from Bedlam, it don't matter. So long as I get it from
my master or mistress, as the case may be, I obey it. I may
have my own opinion, which is also, you will please to re-
member, the opinion of Mr. Bruff — the great Mr. Brufif!"
said Betteredge, raising his voice, and shaking his head at
me solemnly. "It don't matter; I withdraw my opinion,
for all that. My young lady says, 'Do it.' And I say,
'Miss, it shall be done.' Here I am, with my book and my
pencil — the latter not pointed so well as I could wish ; but
when Christians take leave of their senses, who is to expect
that pencils will keep the<ir points ? Give me your orders,
Mr. Jennings. I'll have them in writing, sir. I'm determined
not to be behind 'em, or before 'em, by so much as a hair-
breadth. I'm a blind agent — that's what I am. A blind
agent !" repeated Betteredge, with infinite relish of his own
description of himself.

441

THE MOONSTONE

"I am very sorry/' I began, "that you and I don't
agree — "

"Don't bring me into it !" interposed Betteredge. "This
is not a matter of agreement, it's a matter of obedience. Issue
your directions, sir — issue your directions !"

Mr. Blake made me a sign to take him at his word. I
"issued my directions" as plainly and as gravely as I could.

"I wish certain parts of the house to be re-opened," I said,
"and to be furnished exactly as they were furnished at this
time last year."

Betteredge gave his imperfectly-pointed pencil a prelimi-
nary lick with his tongue. "Name the parts, Mr. Jennings!"
he said loftily.

"First, the inner hall, leading to the chief staircase."

" 'First, the inner hall,' " Betteredge wrote. "Impossible
to furnish that, sir, as it was furnished last year — to begin
with."

"Why ?"

"Because there was a stuffed buzzard, Mr. Jennings, in the
hall last year. When the family left, the buzzard was put
away with the other things. When the buzzard was put
away, he burst."

"We will except the buzzard, then."

Betteredge took a note of the exception. "The inner
hall to be furnished again, as furnished last year. A burst
buzzard alone excepted. Please to go on, Mr. Jennings."

"The carpet to be laid down on the stairs, as before."

" 'The carpet to be laid down on the stairs, as before.'
Sorry to disappoint you, sir. But that can't be done either."

"Why not?" '

"Because the man who laid that carpet down is dead, ]\Ir.
Jennings ; and the like of him for reconciling together a car-
pet and a corner is not to be found in all England, look where
you may."

"Very well. We must try the next best man in England."

Betteredge took another note, and I went on issuing my
directions.

"Miss Verinder's sitting-room to be restored exactly to
what it was last year. Also, the corridor leading from the
sitting-room to the first landing. Also, the second corridor,

442

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leading from the second landing to the best bedrooms. Also,
the bedroom occupied last June by Mr. Franklin Blake."

Betteredge's blunt pencil folloM^ed me conscientiously,
word by word. "Go on, sir," he said, with sardonic gravity.
"There's a deal of writing left in the point of this pencil
yet."

I told him that I had no more directions to give. "Sir,"
said Betteredge, "in that case, I have a point or two to put
on my own behalf." He opened the pocket-book at a new
page, and gave the inexhaustible pencil another preliminary
lick.

"I wish to know," he began, "whether I may, or may not,
wash my hands — "

"You may, decidedly," said Mr. Blake. "I'll ring for the
waiter."

" — of certain responsibilities," pursued Betteredge, im-
penetrably declining to see any body in the room but him-
self and me. "As to Miss Verinder's sitting-room, to begin
with. When we took up the carpet last year, Mr. Jennings,
we found a svirprising quantity of pins. Am I responsible
for putting back the pins ?"

"Certainly not."

Betteredge made a note of that concession on the spot.

"As to the first corridor, next," he resumed. "When we
moved the ornaments in that part, we moved a statue of a
fat naked child — profanely described in the catalogue of the
house as 'Cupid, god of Love.' He had two wings last year,
in the fleshy part of his shoulders. My eye being off him
for the moment, he lost one of them. Am I responsible for
Cupid's wing?"

I made another concession, and Betteredge made another
note.

"As to the second corridor," he went on. "There hav-
ing been nothing in it last year but the doors of the rooms,
to every one of which I can swear, if necessary, my mind
is easy, I admit, respecting that part of the house only. But,
as to Mr. Franklin's bedroom, if that is to be put back to
what it was before, I want to know who is responsible for
keeping it in a perpetual state of litter, no matter how often
it may be set right — his trousers here, his towels there, and

443

THE MOONSTONE

his French novels everywhere — I say, v^ho is responsible
for untidying the tidiness of Mr. Franklin's room — him or
me?" *

Mr. Blake declared that he would assume the whole re-
sponsibility with the greatest pleasure. Betteredge obsti-
nately declined to listen to any solution of the difficulty
without first referring it to my sanction and approval. I
accepted Mr. Blake's proposal and Betteredge made a last
entry in the pocket-book to that effect.

"Look in when you like, Mr. Jennings, beginning from to-
morrow," he said, getting on his legs. ''You will find me
at work, with the necessary persons to assist me. I respect-
fully beg to thank you, sir, for overlooking the case of the
stuffed buzzard and the other case of the Cupid's wing — as
also for permitting me to wash my hands of all responsibility
in respect of the pins on the carpet and the litter in Mr.
Franklin's room. Speaking as a servant, I am deeply in-
debted to you. Speaking as a man, I consider you to be a
person whose head is full of maggots ; and I take up my
testimony against your experiment as a delusion and a snare.
Don't be afraid, on that accovmt, of my feelings as a man
getting in the way of my duty as a servant ! You shall
be obeyed — the maggots notwithstanding, sir, you shall be
obeyed. If it ends in your setting the house on fire, damme
if I send for the engines, unless you ring the bell and order
them first!"

With that farewell assurance he fnade me a bow, and
walked out of the room.

"Do you think we can depend on him?" I asked.

"Implicitly," answered Mr. Blake. "When we go to the
house, we shall find nothing neglected and nothing forgot-
ten."

June 19. — Another protest against our contemplated pro-
ceedings ! From a lady this time.

The morning's post brought me two letters. One from
Miss Verinder, consenting, in the kindest manner, to the ar-
rangement that I have proposed. The other from the lady
under whose care she is living — one Mrs. Merridew.

Mrs. Merridew presents her compliments and does not

444

THE MOONSTONE

pretend to understand the subject on which I have been
corresponding with Miss Verinder, in its scientific bearings.
Viewed in its social bearings, however, she feels free to pro-
nounce an opinion. I am probably, Mrs. Merridew thinks,
not aware that Miss Verinder is barely nineteen years of
age. To allow a young lady, at her time of life, to be pres-
ent, without a "chaperon," in a house full of men among
whom a medical experiment is being carried on, is an out-
rage on propriety which Mrs. Merridew can not possibly
permit. If the matter is allowed to proceed, she will feel it
to be her duty — at a serious sacrifice of her own personal
convenience — to accompany Miss Verinder to Yorkshire.
Under these circumstances she ventures to request that I
will kindly reconsider the subject ; seeing that Miss Verin-
der declines to be guided by any opinion but mine. Her
presence can not possibly be necessary and a word from
me to that efifect would relieve both Mrs. Merridew and my-
self of a very unpleasant responsibility.

Translated from polite commonplace into plain English,
the meaning of this is, as I take it, that Mrs. Merridew stands
in mortal fear of the opinion of the world. She has unfor-
tunately appealed to the very last man in existence who
has any reason to regard that opinion with respect. I won't
disappoint Miss Verinder; and I won't delay a reconcilia-
tion between two young people who love each other, and
who have been parted too long already. Translated from
plain English into polite commonplace, this means that Mr.
Jennings presents his compliments to Mrs. Merridew, and
regrets that he can not feel justified in interfering any far-
ther in the matter.

Mr. Blake's report of himself this morning was the same
as before. We determined not to disturb Betteredge by
overlooking him at the house to-day. To-morrow will be
time enough for our first visit of inspection.

June 20. — Mr. Blake is beginning to feel his continued
restlessness at night. The sooner the rooms are refurnished
now the better.

On our way to the house this morning he consulted me,
with some nervous impatience and irresolution, about a let-

445

THE MOONSTONE

ter, forwarded to him from London, which he had received
from Sergeant Cufif.

The Sergeant writes from Ireland. He acknowledges the
receipt, through his housekeeper, of a card and message
which Mr. Blake left at his residence near Dorking, and an-
nounces his return to England as likely to take place in a
week or less. In the mean time he requests to be favored
with Mr. Blake's reasons for wishing to speak to him, as
stated in the message, on the subject of the Moonstone. If
Mr. Blake can convict him of having made any serious mis-
take, in the course of his last year's inquiry concerning the
Diamond, he will consider it a duty, after the liberal man-
ner in which he was treated by the late Lady Verinder, to
place himself at that gentleman's disposal. If not, he begs
permission to remain in his retirement, surrounded by the
peaceful floricultural attractions of a country life.

After reading the letter, I had no hesitation in advising
Mr. Blake to inform Sergeant Cuff, in reply, of all that had
happened since the inquiry was suspended last year, and to
leave him to draw his own conclusions from the plain facts.

On second thoughts, I also suggested inviting the Ser-
geant to be present at the experiment, in the event of his re-
turning to England in time to join us. He would be a val-
uable witness to have in any case ; and, if I proved to be
wrong in believing the Diamond to be hidden in Mr. Blake's
room, his advice might be of great importance, at a future
stage of the proceedings over which I could exercise no con-
trol. This last consideration appeared to decide Mr. Blake.
He promised to follow my advice.

The sound of the hammer informed us that the work of re-
furnishing was in full progress, as we entered the drive that
led to the house.

Betteredge, attired for the occasion in a fisherman's red
cap and an apron of green baize, met us in the outer hall.
The moment he saw me he pulled out the pocket-book and
pencil and obstinately insisted on taking notes of every
thing that I said to him. Look where we might, we found,
as ]\Ir. Blake had foretold, that the work was advancing as
rapidly and as intelligently as it was possible to desire. But
there was still much to be done in the inner hall and in Miss

44-6

THE MOONSTONE

Verinder's room. It seemed doubtful whether the house
would be ready for us before the end of the week.

Having congratulated Betteredge on the progress that he
had made, he persisted in taking notes every time I opened
my lips ; declining, at the same time, to pay the slightest at-
tention to any thing said by Mr. Blake, and having prom-
ised to return for a second visit of inspection in a day or two,
we prepared to leave the house, going out by the back way.
Before we were clear of the passages down stairs I was
stopped by Betteredge, just as I was passing the door which
led into his own room.

"Could I say two words to you in private ?" he asked, in
a mysterious whisper.

I consented, of course. Mr. Blake walked on to wait for
me in the garden, while I accompanied Betteredge into his
room. I fully anticipated a demand for certain new conces-
sions, following the precedent already established in the
cases of the stuffed buzzard and the Cupid's wing. To my
great surprise, Betteredge laid his hand confidentially on my
arm and put this extraordinary question to me :

"Mr. Jennings, do you happen to be acquainted with Rob-
inson Crusoe?"

I answered that I had read Robinson Crusoe when I was
a child.

"Not since then ?" inquired Betteredge.

"Not since then."

He fell back a few steps, and looked at me with an expres-
sion of compassionate curiosity, tempered by superstitious
awe.

"He has not read Robinson Crusoe since he was a child,"
said Betteredge, speaking to himself — not to me. "Let's
try how Robinson Crusoe strikes him now !"

He unlocked a cupboard in a corner and produced a dirty
and dog's-eared book, which exhaled a strong odor of stale
tobacco as he turned over the leaves. Having found a pas-
sage of which he was apparently in search, he requested me
to join him in the corner ; still mysteriously confidential and
still speaking under his breath.

"In respect to this hocus-pocus of yours, sir, with the lauda-
num and Mr. Franklin Blake," he began. "While the work-

447

THE MOONSTONE

people are in the house, my duty as a servant gets the bet-
ter of my feehngs as a man. When the work-people are
gone, my feelings as a man get the better of my duty as a
servant. Very good. Last night, Mr. Jennings, it was
borne in powerfully on my mind that this new medical enter-
prise of yours would end badly. If I had yielded to that se-
cret dictate, I should have put all the furniture away again
with my own hands and have warned the workmen off the
premises when they came the next morning."

"I am glad to find, from what I have seen up stairs," I
said, "that you resisted the secret dictate."

"Resisted isn't the word," answered Betteredge. "Wros-
tled is the word. I wrostled, sir, between the silent orders
in my bosom pulling me one way, and the written orders in
my pocket-book pushing me the other, until, saving your
presence, I was in a cold sweat. In that dreadful perturba-
tion of mind and laxity of body, to what remedy did I apply?
To the remedy, sir, which has never failed me yet for the
last thirty years and more — to this book !"

He hit the book a sounding blow with his open hand
and struck out of it a stronger smell of stale tobacco than
ever.

"What did I find here," pursued Betteredge, "at the first
page I opened? This awful bit, sir, page one hundred and
seventy-eight, as follows : 'Upon these, and many like Re-
flections, I afterward made it a certain rule with me. That
whenever I found those secret Hints or Pressings of my
]\Iind, to doing, or not doing any Thing that presented ; or
to going this Way, or that Way, I never failed to obey the
secret Dictate.' As I live by bread, Mr. Jennings, those
were the first words that met my eye, exactly at the time
when I myself was setting the secret dictate at defiance !
You don't see any thing at all out of the common in that,
do you, sir?"

"I see a coincidence — nothing more."

"You don't feel at all shaken, Mr. Jennings, in respect to
this medical enterprise of yours?"

"Not the least in the world."

Betteredge stared hard at me, in dead silence. He closed
the book with great deliberation ; he locked it up again in

448

THE MOONSTONE

the cupboard with extraordinary care ; he wheeled round,
and stared hard at nie once more. Then he spoke.

"Sir," he said gravely, "there are great allowances to be
made for a man who has not read Robinson Crusoe since he
was a child. I wish you good-morning."

He opened his door with a low bow, and left me at liberty
to find my own way into the garden. I met Mr. Blake
returning to the house.

"You needn't tell me what has happened," he said. "Bet-
teredge has played his last card : he has made another pro-
phetic discovery in Robinson Crusoe. Have you humored
his favorite delusion ? No ? You have let him see that you
don't believe in Robinson Crusoe ? Mr. Jennings ! you have
fallen to the lowest possible place in Betteredge's estimation.
Say what you like, and do what you like, for the future.
You will find that he won't waste another word on you now."

June 21. — A short entry must suffice in my journal to-day.

Mr. Blake has had the worst night that he has passed yet.
I have been obliged, greatly against my will, to prescribe
for him. Men of his sensitive organization are fortunately
quick in feeling the efifect of remedial measures. Otherwise
I should be inclined to fear that he will be totally unfit for
the experiment, when the time comes to try it.

As for myself, after some little remission of my pains for
the last two days, I had an attack this morning, of which I
shall say nothing but that it has decided me to return to
the opium. I shall close this book, and take my full dose —
five hundred drops.

June 22. — Our prospects look better to-day. Mr. Blake's
nervous sufifering is greatly allayed. He slept a little last
night. My night, thanks to the opium, was the night of a
man who is stunned. 1 can't say that I woke this morning;
the fitter expression would be, that I recovered my senses.

We drove to the house to see if the refurnishing was done.
It will be completed to-morrow — Saturday. As Mr. Blake
foretold, Betteredge raised no further obstacles. From first
to last he was ominously polite and ominously silent.

My medical enterprise, as Betteredge calls it, must now

29

449

THE MOONSTONE

inevitably be delayed until Monday next. To-morrow even-
ing the workmen will be late in the house. On the next
day the established Sunday tyranny, which is one of the
institutions of this free country, so times the trains as to
make it impossible to ask any body to travel to us from
London. Until Monday comes there is nothing to be done
but to watch Mr. Blake carefully and to keep him, if possi-
ble, in the same state in which I find him to-day.

In the mean while I have prevailed on him to write to Mr.
Bruff, making a point of it that he shall be present as one
of the witnesses. I especially choose the lawyer, because
he is strongly prejudiced against us. If we convince him, we
place our victory beyond the possibility of dispute.

Mr. Blake has also written to Sergeant Cuff and I have
sent a line to Miss Verinder. With these, and with old Bet-
teredge, who is really a person of importance in the family,
we shall have witnesses enough for the purpose — without in-
cluding Mrs. Merridew, if Mrs. Merridew persists in sacri-
ficing herself to the opinion of the world.

June 23. — The vengeance of the opium overtook me again
last night. No matter ; I must go on with it now till Mon-
day is passed and gone.

Mr. Blake is not so well again to-day. At two this morn-
ing he confesses that he opened the drawer in which his cigars
are put away. He only succeeded in locking it up again
by a violent effort. His next proceeding, in case of accident,
was to throw the key out of window. The waiter brought
it in this morning, discovered at the bottom of an empty
cistern — such is Fate! I have taken possession of the key
until Tuesday next.

June 24. — Mr. Blake and I took a long drive in an open
carriage. We both felt beneficially the blessed influence of
the soft summer air. I dined with him at the hotel. To
my great relief — for I found him in an overwrought, over-
excited state this morning — he had two hours' sound sleep
on the sofa after dinner. If he has another bad night now —
I am not afraid of the consequences.

450

THE MOONSTONE

June 25, Monday. — The day of the experiment ! It is five
o'clock in the afternoon. We have just arrived at the house.

The first and foremost question is the question of Mr.
Blake's health.

So far as it is possible for me to judge, he promises, phys-
ically speaking, to be quite as susceptible to the action of
the opium to-night as he was at this time last year. He is,
this afternoon, in a state of nervous sensitiveness which just
stops short of nervous irritation. He changes color readily,
his hand is not quite steady, and he starts at chance noises
and at unexpected appearances of persons and things.

These results have all been produced by deprivation of
sleep, which is in its turn the nervous consequence of a sud-
den cessation in the habit of smoking, after that habit has
been carried to an extreme. Here are the same causes at
work again, which operated last year; and here are, appar-
ently, the same effects. Will the parallel still hold good,
when the final test has been tried ? The events of the night
must decide.

While I write these lines, Mr. Blake is amusing himself
at the billiard-table in the inner hall, practicing different
strokes in the game, as he was accustomed to practice them
when he was a guest in this house in June last. I have
brought my journal here, partly with a view to occupying
the idle hours which I am sure to have on my hands between
this and to-morrow morning; partly in the hope that some-
thing may happen which it may be worth my while to place
on record at the time.

Have I omitted any thing, thus far? A glance at yester-
day's entry shows me that I have forgotten to note the ar-
rival of the morning's post. Let me set this right, before I
close these leaves for the present and join Mr. Blake.

I received a few lines then, yesterday, from Miss Verinder.
She has arranged to travel by the afternoon train, as I rec-
ommended. Mrs. Merridew has insisted on accompanying
her. The note hints that the old lady's generally excellent
temper is a little ruffled and requests all due indulgence for
her, in consideration of her age and her habits. I will en-
deavor, in my relations with Mrs. Merridew, to emulate the
moderation which Betteredge displays in his relations with

451

THE MOONSTONE

me. He received us to-day, portentously arrayed in his
best black suit and his stiffest white cravat. Whenever he
looks my way, he remembers that I have not read Robinson
Crusoe since I was a child and he respectfully pities me.

Yesterday, also, Mr. Blake had the lawyer's answer. Mr.
Bruff accepts the invitation — under protest. It is, he thinks,
clearly necessary that a gentleman possessed of the average
allowance of common sense, should accompany Miss Verinder
to the scene of, what he will venture to call, the proposed
exhibition. For want of a better escort, Mr. Bruff himself
will be that gentleman. — So here is poor Miss Verinder pro-
vided with two "chaperons." It is a relief to think that the
opinion of the world must surely be satisfied with this !

Nothing has been heard of Sergeant Cuff. He is no doubt
still in Ireland. We must not expect to see him to-night.

Betteredge has just come in, to say that Mr. Blake has
asked for me. I must lay down my pen for the present.

Seven o'clock. — We have been all over the refurnished
rooms and staircases again ; and we have had a pleasant
stroll in the shrubbery, which was Mr. Blake's favorite walk
when he was here last. In this way, I hope to revive the
old impressions of places and things as vividly as possible
in his mind.

We are now going to dine, exactly at the hour at which
the birthday dinner was given last year. My object, of
course, is a purely medical one in this case. The laudanum
must find the process of digestion, as nearly as may be,
where the laudanum found it last year.

At a reasonable time after dinner, I propose to lead the
conversation back again — as inartificially as I can — to the
subject of the Diamond and of the Indian conspiracy to
steal it. When I have filled his mind with these topics, I
shall have done all that it is in my power to do, before the
time comes for giving him the second dose.

Half-past eight. — I have only this moment found an op-
portunity of attending to the most important duty of all —
the duty of looking in the family medicine-chest for the
laudanum which Mr. Candy used last year.

452

THE MOONSTONE

Ten minutes since I caught Betteredge at an unoccupied
moment, and told him what I wanted. Without a word of
objection, without so much as an attempt to produce his
pocket-book, he led the way, making allowances for me at
every step, to the store-room in which the medicine-chest
was kept.

I found the bottle, carefully guarded by a glass stopper
tied over with leather. The preparation of opium which
it contained was, as I had anticipated, the common tincture
of laudanum. Finding the bottle still well filled, I have re-
solved to use it in preference to employing either of the two
preparations with which I had taken care to provide myself,
in case of emergency.

The question of the quantity which I am to administer
presents certain difficulties. I have thought it over, and have
decided on increasing the dose.

My notes inform me that Mr. Candy only administered
twenty-five minims. This is a small dose to have produced
the results which followed — even in the case of a person so
sensitive as Mr. Blake. I think it highly probable that Mr.
Candy gave more than he supposed himself to have given —
knowing, as I do, that he has a keen relish of the pleasures
of the table, and that he measured out the laudanum on the
birthday, after dinner. In any case, I shall run the risk of
enlarging the dose to forty minims. On this occasion Mr.
Blake knows beforehand that he is going to take the lauda-
num— which is equivalent, physiologically speaking, to his
having, unconsciously to himself, a certain capacity in him
to resist the effects. If my view is right, a larger quantity
is therefore imperatively required this time, to repeat the re-
sults which the smaller quantity produced last year.

Ten o'clock. — The witnesses, or the company, which shall
I call them, reached the house an hour since.

A little before nine o'clock I prevailed on Mr. Blake to
accompany me to his bedroom ; stating, as a reason, that I
wished him to look round it, for the last time, in order to
make quite sure that nothing had been forgotten in the re-
furnishing of the room. I had previously arranged with
Betteredge that the bed-chamber prepared for Mr. Bruff

453

THE MOONSTONE

should be the next room to Mr. Blake's and that I should
be informed of the lawyer's arrival by a knock at the door.
Five minutes after the clock in the hall had struck nine I
heard the knock ; and, going out immediately, met Mr. Bruff
in the corridor.

My personal appearance, as usual, told against me. Mr.
Bruff's distrust looked at me plainly enough out of Mr.
Bruflf's eyes. Being w^ell used to producing this effect on
strangers, I did not hesitate a moment in saying what I
wanted to say before the lawyer found his way into Mr.
Blake's room.

"You have traveled here, I believe, in company with Mrs.
Merridew and Miss Verinder?" I said.

"Yes," answered Mr. Bruff, as dryly as might be.

"Miss Verinder has probably told you that I wish her
presence in the house, and Mrs. Merridew's presence, of
course, to be kept a secret from Mr. Blake until my experi-
ment on him has been tried first ?"

"I know that I am to hold my tongue, sir!" said Mr.
Bruff, impatiently. "Being habitually silent on the subject
of human folly, I am all the readier to keep my lips closed
on this occasion. Does that satisfy you?"

I bowed and left Betteredge to show him to his room.
Betteredge gave me one look at parting which said, as if in
so many words, "You have caught a Tartar, Mr. Jennings —
and the name of him is Bruff."

It was next necessary to get the meeting over with the
two ladies. I descended the stairs — a little nervously, I
confess — on my way to Miss Verinder's sitting-room.

The gardener's wife, charged with looking after the ac-
commodation of the ladies, met me in the first-floor corridor.
This excellent womian treats me with an excessive civility
which is plainly the offspring of downright terror. She
stares, trembles, and courtesies whenever I speak to her.
On my asking for Miss Verinder, she stared, trembled, and
would no doubt have courtesied next, if Miss Verinder her-
self had not cut that ceremony short by suddenly opening
her sitting-room door.

"Is that Mr. Jennings ?" she asked.

Before I could answer she came out eagerly to speak to

454

THE MOONSTONE

me in the corridor. We met under the light of a lamp on
a bracket. At the first sight of me Miss Verinder stopped
and hesitated. She recovered herself instantly, colored for
a moment, and then, with a charming frankness, offered me
her hand.

"I can't treat you like a stranger, Mr. Jennings," she said.
"Oh, if you only knew how happy your letters have made
me !"

She looked at my ugly wrinkled face with a bright grati-
tude so new to me in my experience of my fellow creatures
that I was at a loss how to answer her. Nothing had pre-
pared me for her kindness and her beauty. The misery of
many years has not hardened my heart, thank God. I was
as awkward and as shy with her as if I had been a lad in
my teens.

"Where is he now?" she asked, giving free expression to
her one dominant interest — the interest in Mr. Blake.
"What is he doing? Has he spoken of me? Is he in good
spirits? How does he bear the sight of the house after what
happened in it last year? When are you going to give him
the laudanum? May I see you pour it out? I am so in-
terested ; I am so excited — I have ten thousand things to
say to you, and they all crowd together so that I don't know
what to say first. Do you wonder at the interest I take in
this?"

"No," I said. "I venture to think that I thoroughly un-
derstand it."

She was far above the paltry affectation of being confused.
She answered me as she might have answered a brother or
a father.

"You have relieved me of indescribable wretchedness ;
you have given me a new life. How can I be ungrateful
enough to have any concealments from yonf I love him,"
she said simply ; "I have loved him from first to last — even
when I was wronging him in my own thoughts ; even when
I was saying the hardest and the crudest words to him. Is
there any excuse for me in that? I hope there is — I am
afraid it is the only excuse I have. When to-morrow comes,
and he knows that I am in the house, do you think — ?"

She stopped again, and looked at mc very earnestly.

455

THE MOONSTONE

"When to-morrow comes," I said, 'T think you have only
to tell him what you have just told me."

Her face brightened ; she came a step nearer to me. Her
fingers trifled nervously with a flower which I had picked in
the garden, and which I had put into the button-hole of my
coat.

"You have seen a great deal of him lately," she said.
"Have you really and truly seen that?"

"Really and truly," I answered. "I am quite certain of
what will happen to-morrow. I wish I could feel as certain
of what will happen to-night."

At that point in the conversation we were interrupted by
the appearance of Betteredge with the tea-tray. He gave
me another significant look as he passed on into the sitting-
room. "Ay ! ay ! make your hay while the svm shines. The
Tartar's up stairs, Mr. Jennings — the Tartar's up stairs !"

We followed him into the room. A little old lady, in a
corner, very nicely dressed, and very deeply absorbed over a
smart piece of embroidery, dropped her work in her lap, and
uttered a faint little scream at the first sight of my gypsy
complexion and my piebald hair.

"Mrs. Merridew," said Miss Verinder, "this is Mr. Jen-
nings."

"I beg Mr. Jennings's pardon," said the old lady, looking
at Miss Verinder, and speaking at me. "Railway traveling
always makes me nervous. I am endeavoring to quiet my
mind by occupying myself as usual. I don't know whether
my embroidery is out of place, on this extraordinary occa-
sion. If it interferes with Mr. Jennings's medical views, I
shall be happy to put it away, of course."

I hastened to sanction the presence of the embroidery, ex-
actly as I had sanctioned the absence of the burst buzzard
and the Cupid's wing. Mrs. Merridew made an effort — a
grateful effort — to look at my hair. No ! it was not to be
done. Mrs. Merridew looked back again at Miss Verinder.

"If Mr. Jennings will permit me," pursued the old lady,
"I should like to ask a favor. Mr. Jennings is about to try
a scientific experiment to-night. I used to attend scientific
experiments when I was a girl at school. They invariably
ended in an explosion. If Mr. Jennings will be so very kind,

456

THE MOONSTONE

I should like to be warned of the explosion this time. With
a view to getting it over, if possible, before I go to bed."

I attempted to assure Mrs. Merridew that an explosion .was
not included in the programme on this occasion.

"No," said the old lady. "I am much obliged to Mr. Jen-
nings— I am aware that he is only deceiving me for my own
good. I prefer plain dealing. I am quite resigned to the
explosion — but I do want to get it over, if possible, before
I go to bed."

Here the door opened, and Mrs. Merridew uttered another
little scream. The advent of the explosion ? No : only the
advent of Betteredge.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Jennings," said Betteredge, in
his most elaborately confidential manner. "Mr, Franklin
wishes to know where you are. Being vmder your orders to
deceive him, in respect to the presence of my young lady in
the house, I have said I don't know. That, you will please
to observe, was a lie. Having one foot already in the grave,
sir, the fewer lies you expect me to tell, the more I shall
be indebted to you, when my conscience pricks me and my
time comes."

There was not a moment to be wasted on the purely specu-
lative question of Betteredge's conscience. Mr. Blake might
make his appearance in search of me, unless I went to him
at once in his own room. Miss Verinder followed me out
into the corridor.

"They seem to be in a conspiracy to persecute you," she
said. "What does it mean?"

"Only the protest of the world, Miss Verinder — on a very
small scale — against any thing that is new."

"What are we to do with Mrs. Merridew?"

"Tell her the explosion will take place at nine to-morrow
morning."

"So as to send her to bed?"

"Yes — so as to send her to bed."

Miss Verinder went back to the sitting-room, and I went
up stairs to Mr. Blake.

To my surprise, T found him alone : restlessly pacing his
room, and a little irritated at being left by himself.

"Where is Mr. Bruff?" I asked.

457

THE MOONSTONE

He pointed to the closed door of communication between
the two rooms. Mr. Bruff had looked in on him for a mo-
ment; had attempted to renew his protest against our pro-
ceedings ; and had once more failed to produce the smallest
impression on Mr. Blake. Upon this, the lawyer had taken
refuge in a black leather bag, filled to bursting with profes-
sional papers. "The serious business of life," he admitted,
"was sadly out of place on such an occasion as the present.
But the serious business of life must be carried on, for all
that. Mr. Blake would perhaps kindly make allowance for
the old-fashioned habits of a practical man. Time was money
— and, as for Mr. Jennings, he might depend on it that Mr.
Bruff would be forthcoming when called upon." With that
apology the lawyer had gone back to his own room, and had
immersed himself obstinately in his black bag.

I thought of Mrs. Merridew and her embroidery, and of
Betteredge and his conscience. There is a wonderful same-
ness in the solid side of the English character — just as there
is a wonderful sameness in the solid expression of the Eng-
lish face.

"When are you going to give me the laudanum?" asked
Mr. Blake, impatiently.

"You must wait a little longer," I said. "I will stay and
keep you company till the time comes."

It was not then ten o'clock. Inquiries which I had made at
various times of Betteredge and Mr. Blake had led me to the
conclusion that the dose of laudanum given by Mr. Candy
could not possibly have been administered before eleven. I
had accordingly determined not to try the second dose until
that time.

We talked a little ; but both our minds were preoccupied
by the coming ordeal. The conversation soon flagged — then
dropped altogether. Mr. Blake idly turned over the books
on his bedroom table. I had taken the precaution of looking
at them, when we first entered the room. The Guardian ;
The Tatler ; Richardson's Pamela ; Mackenzie's Man of Feel-
ing; Roscoe's Lorenzo de' Medici; and Robertson's Charles
the Fifth — all classical works ; all, of course, immeasurably
superior to any thing produced in later times; and all, from
my present point of view, possessing the one great merit of

458

THE MOONSTONE

enchaining nobody's interest, and exciting nobody's brain.
I left Mr. Blake to the composing influence of Standard Lit-
erature, and occupied myself in making this entry in my
journal.

My watch informs me that it is close on eleven o'clock, I
must shut up these leaves once more.

Two o'clock A.M. — The experiment has been tried. With
what result I am now to describe.

At eleven o'clock I rang the bell for Betteredge, and told
Mr. Blake that he might at last prepare himself for bed.

I looked out of window at the night. It was mild and
rainy, resembling, in this res,pect, the night of the birthday
— the twenty-first of June, last year. Without professing to
believe in omens, it was -at least encouraging to find no di-
rect nervous influences — no stormy or electric perturbations
— in the atmosphere. Betteredge joined me at the window,
and mysteriously put a little slip of paper into my hand. It
contained these lines :

"Mrs. Merridew has gone to bed, on the distinct under-
standing that the explosion is to take place at nine to-mor-
row morning, and that I am not to stir out of this part of
the house until she comes and sets me free. She has no idea
that the chief scene of the experiment is my sitting-room —
or she would have remained in it for the whole night ! I
am alone and very anxious. Pray let me see you measure
out the laudanum ; I want to have something to do with it,
even in the unimportant character of a mere looker-on.

"R. V."

I followed Betteredge out of the room, and told him to
remove the medicine-chest into Miss Verinder's sitting-
room.

The order appeared to take him completely by surprise.
He looked as if he suspected me of some occult medical de-
sign on Miss Verinder! "Might I presume to ask," he said,
"what my young lady and the medicine-chest have got to
do with each other?"

"Stay in the sitting-room, and you will see."

450

THE MOONSTONE

Betteredge appeared to doubt his own unaided capacity
to superintend me effectually on an occasion when a medi-
cine-chest was included in the proceedings.

"Is there any objection, sir," he asked, "to taking Mr.
Bruff into this part of the business ?"

"Quite the contrary ! I am now going to ask Mr. Bruff
to accompany me down stairs."

Betteredge withdrew to fetch the medicine-chest without
another word. I went back into Mr. Blake's room, and
knocked at the door of communication. Mr. Bruff opened
it, with his papers in his hand — immersed in law, impene-
trable to medicine.

"I am sorry to disturb you," I said. "But I am going to
prepare the laudanum for Mr. Blake and I must request you
to be present, and to see what I do."

"Yes?" said Mr. Bruff, with nine-tenths of his attention
riveted on his papers, and with one-tenth unwillingly ac-
corded to me. "Any thing else ?"

"I must trouble you to return here with me and to see
me administer the dose."

"Any thing else?"

"One thing more. I must put you to the inconvenience
of remaining in Mr. Blake's room and of waiting to see what
happens."

"Oh, very good!" said Mr. Bruff. "My room or Mr.
Blake's room — it doesn't matter which ; I can go on with my
papers anywhere. Unless you object, Mr. Jennings, to my
importing that amount of common sense into "the proceed-
mgs r

Before I could answer, Mr. Blake addressed himself to the
lawyer, speaking from his bed.

"Do you really mean to say that you don't feel any inter-
est in what you are going to do?" he asked. "Mr. Bruff,
you have no more imagination than a cow !"

"A cow is a very useful animal, Mr. Blake," said the law-
yer. With that reply he followed me out of the room, still
keeping his papers in his hand.

We found Miss Verinder, pale and agitated, restlessly
pacing her sitting-room from end to end. At a table in a
corner stood Betteredge, on guard over the medicine-chest.

460

THE MOONSTONE

Mr. Bruff sat down on the first chair that he could find, and,
emulating the usefulness of the cow, plunged back again
into his papers on the spot.

Miss Verinder drew me aside, and reverted instantly to
her one all-absorbing interest — the interest in Mr. Blake.

"How is he now?" she asked. "Is he nervous? is he out
of temper? Do you think it will succeed? Are you sure
it will do no harm?"

"Quite sure. Come and see me measure it out."

"One moment ! It is past eleven now. How long will it
be before any thing happens ?"

"It is not easy to say. An hour, perhaps."

"I suppose the room must be dark, as it was last year?"

"Certainly."

"I shall wait in my bedroom — just as I did before. I
shall keep the door a little way open. It was a little way
open last year. I will watch the sitting-room door; and the
moment it moves I will blow out my light. It all happened
in that way on my birthday night. And it must all happen
again in the same way, mustn't it ?"

"Are you sure you can control yourself, Miss Verinder?"

"In Jiis interests I can do any thing!" she answered, fer-
vently.

One look at her face told me that I could trust her. I
addressed myself again to Mr. Bruff.

"I must trouble you to put your papers aside for a mo-
ment," I said.

"Oh, certainly!" He got up with a start — as if I had dis-
turbed him at a particularly interesting place — and followed
me to the medicine-chest. There, deprived of the breathless
excitement incidental to the practice of his profession, he
looked at Betteredge and yawned wearily.

Miss Verinder joined me with a glass jug of cold water,
which she had taken from the side-table. "Let me pour out
the water," she whispered. "I must have a hand in it !"

I measured out the forty minims from the bottle, and
poured the laudanum into a medicine-glass. "Fill it till it
is three parts full," I said, and handed the glass to Miss Ver-
inder. I then directed Betteredge to lock up the medicine-
chest ; informing him that I had done with it now. A look

461

THE MOONSTONE

of unutterable relief overspread the old servant's counte-
nance. He had evidently suspected me of a medical design
on his young lady !

After adding the water as I had directed, Miss Verinder
seized a moment — while Betteredge was locking the chest,
and while Mr. Brufif was looking back at his papers — and
slyly kissed the rim of the medicine-glass. "When you give
it to him," whispered the charming girl, "give it to him on
that side !"

I took the piece of crystal which was to represent the
Diamond from my pocket and gave it to her.

"You must have a hand in this, too," I said. "You must
put it where you put the Moonstone last year."

She led the way to the Indian cabinet, and put the mock
Diamond into the drawer which the real Diamond occupied
on the birthday night. Mr. Bruff witnessed this proceeding,
under protest, as he had witnessed every thing else. But
the strong dramatic interest which the experiment was now
assuming proved, to my great amusement, to be too much
for Betteredge's capacity of self-restraint. His hand trembled
as he held the candle, and he whispered anxiously, "Are
you sure, miss, it's the right drawer?"

I led the way out again, with the laudanum and water in
my hand. At the door I stopped to address a last word to
Miss Verinder.

"Don't be long in putting out the lights," I said.

"I will put them out at once," she answered. "And I will
wait in my bedroom, with only one candle aUght."

She closed the sitting-room door behind us. Followed
by Mr. Brufif and Betteredge, I went back to Mr. Blake's
room.

We found him moving restlessly from side to side of the
bed and wondering irritably whether he was to have the
laudanum that night. In the presence of the two witnesses
I gave him the dose and shook up his pillows and told him
to lie down again quietly and wait.

His bed, provided with Hght chintz curtains, was placed,
with the head against the wall of the room, so as to leave a
good open space on either side of it. On one side I drew
the curtains completely — and in the part of the room thus

462

THE MOONSTONE

screened from his view I placed Mr. Bruff and Betteredge to
wait for the result. At the bottom of the bed I half drew
the curtains — and placed my own chair at a little distance,
so that I might let him see me or not see me, speak to me,
or not speak to me, just as the circumstances might direct.
Having already been informed that he always slept with a
light in the room, I placed one of the two lighted candles on
a little table at the head of the bed, where the glare of the
light would not strike on his eyes. The other candle I gave
to Mr. Bruff; the light, in this instance, being subdued by
the screen of the chintz curtains. The window was open at
the top so as to ventilate the room. The rain fell softly, the
house was quiet. It was twenty minutes past eleven, by my
watch, when the preparations were completed, and I took my
place on the chair set apart at the bottom of the bed.

Mr. Bruff resumed his papers, with every appearance of
being as deeply interested in them as ever. But looking to-
ward him now, I saw certain signs and tokens which told me
that the law was beginning to lose its hold on him at last.
The suspended interest of the situation in which we were
now placed was slowly asserting its influence even on his
unimaginative mind. As for Betteredge, consistency of
principle and dignity of conduct had become, in his case,
mere empty words. He forgot that I was performing a
conjuring trick on Mr. Franklin Blake; he forgot that I had
upset the house from top to bottom; he forgot that I had
not read Robinson Crusoe since I was a child. "For the
Lord's sake, sir," he whispered to me, "tell us when it will
begin to work."

"Not before midnight," I whispered back. "Say nothing
and sit still."

Betteredge dropped to the lowest depth of familiarity
with me, without a struggle to save himself. He answered
me by a wink !

Looking next toward Mr. Blake, I found him as restless as
ever in his bed ; fretfully wondering why the influence of
the laudanum had not begun to assert itself yet. To tell
him, in his present humor, that the more he fidgeted and
wondered the longer he would delay the result for which
we were now waiting would have been simply useless. The

463

THE MOONSTONE

wiser course to take was to dismiss the idea of the opium
from his mind by leading him insensibly to think of some-
thing else.

With this view I encouraged him to talk to me, contriv-
ing so to direct the conversation, on my side, as to lead him
back again to the subject which had engaged us earlier in
the evening — the subject of the Diamond. I took care to
revert to those portions of the story of the Moonstone which
related to the transport of it from London to Yorkshire ; to
the risk which Mr. Blake had run in removing it from the
bank at Frizinghall ; and to the unexpected appearance of
the Indians at the house on the evening of the birthday.
And I purposely assumed, in referring to these events, to
have misunderstood much of what Mr. Blake himself had
told me a few hours since. In this way I set him talking
on the subject with which it was now vitally important to
fill his mind — without allowing him to suspect that I was
making him talk for a purpose. Little by little he became
so interested in putting me right that he forgot to fidget in
the bed. His mind was far away from the question of the
opium at the all-important time when his eyes first told me
that the opium was beginning to lay its hold on his brain.

I looked at my watch. It wanted five minutes to twelve
when the premonitory symptoms of the working of the laud-
anum first showed themselves to me.

At this time no unpracticed eye would have detected any
change in him. But, as the minutes of the new morning
wore away, the swiftly-subtle progress of the influence be-
gan to show itself more plainly. The sublime intoxication
of opium gleamed in his eyes ; the dew of a stealthy perspi-
ration began to glisten on his face. In five minutes more
the talk which he still kept up with me failed in coherence.
He held steadily to the subject of the Diamond; but he
ceased to complete his sentences. A little later the sen-
tences dropped to single words. Then there was an inter-
val of silence. Then he sat up in bed. Then, still busy with
the subject of the Diamond, he began to talk again — not to
me, but to himself. That change told me that the first stage
in the experiment was reached. The stimulant influence of
the opium had got him.

464

THE MOONSTONE

The time, now, was twenty-three minutes past twelve.
The next half hour, at most, would decide the question of
whether he would, or would not, get up from his bed and
leave the room.

In the breathless interest of watching him — in the unut-
terable triumph of seeing the first result of the experiment
declare itself in the manner and nearly at the time which I
had anticipated — I had utterly forgotten the two companions
of my night vigil. Looking toward them now, I saw the
law, as represented by Mr. Bruff's papers, lying unheeded
on the floor. Mr. Bruff himself was looking eagerly through
a crevice left in the imperfectly-drawn curtains of the bed.
And Betteredge, oblivious of all respect for social distinc-
tions, was peeping over Mr. Bruff's shoulder.

They both started back, on finding that I was looking at
them, like two boys caught out by their school-master in a
fault. I signed to them to take off their boots quietly, as I
was taking off mine. If Mr. Blake gave us the chance of
following him, it was vitally necessary to follow him with-
out noise.

Ten minutes passed — and nothing happened. Then he sud-
denly threw the bed-clothes off him. He put one leg out of
bed. He waited.

"I wish I had never taken it out of the bank," he said to
himself. "It was safe in the bank."

My heart throbbed fast : the pulses at my temples beat
furiously. The doubt about the safety of the Diamond was,
once more, the dominant impression in his brain ! On that
one pivot the whole success of the experiment turned. The
prospect thus suddenly opened before me was too much for
my shattered nerves. I was obliged to look away from him,
or I should have lost my self-control.

There was another interval of silence.

When I could trust myself to look back at him he was
out of his bed, standing erect at the side of it. The pupils
of his eyes were now contracted ; his eyeballs gleamed in
the light of the candle as he moved his head slowly to and
fro. He was thinking; he was doubting — he spoke again.

"How do I know?" he said. "The Indians may be hid-
den in the house."

30 465

THE MOONSTONE

He stopped, and walked slowly to the other end of the
room. He turned — waited — came back to the bed.

"It's not even locked up," he went on. "It's in the drawer
of her cabinet. And the drawer doesn't lock."

He sat down on the side of the bed. "Any body might
take it," he said.

He rose again restlessly and reiterated his first words.

"How do I know? The Indians may be hidden in the
house."

He waited again. I drew back behind the half-curtain
of the bed. He looked about the room, with the vacant
glitter in his eyes. It was a breathless moment. There
was a pause of some sort. A pause in the action of the
opium? a pause in the action of the brain? Who could tell?
Every thing depended, now, on what he did next.

He laid himself down again on the bed !

A horrible doubt crossed my mind. Was it possible that
the sedative action of the opium was making itself felt al-
ready? It was not in my experience that it should do this.
But what is experience where opium is concerned? There
are probably no two men in existence on whom the drug
acts in exactly the same manner. Was some constitutional
peculiarity in him, feeling the influence in some new way?
Were we to fail, on the very brink of success?

No! He got up again abruptly. "How the devil am I to
sleep," he said, "with this on my mind?"

He looked at the light, burning on the table at the
head of his bed. After a moment he took the candle in his
hand.

I blew out the second candle, burning behind the closed
curtains. I drew back, with Mr. Bruff and Betteredge, into
the farthest corner by'-the bed. I signed to them to be silent,
as if their lives had depended on it.

We waited — seeing and hearing nothing. We waited,
hidden from him by the curtains.

The light which he was holding on the other side of us
moved suddenly. The next moment he passed us, swift and
noiseless, with the candle in his hand.

He opened the bedroom door and went out.

We followed him along the corridor. We followed him

466

THE MOONSTONE

down the stairs. We followed him along the second corri-
dor. He never looked back ; he never hesitated.

He opened the sitting-room door and went in, leaving it
open behind him.

The door was hung, like all the other doors in the house,
on large old-fashioned hinges. When it was opened, a crev-
ice was opened between the door and the post. I signed to
my two companions to look through this, so as to keep them
from showing themselves. I placed myself — outside the door
also — on the opposite side. A recess in the wall was at my
left hand, in which I could instantly hide myself if he showed
any signs of looking back into the corridor.

He advanced to the middle of the room, with the candle still
in his hand; he looked about him, but he never looked back.

I saw the door of Miss Verinder's bedroom standing ajar.
She had put out her light. She controlled herself nobly.
The dim white outline of her summer dress was all that I
could see. Nobody who had not known it beforehand would
have suspected that there was a living creature in the room.
She kept back in the dark ; not a word, not a movement es-
caped her.

It was now ten minutes past one. I heard, through the
dead silence, the soft drip of the rain, and the tremulous pas-
sage of the night air through the trees.

After waiting irresolute for a minute or more in the mid-
dle of the room, he moved to the corner near the window,
where the Indian cabinet stood.

He put his candle on the top of the cabinet. He opened
and shut one drawer after another, until he came to the
drawer in which the mock Diamond was put. He looked
into the drawer for a moment. Then he took the mock Dia-
mond out with his right hand. With the other hand he
took the candle from the top of the cabinet.

He walked back a few steps toward the middle of the
room, and stood still again.

Thus far he had exactly repeated what he had done on
the birthday night. Would his next proceeding be the
same as the proceeding of last year? Would he leave the
room? Would he go back now. as I believed he had gone
back then, to his bed-chamber? Would he show us what

467

THE MOONSTONE

he had done with the Diamond when he had returned to his
own room ?

His first action, when he moved once more, proved to be
an action which he had not performed when he was under
the influence of the opium for the first time. He put the
candle down on a table, and wandered on a little toward the
farther end of the room. There was a sofa here. He leaned
heavily on the back of it with his left hand — then roused
himself and returned to the middle of the room. I could
now see his eyes. They were getting dull and heavy ; the
glitter in them was fast dying out.

The suspense of the moment proved too much for Miss
Verinder's self-control. She advanced a few steps — then
stopped again. Mr. Bruff and Betteredge looked across the
open door-way at me for the first time. The prevision of a
coming disappointment was impressing itself on their minds
as well as on mine.

Still, so long as he stood where he was, there was hope.
We waited, in unutterable expectation, to see what would
happen next.

The next event was decisive. He let the mock Diamond
drop out of his hand.

It fell on the floor before the door-way — plainly visible to
him and to every one. He made no effort to pick it up : he
looked down at it vacantly, and, as he looked, his head sank
on his breast. He staggered ; roused himself for an instant ;
walked back unsteadily to the sofa and sat down on it. He
made a last effort ; he tried to rise, and sank back. His
head fell on the sofa cushions. It was then twenty-five min-
utes past one o'clock. Before I had put my watch back in
my pocket he was asleep.

It was all over now. The sedative influence had got him ;
the experiment was at an end.

I ENTERED the room, telling Mr. Bruff and Betteredge that
they might follow me. There was no fear of disturbing
him. We were free to move and speak.

"The first thing to settle," I said, "is the question of what
we are to do with him. He will probably sleep for the next
six or seven hours at least. It is some distance to carry

468

THE MOONSTONE

him back to his own room. When I was younger I could
have done it alone. But my health and strength are not
what they were — I am afraid I must ask you to help me."

Before they could answer Miss Verinder called to me softly.
She met me at the door of her room with a light shawl and
with the counterpane from her own bed.

"Do you mean to watch him while he sleeps?" she asked.

"Yes. I am not sure enough of the action of the opium,
in his case, to be willing to leave him alone."

She handed me the shawl and the counterpane.

"Why should you disturb him?" she whispered. "Make
his bed on the sofa. I can shut my door and keep in my
room."

It was infinitely the simplest and the safest way of dis-
posing of him for the night. I mentioned the suggestion to
Mr. Bruff and Betteredge, who both approved of my adopt-
ing it. In five minutes I had laid him comfortably on the
sofa, and had covered him lightly with the counterpane and
the shawl. Miss Verinder wished us good-night, and closed
the door. At my request we three then drew round the ta-
ble in the middle of the room, on which the candle was still
burning, and on which writing materials were placed.

"Before we separate," I began, "I have a word to say
about the experiment which has been tried to-night. Two
distinct objects were to be gained by it. The first of these
objects was to prove that Mr. Blake entered this room and
took the Diamond last year, acting unconsciously and irre-
sponsibly, under the influence of opium. After what you
have both seen, are you both satisfied, so far?"

They answered me in the affirmative, without a moment's
hesitation.

"The second object," I went on, "was to discover what he
did with the Diamond after he was seen by Miss Verinder
to leave her sitting-room with the jewel in his hand on the
birthday night. The gaining of this object depended, of
course, on his still continuing exactly to repeat his proceed-
ings of last year. He has failed to do that; and the pur-
pose of the experiment is defeated accordingly. I can't
assert that I am not disappointed at the result — but I can hon-
estly say that I am not surprised by it. I told Mr. Blake

460

THE MOONSTONE

from the first that our complete success in this matter de-
pended on our completely reproducing in him the physical
and moral conditions of last year and I warned him that
this was the next thing to a downright impossibility. We
have only partially reproduced the conditions and the ex-
periment has been only partially successful in consequence.
It is also possible that I may have administered too large a
dose of laudanum. But I myself look upon the first reason
that I have given as the true reason why we have to lament
a failure, as well as to rejoice over a success."

After saying those words I put the writing materials be-
fore Mr. Bruff and asked him if he had any objection — be-
fore we separated for the night — to draw out and sign a
plain statement of what he had seen. He at once took the
pen and produced the statement with the fluent readiness
of a practiced hand.

"I owe you this," he said, signing the paper, "as some
atonement for what passed between us earlier in the even-
ing. I beg your pardon, Mr. Jennings, for having doubted
you. You have done Franklin Blake an inestimable service.
In our legal phrase, you have proved your case."

Betteredge's apology was characteristic of the man.

"Mr. Jennings," he said, "when you read Robinson Cru-
soe again, which I strongly recommend you to do, you will
find that he never scruples to acknowledge it when he turns
out to have been in the wrong. Please to consider me, sir,
as doing what Robinson Crusoe did on the present occasion."
With those words he signed the paper in his turn.

Mr. Brufif took me aside as we rose from the table.

"One word about the Diamond," he said. "Your theory
is that Franklin Blake hid the Moonstone in his room. My
theory is that the Moonstone is in the possession of Mr.
Luker's bankers in London. We won't dispute which of us
is right. We will only ask, which of us is in a position to
put his theory to the test first?"

"The test, in my case," I answered, "has been tried to-night
and has failed."

"The test, in my case," rejoined Mr. Bruff, "is still in pro-
cess of trial. For the last two days I have had a watch set
for Mr. Luker at the bank and I shall cause that watch to

470

THE MOONSTONE

be continued until the last day of the month. I know that
he must take the Diamond himself out of his bankers' hands
— and I am acting on the chance that the person who has
pledged the Diamond may force him to do this by redeem-
ing the pledge. In that case I may be able to lay my hand
on the person. And there is a prospect of our clearing up
the mystery, exactly at the point where the mystery baffles
us now! Do you admit that, so far?"

I admitted it readily.

"I am going back to town by the ten o'clock train," pur-
sued the lawyer, "I may hear, when I get back, that a dis-
covery has been made — and it may be of the greatest impor-
tance that I should have Franklin Blake at hand to appeal
to if necessary. I intend to tell him, as soon as he wakes,
that he must return with me to London. After all that has
happened, may I trust to your influence to back me?"

"Certainly !" I said.

Mr. Bruff shook hands with me and left the room. Bet-
teredge followed him out.

I WENT to the sofa to look at Mr. Blake. He had not
moved since I had laid him down and made his bed — he lay
locked in a deep and quiet sleep.

While I was still looking at him I heard the bedroom
door softly opened. Once more Miss Verinder appeared on
the threshold in her pretty summer dress.

"Do me a last favor," she whispered. "Let me watch
him with you."

I hesitated — not in the interests of propriety ; only in the
interest of her night's rest. She came close to me and took
my hand.

"I can't sleep; I can't even sit still in my own room," she
said. "Oh, Mr. Jennings, if you were me, only think how
you would long to sit and look at him ! Say yes ! Do !"

Is it necessary to mention that I gave way ? Surely not !

She drew a chair to the foot of the sofa. She looked at
him in a silent ecstasy of happiness till the tears rose in her
eyes. She dried her eyes and said she would fetch her
work. She fetched her work, and never did a single stitch
of it. It lay in her lap — she was not even able to look away

471

THE MOONSTONE

from him long enough to thread her needle. I thought of
my own youth ; I thought of the gentle eyes which had once
looked love at me. In the heaviness of my heart I turned
to my journal for relief and wrote in it what is written here.

So we kept our watch together in silence. One of us ab-
sorbed in his writing; the other absorbed in her love.

Hour after hour he lay in his deep sleep. The light of the
new day grew and grew in the room, and still he never
moved.

Toward six o'clock I felt the warning which told me that
my pains were coming back. I was obliged to leave her
alone with him for a little while. I said I would go up
stairs and fetch another pillow for him out of his room. It
was not a long attack this time. In a little while I was
able to venture back and let her see me again.

I found her at the head of the sofa when I returned. She

was just touching his forehead with her lips. I shook my

head as soberly as I could and pointed to her chair. She

looked back at me with a bright smile and a charming color

in her face. "You would have done it," she whispered, "in

my place !"

******

It is just eight o'clock. He is beginning to move for the
first time.

Miss Verinder is kneeling by the side of the sofa. She
has so placed herself that when his eyes first open they must
open on her face.

Shall I leave them together?

Yes!

******

Eleven o'clock. — They have arranged it among themselves ;
they have all gone to London by the ten o'clock train. My
brief dream of happiness is over. I have awakened again to
the realities of my friendless and lonely life.

I dare not trust myself to write down the kind words that
have been said to me, especially by Miss Verinder and Mr.
Blake. Besides, it is needless. Those words will come back
to me in my solitary hours and will help me through what
is left of the end of my life. Mr. Blake is to write, and tell
me what happens in London. i\Iiss Verinder is to return to

THE MOONSTONE

Yorkshire in the autumn, for her marriage, no doubt ; and I
am to take a hoHday and be a guest in the house. Oh me,
how I felt it, as the grateful happiness looked at me out of her
eyes and the warm pressure of her hand said, "This is your
doing !"

My poor patients are waiting for me. Back again, this
morning, to the old routine ! Back again to-night, to the
dreadful alternative between the opium and the pain !

God be praised for his mercy ! I have seen a little sunshine
— I have had a happy time.

FIFTH NARRATIVE

The Story resumed by Frankliti Blake.

CHAPTER I.

BUT few words are needed, on my part, to complete the
narrative that has been presented in the Journal of Ezra
Jennings.

Of myself, I have only to say that I awoke on the morning
of the twenty-sixth, perfectly ignorant of all that I had said
and done under the influence of the opium — from the time
when the drug first laid its hold on me, to the time when I
opened my eyes on the sofa in Rachel's sitting-room.

Of what happened after my waking, I do not feel called
upon to render an account in detail. Confining myself
merely to results, I have to report that Rachel and I thor-
oughly understood each other before a single word of expla-
nation had passed on either side. I decline to account, and
Rachel declines to account, for the extraordinary rapidity of
our reconciliation. Sir and Madam, look back to the time
when you were passionately attached to each other — and you
will know what happened, after Ezra Jennings had shut the
door of the sitting-room, as well as I know it myself.

I have, however, no objection to add, that wc should have

473

THE MOONSTONE

been certainly discovered by Mrs. Merridew but for Rachel's
presence of mind. She heard the sound of the old lady's
dress in the corridor, and instantly ran out to meet her. I
heard Mrs. Merridew say, "What is the matter?" and I heard
Rachel answer, "The explosion !" Mrs. Merridew instantly
permitted herself to be taken by the arm and led into the
garden, out of the way of the impending shock. On her re-
turn to the house she met me in the hall and expressed her-
self as greatly struck by the vast improvement in Science
since the time when she was a girl at school. "Explosions,
Mr. Blake, are infinitely milder than they were. I assure
you, I barely heard Mr. Jennings's explosion from the gar-
den. And no smell afterward, that I can detect, now we
have come back to the house ! I must really apologize to
your medical friend. It is only due to him to say that he
has managed it beautifully !"

So, after vanquishing Betteredge and Mr. Bruff, Ezra Jen-
nings vanquished Mrs. Merridew herself. There is a great
deal of undeveloped liberal feeling in the world, after all !

At breakfast Mr. Bruff made no secret of his reasons for
wishing that I should accompany him to London by the morn-
ing train. The watch kept at the bank and the result which
might yet come of it, appealed so irresistibly to Rachel's cu-
riosity that she at once decided, if Mrs. Merridew had no ob-
jection, on accompanying us back to town — so as to be within
reach of the earliest news of our proceedings.

Mrs. Merridew proved to be all pliability and indulgence,
after the truly considerate manner in which the explosion
had conducted itself and Betteredge was accordingly in-
formed that we were all four to travel back together by the
morning train. I fully expected that he would have asked
leave to accompany us. But Rachel had wisely provided
her faithful old servant with an occupation that interested
him. He was charged with completing the refurnishing of
the house, and was too full of his domestic responsibilities
to feel the "detective-fever" as he might have felt it under
other circumstances.

Our one subject of regret, in going to London, was the
necessity of parting, more abruptl}^ than we could have
wished, with Ezra Jennings. It was impossible to persuade

474

THE MOONSTONE

him to accompany us. I could only promise to write to him
and Rachel could only insist on his coming to see her when
she returned to Yorkshire. There was every prospect of our
meeting again in a few months ; and yet there was something
very sad in seeing our best and dearest friend left standing
alone on the platform as the train moved out of the station.

On our arrival in London, Ivlr. Bruff was accosted at the
terminus by a small boy, dressed in a jacket and trousers
of threadbare black cloth, and personally remarkable in vir-
tue of the extraordinary prominence of his eyes. They pro-
jected so far and they rolled about so loosely that you
wondered uneasily why they remained in their sockets. Af-
ter listening to the boy, Mr. Bruff asked the ladies whether
they would excuse our accompanying them back to Port-
land Place. I had barely time to promise Rachel that I
would return, and tell her every thing that had happened,
before Mr. Bruff seized me by the arm and hurried me into
a cab. The boy with the ill-secured eyes took his place on
the box by the driver and the driver was directed to go to
Lombard Street.

"News from the bank?" I asked, as we started.

"News of Mr. Luker," said Mr. Bruff. "An hour ago he
was seen to leave his house at Lambeth in a cab, accompa-
nied by two men, who were recognized by my men as po-
lice officers in plain clothes. If Mr. Luker's dread of the In-
dians is at the bottom of this precaution, the inference is
plain enough. He is going to take the Diamond out of the
bank."

"And we are going to the bank to see what comes of it?"

"Yes — or to hear what has come of it, if it is all over by
this time. Did you notice my boy — on the box there ?"

"I noticed his eyes !"

Mr. Bruff laughed. "They call the poor little wretch
'Gooseberry' at the office," he said. "I employ him to go
on errands — and I only wish my clerks who have nicknamed
him were as thoroughly to be depended on as he is. Goose-
berry is one of the sharpest boys in London, Mr. Blake, in
spite of his eyes."

It was twenty minutes to five when we drew up before

475

THE MOONSTONE

the bank in Lombard Street. Gooseberry looked longingly
at his master as he opened the cab door.

"Do you want to come in too?" asked Mr. Bruff, kindly.
"Come in, then, and keep at my heels till further orders.
He's as quick as lightning," pursued Mr. Bruff, addressing
me in a whisper. "Two words will do with Gooseberry
where twenty would be wanted with another boy."

We entered the bank. The outer office — with the long
counter behind which the cashiers sat — was crowded with
people ; all waiting their turn to take money out, or to pay
money in, before the bank closed at five o'clock.

Two men among the crowd approached Mr. Bruff as soon
as he showed himself.

"Well," asked the lawyer. "Have you seen him?"

"He passed us here half an hour since, sir, and went on
into the inner office."

"Has he not come out again yet?"

"No, sir."

Mr. Bruff turned to me. "Let us wait," he said.

I looked round among the people about me for the three
Indians. Not a sign of them was to be seen anywhere.
The only person present with a noticeably dark complexion
was a tall man in a pilot coat and a round hat, who looked
like a sailor. Could this be one of them in disguise? Ln-
possible ! The man was taller than any of the Indians ; and
his face, where it was not hidden by a bushy black beard, was
twice the breadth of any of their faces at least.

"They must have their spy somewhere," said Mr. Bruff,
looking at the dark sailor in his turn. "And he may be the
man."

Before he could say any more his coat-tail was respectfully
pulled by his attendant sprite with the gooseberry eyes. Mr.
Bruff looked where the bov was looking. "Hush!" he said.
"Here is Mr. Luker !"

The money-lender came out from the inner regions of the
bank, followed by his two guardian policemen in plain
clothes.

"Keep your eye on him," whispered Mr. Bruff. "If he
passes the Diamond to any body, he will pass it here."

476

THE MOONSTONE

Without noticing either of us, Mr. Luker slowly made his
way to the door — now in the thickest, now in the thinnest
part of the crowd. I distinctly saw his hand move as he
passed a short, stout man, respectfully dressed in a suit of
sober gray. The man started a little and looked after him.
Mr. Luker moved on slowly through the crowd. At the
door his guard placed themselves on either side of him. They
were all three followed by one of Mr. Brufif's two men, and
I saw them no more.

I looked round at the lawyer, and then looked significantly
toward the man in the suit of sober gray. "Yes !" whispered
Mr. Brufif, "I saw it too !" He turned about in search of his
second man. The second man was nowhere to be seen. He
looked behind him for his attendant sprite. Gooseberry had
disappeared.

"What the devil does it mean !" said Mr. Bruff, angrily.
"They have both left us at the very time when we want them
most."

It came to the turn of the man in the gray suit to transact
his business at the counter. He paid in a check — received
a receipt for it — and turned to go out.

"What is to be done?" asked Mr. Bruff. "IVe can't de-
grade ourselves by following him."

"/ can !" I said. "I wouldn't lose sight of that man for ten
thousand pounds !"

"In that case," rejoined Mr. Bruff, "I wouldn't lose sight
of you for twice the money. A nice occupation for a man
in my position," he muttered to himself, as we followed the
stranger out of the bank. "For Heaven's sake, don't men-
tion it! I should be ruined if it was known."

The man in the gray suit got into an omnibus going west-
ward. We got in after him. There were latent reserves of
youth still left in Mr. Bruff. I assert it positively — when he
took his seat in the omnibus he blushed !

The man with the gray suit stopped the omnibus and got
out in Oxford Street. We followed him again. He went
into a chemist's shop.

Mr. Bruff started. "My chemist!" he exclaimed. "I am
afraid we have made a mistake."

477

THE MOONSTONE

We entered the shop. Mr. Bruff and the proprietor ex-
changed a few words in private. The lawyer joined me
again, with a very crest-fallen face.

"It's greatly to our credit," he said, as he took my arm
and led me out — "that's one comfort !"

"What is to our credit?" I asked.

"Mr. Blake ! you and I are the two worst amateur detec-
tives that ever tried their hands at the trade. The man in
the gray suit has been thirty years in the chemist's service.
He was sent to the bank to pay money to his master's ac-
count— and he knows no more of the Moonstone than the
babe unborn."

I asked what was to be done next.

"Come back to my office," said Mr. Bruff. "Gooseberry
and my second man have evidently followed somebody else.
Let us hope that they had their eyes about them, at any rate !"

When we reached Gray's Inn Square the second man had
arrived there before us. He had been waiting for more than
a quarter of an hour.

"Well!" asked Mr. Bruff. "What's your news?"

"I am sorry to say, sir," replied the man, "that I have made
a mistake. I could have taken my oath that I saw Mr. Luker
pass something to an elderly gentleman in a light-colored
paletot. The elderly gentleman turns out, sir, to be a most
respectable master iron-monger in Eastcheap."

"Where is Gooseberry?" asked Mr. Bruff, resignedly.

The man stared. "I don't know, sir. I have seen nothing
of him since I left the bank."

Mr. Bruff dismissed the man. "One of two things," he
said to me. "Either Gooseberry has run away, or he is hunt-
ing on his own account. What do you say to dining here,
on the chance that the boy may come back in an hour or two ?
I have got some good wine in the cellar, and we can get a chop
from the coffee-house."

We dined at Mr. Bruff's chambers. Before the cloth was
removed "a person" was announced as wanting to speak to
the lawyer. Was the person Gooseberry ? No : only the
man who had been employed to follow Mr. Luker when he
left the bank.

The report, in this case, presented no feature of the slight-

478

THE MOONSTONE

est interest. Mr. Luker had gone back to his own housc^
and had there dismissed his guard. He had not gone out
again afterward. Toward dusk the shutters had been put
up and the doors had been bolted. The street before the
house, and the alley behind the house, had been carefully
watched. No signs of the Indians had been visible. No per-
son whatever had been seen loitering about the premises.
Having stated these facts, the man waited to know whether
there were any further orders. Mr. Brufif dismissed him for
the night.

"Do you think Mr. Luker has taken the Moonstone home
with him?" I asked.

"Not he," said Mr. Bruff. "He would never have dis-
missed his two policemen if he had run the risk of keeping
the Diamond in his own house again."

We waited another half hour for the boy, and waited in
vain. It was then time for Mr. Bruff to go to Hampstead,
and for me to return to Rachel in Portland Place. I left
my card, in charge of the porter at the chambers, with a
line written on it to say that I should be at my lodgings at
half-past ten that night. The card was to be given to the
boy, if the boy came back.

Some men have a knack of keeping appointments ; and
other men have a knack of missing them. I am one of the
other men. Add to this that I passed the evening at Port-
land Place, on the same seat with Rachel, in a room forty
feet long, with Mrs. Merridew at the farther end of it. Docs
any body wonder that I got home at half-past twelve instead
of half-past ten ? How thoroughly heartless that person must
be ! And how earnestly I hope I may never make tha*- per-
son's acquaintance !

My servant handed me a morsel of paper when he let
me in.

I read, in a neat, legal handwriting, these words : "If vou
please, sir, I am getting sleepy. I will come back to-morrow
morning, between nine and ten." Inquiry proved that a boy,
with very extraordinary-looking eyes, had called, had pre-
sented my card and message, had waited an hour, had done
nothing but fall asleep and wake up again, had written a
line for me and had gone home — after gravely informing tut?

470

THE MOONSTONE

servant that "he was fit for nothing unless he got his night's
rest."

At nine the next morning I was ready for my visitor. At
half-past nine I heard steps outside my door. "Come in,
Gooseberry !" I called out. "Thank you, sir," answered a
grave and melancholy voice. The door opened. I started
to my feet and confronted — Sergeant Cuff !

"I thought I would look in here, Mr. Blake, on the chance
of your being in town, before I wrote to Yorkshire," said the
Sergeant.

He was as dreary and as lean as ever. His eyes had not
lost their old trick, so subtly noticed in Betteredge's Narra-
tive of "looking as if they expected something more from
you than you were aware of yourself." But, so far as dress
can alter a man, the great Cuff was changed. beyond all rec-
ognition. He wore a broad-brimmed white hat, a light
shooting- jacket, white trousers, and drab gaiters. He car-
ried a stout oak stick. His whole aim and object seemed to
be to look as if he had lived in the country all his life. When
I complimented him on his metamorphosis, he declined to take
it as a joke. He complained, quite gravely, of the noises and
the smells of London. I declare I am far from sure that he
did not speak with a slightly rustic accent ! I offered him
breakfast. The innocent countryman was quite shocked.
His breakfast-hour was half-past six — and he went to bed
with the cocks and hens !

"I only got back from Ireland last night," said the Ser-
geant, coming round to the practical object of his visit, in
his own impenetrable manner. "Before I went to bed I read
your letter, telling me what has happened since my inquiry
after the Diamond was suspended last year. There's only
one thing to be said about the matter, on my side. I com-
pletely mistook my case. How any man living was to have
seen things in their true light, in such a situation as mine was
at the time, I don't profess to know. But that doesn't alter
the facts as they stand. I own that I made a mess of it. Not
the first mess, Mr. Blake, which has distinguished my pro-
fessional career ! It's only in books that the officers of the
detective force are superior to the weakness of making a
mistake."

480

THE MOONSTONE

"You have come in the nick of time to recover your repu-
tation," I said.

''I beg your pardon, Mr. Blake," rejoined the Sergeant.
"Now I have retired from business I don't care a straw about
my reputation. I have done with my reputation, thank God !
I am here, sir, in grateful remembrance of the late Lady
\^erinder's liberality to me. I will go back to my old work —
if you want me and if you will trust me — on that consid-
eration and on no other. Not a farthing of money is to
pass, if you please, from you to me. This is on honor. Now
tell me, Mr. Blake, how the case stands since you wrote to
me last."

I told him of the experiment with the opium and of what
had occurred afterward at the bank in Lombard Street. He
was greatly struck by the experiment — it was something
entirely new in his experience. And he was particularly in-
terested in the theory of Ezra Jennings, relating to what I
had done with the Diamond, after I had left Rachel's sitting-
room, on the birthday night.

'T don't hold with Mr. Jennings that you hid the Moon-
stone," said Sergeant Cuff. "But I agree with him that you
must certainly have taken it back to your own room."

"Well?" I asked. "And what happened then?"

"Have you no suspicion yourself of what happened, sir?"

"None whatever."

"Has Mr. Bruff no suspicion?"

"No more than I have."

Sergeant Cuff rose, and went to my writing-table. He
came back with a sealed envelope. It was marked "Pri-
vate ;" it was addressed to me ; and it had the Sergeant's
signature in the corner.

"I suspected the wrong person last year," he said; "and
I may be suspecting the wrong person now. Wait to open
the envelope, Mr. Blake, till you have got at the truth; and
then compare the name of the guilty person with the name
that I have written in that sealed letter."

I put the letter into my pocket and then asked for the
Sergeant's opinion of the measures which we had taken at
the bank.

"Very well intended, sir," he answered, "and quite the
31 481

THE MOONSTONE

right thing to do. But there was another person who ought
to have been looked after besides Mr. Luker."

"The person named in the letter you have just given to
me ?"

"Yes, Mr. Blake, the person named in the letter. It can't
be helped now. I shall have something to propose to you
and Mr. Bruff, sir, when the time comes. Let's wait, first,
and see if the boy has any thing to tell us that is worth
hearing."

It was close on ten o'clock and the boy had not yet made
his appearance. Sergeant Cufif talked of other matters. He
asked after his old friend Betteredge and his old enemy the
gardener. In a minute more he would no doubt have got
from this to the subject of his favorite roses, if my servant
had not interrupted us by announcing that the boy was
below.

On being brought into the room. Gooseberry stopped at
the threshold of the door and looked distrustfully at the
stranger who was in my company. I called to the boy to
come to me.

"You may speak before this gentleman," I said. "He is
here to assist me and he knows all that has happened. Ser-
geant Cuff," I added, "this is the bov from Mr. Brufif 's
office."

In our modern system of civilization, celebrity, no matter
of what kind, is the lever that will move any thing. The
fame of the great CufT had even reached the ears of the
small Gooseberry. The boy's ill-fixed eyes rolled, when I
mentioned the illustrious name, till I thought they really must
have dropped on the carpet.

"Come here, my lad," said the Sergeant, "and let's hear
what you have got to tell us."

The notice of the great man — the hero of many a fa-
mous story in every lawyer's office in London — appeared
to fascinate the boy. He placed himself in front of Ser-
geant Cufif, and put his hands behind him, after the ap-
proved fashion of a neophyte who is examined in his cate-
chism.

"What is your name?" said the Sergeant, beginning with
the first question in the catechism.

482

THE MOONSTONE

"Octavius Guy," answered the boy. "They call me
Gooseberry at the office, because of my eyes."

"Octavius Guy, otherwise Gooseberry," pursued the Ser-
geant, with the utmost gravity, "you were missed at the bank
yesterday. What were you about?"

"If you please, sir, I was following a man."

"Who was he?"

"A tall man, sir, with a big black beard, dressed like a
sailor."

"I remember the man !" I broke in. "Mr. Bruff and I
thought he was a spy, employed by the Indians."

Sergeant Cuff did not appear to be much impressed by
what Mr. Bruff and I had thought. He went on catechising
Gooseberry.

"Well," he said; "and why did you follow the sailor?"

"If you please, sir, Mr. Bruff wanted to know whether
Mr. Luker passed any thing to any body on his way out of
the bank. I saw Mr. Luker pass something to the sailor
with the black beard."

"Why didn't you tell Mr. Bruff what you saw ?"

"I hadn't time to tell any body, sir, the sailor went out in
such a hurry."

"And you ran out after him — eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Gooseberry," said the Sergeant, patting his head, "you
have got something in that small skull of yours — and it isn't
cotton-wool. I am greatly pleased with you, so far."

The boy blushed with pleasure. Sergeant Cuff went on.

"Well, and what did the sailor do when he got into the
street?"

"He called a cab, sir."

"And what did you do?"

"Held on behind, and run after it."

Before the Sergeant could put his next question, another
visitor was announced — the head clerk from Mr. Bruff's
office.

Feeling the importance of not interrupting Sergeant Cuff's
examination of the boy, I received the clerk in another room.
He came with bad news of his employer. The agitation and
excitement of the last two days had proved too much for

4R3

THE MOONSTONE

Mr. Bruff. He had awoke that morning with an attack of
gout ; he was confined to his room at Hampstead ; and, in
the present critical condition of our affairs, he was very un-
easy at being compelled to leave me without the advice and
assistance of an experienced person. The chief clerk had re-
ceived orders to hold himself at my disposal and was willing
to do his best to replace Mr. Brufif.

I wrote at once to quiet the old gentleman's mind, by tell-
ing him of Sergeant Cuff's visit : adding that Gooseberry
was at that moment under examination ; and promising to
inform Mr. Bruff, either personally or by letter, o.f whatever
might occur later in the day. Having despatched the clerk
to Hampstead with my note, I returned to the room which I
had left and found Sergeant Cuff at the fire-place, in the act
of ringing the bell.

"1 beg your pardon, Mr. Blake," said the Sergeant. "I
was just going to send word by your servant that I wanted
to speak to you. There isn't a doubt on my mind that this
boy — this most meritorious boy," added the Sergeant, pat-
ting Gooseberry on the head, "has followed the right man.
Precious time has been lost, sir, through your unfortunately
not being at home at half-past ten last night. The only
thing to do, now, is to send for a cab immediately."

In five minutes more Sergeant Cuff and I, with Gooseberry
on the box to guide the driver, were on our way eastward,
toward the City.

"One of these days," said the Sergeant, pointing through
the front window of the cab, "that boy will do great things
in my late profession. He is the brightest and cleverest lit-
tle chap I have met with for many a long year past. You
shall hear the substance, Mr. Blake, of what he told me while
you were out of the room. You were present, I think, when
he mentioned that he held on behind the cab and ran af-
ter it?"

"Yes."

"Well, sir, the cab went from Lombard Street to the Tower
Wharf. The sailor with the black beard got out, and spoke
to the steward of the Rotterdam steamboat, which was to
start the next morning. He asked if he could be allowed to
go on board at once and sleep in his berth over night. The

484

THE MOONSTONE

steward said, No. The cabins and berths and bedding were
all to have a thorough cleaning that evening and no passenger
could be allowed to come on board before the morning. The
sailor turned round, and left the wharf. When he got into
the street again the boy noticed, for the first time, a man
dressed like a respectable mechanic, walking on the opposite
side of the road and apparently keeping the sailor in view.
The sailor stopped at an eating-house in the neighborhood
and went in. The boy — not being able to make up his mind
at the moment — hung about among some other boys, staring
at the good things in the eating-house window. He noticed
the mechanic, waiting, as he himself was waiting — but still
on the opposite side of the street. After a minute a cab
came by slowly, and stopped where the mechanic was stand-
ing. The boy could only see plainly one person in the cab,
who leaned forward at the window to speak to the mechanic.
He described that person, Mr. Blake, without any prompting
from me, as having a dark face, like the face of an Indian."

It was plain, by this time, that Mr. Bruff and I had made
another mistake. The sailor with the black beard was
clearly not a spy in the service of the Indian conspiracy.
Was he, by any possibility, the man who had got the Dia-
mond ?

"After a little," pursued the Sergeant, "the cab moved
on slowly down the street. The mechanic crossed the roadj
and went into the eating-house. The boy waited outside till
he was hungry and tired — and then went into the eating-
house, in his turn. He had a shilHng in his pocket; and he
dined sumptuously, he tells me, on a black pudding, an eel-
pie, and a bottle of ginger-beer. What can a boy not di-
gest? The substance in question has never been found yet."

"What did he see in the eating-house?" I asked.

"Well, Mr. Blake, he saw the sailor reading the news-
paper at one table, and the mechanic reading the newspaper
at another. It was dusk before the sailor got up and left
the place. He looked about him suspiciously when he got
out into the street. The boy — being a boy — passed un-
noticed. The mechanic had not come out yet. The sailor
walked on, looking about him, and apparently not very cer-
tain of where he was going next. The mechanic appeared

4«?

THE MOONSTONE

once more, on the opposite side of the road. The sailor went
on, till he got to Shore Lane, leading into Lower Thames
Street. There he stopped before a public-house under the
sign of The Wheel of Fortune, and, after examining the place
outside, went in. Gooseberry went in too. There were a
great many people, mostly of the decent sort, at the bar. The
Wheel of Fortune is a very respectable house, Mr. Blake,
famous for its porter and pork-pies."

The Sergeant's digressions irritated me. He saw it, and
confined himself more strictly to Gooseberry's evidence when
he went on.

"The sailor," he resumed, "asked if he could have a bed.
The landlord said 'No ; they were full.' The bar-maid cor-
rected him and said 'Number Ten was empty.' A waiter
was sent for to show the sailor to Number Ten. Just be-
fore that. Gooseberry had noticed the mechanic among the
people at the bar. Before the waiter had answered the call,
the mechanic had vanished. The sailor was taken off to his
room. Not knowing what to do next, Gooseberry had the
wisdom to wait and see if anything happened. Something
did happen. The landlord was called for. Angry voices were
heard up stairs. The mechanic suddenly made his appear-
ance again, collared by the landlord and exhibiting, to Goose-
berry's great surprise, all the signs and tokens of being
drunk. The landlord thrust him out at the door and threat-
ened him with the police if he came back. From the alter-
cation between them, while this was going on, it appeared
that the man had been discovered in Number Ten and had
declared with drunken obstinacy that he had taken the room.
Gooseberry was so struck by this sudden intoxication of a
previously sober person, that he couldn't resist running out
after the mechanic into the street. As long as he was in
sight of the public-house, the man reeled about in the most
disgraceful manner. The moment he turned the corner of
the street he recovered his balance instantly and became as
sober a member of society as you could wish to see. Goose-
berry went back to The Wheel of Fortune in a very bewil-
dered state of mind. He waited about again, on the chance
of something happening. Nothing happened ; and nothing
more was to be heard or seen of the sailor. Gooseberry

486

THE MOONSTONE

decided on going back to the office. Just as he came to this
conclusion, who should appear, on the opposite side of the
street as usual, but the mechanic again ! He looked up at
one particular window at the top of the public-house, which
was the only one that had a light in it. The light seemed
to relieve his mind. He left the place directly. The boy made
his way back to Gray's Inn, got your card and message, called,
and failed to find you. There you have the state of the case,
Mr. Blake, as it stands at the present time."

"What is your opinion of the case. Sergeant?"

"I think it's serious, sir. Judging by what the boy saw,
the Indians are in it, to begin with."

"Yes. And the sailor is evidently the man to whom Mr.
Lukcr passed the Diamond. It seems odd that Mr. Bruff
and I, and the man in Mr. Bruff's employment, should all
have been mistaken about who the person was."

"Not at all, Mr. Blake. Considering the risk that person
ran, it's likely enough that Mr. Luker purposely misled you
by previous arrangement between them."

"Do you understand the proceedings at the public-house?"
I asked. "The man dressed like a mechanic was acting, of
course, in the employment of the Indians. But I am as much
puzzled to account for his sudden assumption of drunkenness
as Gooseberry himself."

"I think I can give a guess at what it means, sir," said
the Sergeant. "If you will reflect, you will see that the man
must have had some pretty strict instructions from the In-
dians. They were far too noticeable themselves to risk being
seen at the bank or in the public-house — they were obliged
to trust every thing to their deputy. Very good. Their
deputy hears a certain number named in the public-house
as the number of the room which the sailor is to have for
the night — that being also the room, unless our notion is
all wrong, which the Diamond is to have for the night too.
Under those circumstances the Indians, you may rely on
it, would insist on having a description of the room — of its
position in the house, of its capability of being approached
from the outside, and so on. What was the man to do, with
such orders as these? Just what he did! He ran up stairs
to get a look at the room before the sailor was taken into

487

THE MOONSTONE

it. He was found there making his observations — and he
shammed drunk as the easiest way of getting out of the diffi-
culty. That's how I read the riddle. After he was turned
out of the public-house he probably went with his report
to the place where his employers were waiting for him. And
his employers, no doubt, sent him back to make sure that
the sailor was really settled at the public-house till the next
morning. As for what happened at The Wheel of Fortune
after the boy left, we ought to have discovered that last night.
It's eleven in the morning now. We must hope for the best
and find out what we can."

In a quarter of an hour more the cab stopped in Shore
Lane and Gooseberry opened the door for us to get out.

"All right?" asked the Sergeant.

"All right," answered the boy.

The moment we entered The Wheel of Fortune it was
plain, even to my inexperienced eyes, that there was some-
thing wrong in the house.

The only person behind the counter at which the liquors
were served was a bewildered servant-girl, perfectly igno-
rant of the business. One or two customers, waiting for
their morning drink, were tapping impatiently on the counter
with their money. The bar-maid appeared from the inner
regions of the parlor, excited and preoccupied. She an-
swered Sergeant Cuff's inquiry for the landlord by telling
him sharply that her master was up stairs and was not to
be bothered by any body.

"Come along with me, sir," said Sergeant Cuff, coolly lead-
ing the way up stairs, and beckoning to the boy to follow him.

The bar-maid called to her master, and warned him that
strangers were intruding themselves into the house. On the
first floor we were encountered by the landlord, hurrying
down, in a highly irritated state, to see what was the matter.

"Who the devil are you? and what do you want here?"
he asked.

"Keep your temper," said the Sergeant, quietly. "I'll tell
you who I am, to begin with. I am Sergeant Cuff."

The illustrious name instantly produced its effect. The
angry landlord threw open the door of a sitting-room, and
asked the Sergeant's pardon.

THE MOONSTONE

'T am annoyed and out of sorts, sir — that's the truth," he
said. "Something unpleasant has happened in the house this
morning. A man in my way of business has a deal to upset
his temper, Sergeant Cuff."

"Not a doubt of it," said the Sergeant. "I'll come at once,
if you will allow me, to what brings us here. This gentle-
man and I want to trouble you with a few inquiries on a
matter of some interest to both of us."

"Relating to what, sir?" asked the landlord.

"Relating to a dark man, dressed like a sailor, who slept
here last night."

"Good God ! that's the man who is upsetting the whole
house at this moment !" exclaimed the landlord. "Do you,
or does this gentleman, know any thing about him?"

"We can't be certain till we see him," answered the Ser-
geant.

"See him?" echoed the landlord. "That's the one thing
that nobody has been able to do since seven o'clock this
morning. That was the time when he left word, last night,
that he was to be called. He zvas called — and there was no
getting an answer from him. They tried again at eight, and
they tried again at nine. No use ! There was the door
still locked — and not a sound to be heard in the room ! I have
been out this morning — and I only got back a quarter of an
hour ago. I have hammered at the door myself — and all to
no purpose. The pot-boy has gone to fetch a carpenter. If
you can wait a few minutes, gentlemen, we will have the door
opened, and see what it means."

"Was the man drunk last night?" asked Sergeant Cuflf,

"Perfectly sober, sir — or I would never have let him sleep
in my house."

"Did he pay for his bed beforehand?"

"No."

"Could he leave the room in any way, without going out
by the door?"

"The room is a garret," said the landlord. "But there's
a trap-door in the ceiling, leading out on to the roof — and a
little lower down the street there's an empty house under
repair. Do you think, Sergeant, the blackguard has got off
in that way, without paying?"

489

THE MOONSTONE

"A sailor," said Sergeant Cuff, "might have done it — early
in the morning, before the street was astir. He would be
used to climbing, and his head wouldn't fail him on the roofs
of the houses."

As he spoke the arrival of the carpenter was announced.
We all went up stairs, at once, to the top story. I noticed
that the Sergeant was unusually grave, even for him. It
also struck me as odd that he told the boy, after having
previously encouraged him to follow us, to wait in the room
below till we came down again.

The carpenter's hammer and chisel disposed of the resist-
ance of the door in a few minutes. But some article of fur-
niture had been placed against it inside, as a barricade. By
pushing at the door we thrust this obstacle aside, and so got
admission to the room. The landlord entered first ; the Ser-
geant second ; and I third. The other persons present fol-
lowed us.

We all looked toward the bed and all started.

The man had not left the room. He lay, dressed, on the
bed, with a white pillow over his face, which completely hid
it from view.

"What does that mean?" said the landlord, pointing to the
pillow.

. Sergeant Cuff led the way to the bed, without answering,
and removed the pillow.

The man's swarthy face was placid and still ; his black hair
and beard were slightly, very sHghtly discomposed. His
eyes stared wide open, glassy and vacant, at the ceiling. The
filmy look and the fixed expression of them horrified me.
I turned away and went to the open window. The rest
of them remained, where Sergeant Cuff remained, at the
bed.

"He's in a fit !" I heard the landlord say.

"He's dead," the Sergeant answered. "Send for the near-
est doctor and send for the police."

The waiter was dispatched on both errands. Some strange
fascination seemed to hold Sergeant Cuff to the bed. Some
strange curiosity seemed to keep the rest of them waiting
to see what the Sergeant would do next.

I turned again to the window. The moment aftenvard I

490

THE MOONSTONE

felt a soft pull at my coat-tails and a small voice whispered,
"Look here, sir!"

Gooseberry had followed us into the room. His loose
eyes rolled frightfully — not in terror, but in exultation. He
had made a detective discovery on his own account. "Look
here, sir," he repeated — and led me to a table in a corner of
the room.

On the table stood a little wooden box open and empty.
On one side of the box lay some jeweler's cotton. On the
other side was a torn sheet of white paper, with a seal on it,
partly destroyed and with an inscription in writing, which
was still perfectly legible. The inscription was in these
words :

"Deposited with Messrs. Bushe, Lysaught, and Bushe, by
Mr. Septimus Luker, of Middlesex Place, Lambeth, a small
wooden box, sealed up in this envelope, and containing a
valuable of great price. The box, when claimed, to be only
given up by Messrs. Bushe and Co. on the personal applica-
tion of Mr. Luker."

Those lines removed all further doubt on one point at
least. The sailor had been in possession of the Moonstone
•when he had left the bank on the previous day.

I felt another pull at my coat-tails. Gooseberry had not
done with me yet.

"Robbery !" whispered the boy, pointing, in high delight,
to the empty box.

"You were told to wait down stairs," I said. "Go away!"

"And murder !" added Gooseberry, pointing, with a keener
relish still, to the man on the bed.

There was something so hideous in the boy's enjoyment of
the horror of the scene that I took him by the two shoulders
and put him out of the room.

At the moment when I crossed the threshold of the door
I heard Sergeant Cuff's voice asking where I was. He met
me, as I returned into the room, and forced me to go back
with him to the bedside.

"Mr. Blake !" he said. "Look at the man's face. It is a
face disguised — and here's the proof of it !"

He traced with his finger a thin line of livid white, run-
ning backward from the dead man's forehead, between the

491

THE MOONSTONE

swarthy complexion and the slightly-disturbed black hair.
"Let's see what is under this," said the Sergeant, suddenly
seizing the black hair with a firm grip of his hand.

My nerves were not strong enough to bear it. I turned
away again from the bed.

The first sight that met my eyes, at the other end of the
room, was the irrepressible Gooseberry, perched on a chair,
and looking with breathless interest, over the heads of his
elders, at the Sergeant's proceedings.

"He's pulling off his wig !" whispered Gooseberry, com-
passionating my position, as the only person in the room who
could see nothing.

There was a pause — and then a cry of astonishment among
the people round the bed.

"He's pulled off his beard !" cried Gooseberry.

There was another pause. Sergeant Cuff asked for some-
thing. The landlord went to the washhand-stand and re-
turned to the bed with a basin of water and a towel.

Gooseberry danced with excitement on the chair. "Come
up here, along with me, sir ! He's washing off his com-
plexion."

The Sergeant suddenly burst his way through the people
about him, and came, with horror in his face, straight to the
place where I was standing.

"Come back to the bed, sir!" he began. He looked at me
closer, and checked himself. "No !" he resumed. "Open the
sealed letter first — the letter I gave you this morning."

I opened the letter.

"Read the name, Mr. Blake, that I have written inside."

I read the name that he had written. It was — Godfrey
Ahlewhite.

"Now," said the Sergeant, "come with me and look at the
man on the bed."

I went with him, and looked at the man on the bed.

Godfrey AblewhiteI

493

THE MOONSTONE
SIXTH NARRATIVE

Contributed by Sergeant Cuff.

Dorking, Surrey, July 30, 1849. — To Franklin Blake, Esq.
Sir, — I beg to apologize for the delay that has occurred in
the production of the report with which I engaged to fur-
nish you. I have waited to make it a complete report ; and
I have been met, here and there, by obstacles which it was
only possible to remove by some little expenditure of patience
and time.

The object which I proposed to myself has now, I hope,
been attained. You will find, in these pages, answers to the
greater part — if not all — of the questions, concerning the late
Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, which occurred to your mind when
I last had the honor of seeing you.

I propose to tell you — in the first place — what is known
of the manner in which your cousin met his death ; append-
ing to the statement such inferences and conclusions as we
are justified, according to my opinion, in drawing from the
facts.

I shall then endeavor — in the second place — to put you in
possession of such discoveries as I have made, respecting the
proceedings of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, before, during, and
after the time, when you and he met as guests at the late
Lady Verinder's country house.

11.

As to your cousin's death, then, first.

It appears to me to be established, beyond any reasonable
doubt, that he was killed, while he was asleep, or immediately
on his waking, by being smothered with a pillow from his
bed — that the persons guilty of murdering him are the three
Indians — and that the object contemplated, and achieved, by
the crime was to obtain possession of the diamond, called
The Moonstone.

The facts from which this conclusion is drawn are derived

493

THE MOONSTONE

partly from an examination of the room at the tavern, and
partly from the evidence obtained at the coroner's inquest.

On forcing the door of the room the deceased gentleman
was discovered, dead, with the pillow of the bed over his face.
The medical man who examined him, being informed of
this circumstance, considered the post-mortem appearances
as being perfectly compatible with murder by smothering —
that is to say, with murder committed by some person, or
persons, pressing the pillow over the nose and mouth of the
deceased, until death resulted from congestion of the lungs.

Next, as to the motive for the crime.

A small box, with a sealed paper torn off from it, the paper
containing an inscription, was found open and empty on a
table in the room. Mr. Luker has himself personally identi-
fied the box, the seal, and the inscription. He has declared
that the box did actually contain the diamond, called the
Moonstone, and he has admitted having given the box, thus
sealed up, to Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, then concealed under
a disguise, on the afternoon of the twenty-sixth of June last.
The fair inference from all this is, that the stealing of the
Moonstone was the motive of the crime.

Next, as to the manner in which the crime was committed.

On examination of the room, which is only seven feet high,
a trap-door in the ceiling, leading out on to the roof of the
house, was discovered open. The short ladder, used for ob-
taining access to the trap-door, and kept under the bed, was
found placed at the opening, so as to enable any person, or
persons, in the room, to leave it again easily. In the trap-
door itself was found a square aperture cut in the wood,
apparently with some exceedingly sharp instrument, just
behind the bolt which fastened the door on the inner side.
In this way any person from the outside could have drawn
back the bolt and opened the door and have dropped, or have
been noiselessly lowered by an accomplice, into the room —
its height, as already observed, being only seven feet. That
some person, or persons, must have got admission in this way,
appears evident from the fact of the aperture being there.
As to the manner in which he, or they, obtained access to
the roof of the tavern, it is to be remarked that the third
house, lower down in the street, was empty and under repair

494

THE MOONSTONE

— that a long ladder was left by the workmen, leading from
the pavement to the top of the house — and that, on returning
to their work, on the morning of the 27th, the men found
the plank which they had tied to the ladder, to prevent any
one from using it in their absence, removed, and lying on
the ground. As to the possibility of ascending by this ladder,
passing over the roofs of the houses, passing back, and de-
scending again, unobserved — it is discovered on the evidence
of the night policeman, that he only passes through Shore
Lane twice in an hour when out on his beat. The testimony
of the inhabitants also declares that Shore Lane, after mid-
night, is one of the quietest and loneliest streets in London.
Here, again, therefore, it seems fair to infer that — with
ordinary caution and presence of mind — any man, or men,
might have ascended by the ladder, and might have descended
again, unobserved. Once on the roof of the tavern, it has
been proved, by experiment, that a man might cut through
the trap-door while lying down on it, and that in such a po-
sition the parapet in front of the house would conceal him
from the view of any one passing in the street.

Lastly as to the person, or persons, by whom the crime was
committed.

It is known (i) that the Indians had an interest in possess-
ing themselves of the Diamond. (2) It is at least probable
that the man looking like an Indian, whom Octavius Guy
saw at the window of the- cab speaking to the man dressed
like a mechanic, was one of the three Hindoo conspirators.

(3) It is certain that this same man dressed like a mechanic,
was seen keeping Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite in view all through
the evening of the 26th, and was found in the bedroom, be-
fore Mr. Ablewhite was shown into it, under circumstances
which lead to the suspicion that he was examining the room.

(4) A morsel of torn gold thread was picked up in the bed-
room, which persons expert in such matters declare to be of
Indian manufacture and to be a species of gold thread not
known in England. (5) On the morning of the 27th, three
men, answering to the description of the three Indians, were
observed in Lower Thames Street, were traced to the Tower
Wharf, and were seen to leave London by the steamer bound
for Rotterdam.

495

THE MOONSTONE

There is here moral, if not legal, evidence that the mur-
der was committed by the Indians.

Whether the man personating a mechanic was, or was not,
an accomplice in the crime, it is impossible to say. That he
could have committed the murder alone seems beyond the
limits of probability. Acting by himself, he could hardly
have smothered Mr. Ablewhite — who was the taller and the
stronger man of the two — without a struggle taking place, or
a cry being heard. A servant-girl, sleeping in the next room,
heard nothing. The landlord, sleeping in the room below,
heard nothing. The whole evidence points to the inference
that more than one man was concerned in this crime — and
the circumstances, I repeat, morally justify the conclusion
that the Indians committed it.

I have only to add that the verdict at the coroner's in-
cjuest was willful murder against some person, or persons, un-
known. Mr. Ablewhite's family have offered a reward, and
no effort has been left untried to discover the guilty persons.
The man dressed like a mechanic has eluded all inquiries.
The Indians have been traced. As to the prospect of ul-
timately capturing these last, I shall have a word to say to
you on that head when I reach the end of the present report.

In the mean while, having now written all that is needful
on the subject of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's death, I may pass
next to the narrative of his proceedings, before, during, and
after the time when you and he met at the late Lady Ver-
inder's house.

III.

With regard to the subject now in hand, I may state, at
the outset, that Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's life had two sides
to it.

The side turned up to the public view presented the spec-
tacle of a gentleman, possessed of considerable reputation as
a speaker at charitable meetings, and endowed with admin-
istrative abilities, which he placed at the disposal of various
benevolent societies, mostly of the female sort. The side kept
hidden from the general notice exhibited this same gentle-
man in the totally different character of a man of pleasure,
with a villa in the suburbs which was not taken in his own

49b

THE MOONSTONE

name and with a lady in the villa who was not taken in his
own name either.

My investigations in this villa have shown me several fine
pictures and statues ; furniture tastefully selected and ad-
mirably made; and a conservatory of the rarest flowers, the
match of which it would not be easy to find in all London.
My investigation of the lady has resulted in the discovery of
jewels which are worthy to take rank with the flowers, and
of carriages and horses which have, deservedly, produced
a sensation in the Park among persons well qualified to judge
of the build of the one and the breed of the others.

All this is, so far, common enough. The villa and the
lady are such familiar objects in London life that I ought to
apologize for introducing them to notice. But what is not
common and not familiar, in my experience, is that all these
fine things were not only ordered but paid for. The pictures,
the statues, the flowers, the jewels, the carriages, and the
horses — inquiry proved, to my indescribable astonishment,
that not a sixpence of debt was owing on any of them. As to
the villa, it had been bought, out and out, and settled on
the lady.

I might have tried to find the right reading of this riddle,
and tried in vain — but for Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's death,
which caused an inquiry to be made into the state of his
affairs.

The inquiry elicited these facts :

That Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was intrusted with the care
of a sum of twenty thousand pounds — as one of two trus-
tees for a young gentleman, who was still a minor in the
year eighteen hundred and forty-eight. That the trust was
to lapse, and that the young gentleman was to receive the
twenty thousand pounds on the day when he came of age,
in the month of February, eighteen hundred and fifty. That,
pending the arrival of this period, an income of six hundred
pounds was to be paid to him by his two trustees, half yearly
— at Christmas and at Midsummer-Day. That this income
was regularly paid by the active trustee, Mr. Godfrey Able-
white. That the twenty thousand pounds, from which the
income was supposed to be derived, had, every farthing of
it, been sold out of the funds, at different periods, ending
32 4P7

THE MOONSTONE

with the end of the year eighteen hundred and forty-seven.
That the power of attorney, authorizing the bankers to sell
out the stock, and the various written orders telling them
what amounts to sell out, were formally signed by both the
trustees. That the signature of the second trustee, a retired
army officer, living in the country, was a signature forged,
in every case, by the active trustee — otherwise Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite.

In these facts lies the explanation of Mr. Godfrey's honor-
able conduct in paying the debts incurred for the lady and
the villa — and, as you will presently see, of more besides.

We may now advance to the date of Miss Verinder's birth-
day, in the year eighteen hundred and forty-eight, — the
twenty-first of June.

On the day before, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite arrived at his
father's house, and asked, as I know from Mr. Ablewhite,
senior, himself, for a loan of three hundred pounds. Mark
the sum ; and remember at the same time that the half-yearly
payment to the young gentleman was due on the twenty-
fourth of the month. Also, that the whole of the young
gentleman's fortune had been spent by his trustee by the end
of the year forty-seven.

Mr. Ablewhite, senior, refused to lend his son a farthing.

The next day Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite rode over, with you,
to Lady Verinder's house. A few hours afterward Mr. God-
frey, as you yourself have told me, made a proposal of mar-
riage to Miss Verinder. Here he saw his way, no doubt —
if accepted — to the end of all his money anxieties, present
and future. But, as events actually turned out, what hap-
pened? Miss Verinder refused him.

On the night of the birthday, therefore, Mr. Godfrey Able-
white's pecuniary position was this : He had three hundred
pounds to find on the twenty-fourth of the month, and twenty
thousand pounds to find in February, eighteen hundred and
fifty. Failing to raise these sums, at these times, he was a
ruined man.

Under those circumstances, what takes place next?

You exasperate Mr. Candy, the doctor, on the sore subject
of his profession, and he plays you a practical joke, in return,

498

THE MOONSTONE

with a dose of laudanum. He trusts the administration of
the dose, prepared in a Httle phial, to Mr. Godfrey Able-
white, who has himself confessed the share he had in the
matter, under circumstances which shall presently be related
to you. Mr. Godfrey is all the readier to enter into the con-
spiracy, having himself suffered from your sharp tongue, in
the course of the evening. He joins Betteredge in persuad-
ing you to drink a little brandy-and-water before you go to
bed. He privately drops the dose of laudanum into your
cold grog. And you drink the mixture.

Let us now shift the scene, if you please, to Mr. Luker's
house at Lambeth. And allow me to remark, by way of
preface, that Mr. Bruff and I, together, have found a means
of forcing the money-lender to make a clean breast of it.
We have carefully sifted the statement he has addressed to
us ; and here it is at your service.

IV.

Late on the evening of Friday, the twenty-third of June,
forty-eight, Mr. Luker was surprised by a visit from Mr.
Godfrey Ablewhite. He was more than surprised when Mr.
Godfrey produced the Moonstone. No such diamond, ac-
cording to Mr. Luker's experience, was in the possession of
any private person in Europe.

Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite had two modest proposals to make
in relation to this magnificent gem. First, would ]\Ir. Luker
be so good as to buy it? Secondly, would Mr. Luker, in
default of seeing his way to the purchase, undertake to sell
it on commission and to pay a sum down, on the anticipated
result ?

Mr. Luker tested the Diamond, weighed the Diamond, and
estimated the value of the Diamond, before he answered a
word. His estimate, allowing for the flaw in the stone, was
thirty thousand pounds.

Having reached that result, Mr. Luker opened his lips and
put a question: "How did you come by this?" Only six
words ! But what volumes of meaning in them !

]\Ir. Godfrey Ablewhite began a story. Mr. Luker opened

499

THE MOONSTONE

his lips again and only said three words this time. "That
won't do !"

Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite began another story. Mr. Luker
wasted no more words on him. He got up and rang the
bell for the servant to show the gentleman out.

Upon this compulsion, Mr. Godfrey made an effort, and
came out with a new and amended version of the affair, to
the following effect.

After privately slipping the laudanum into your brandy-
and-water, he wished you good-night, and went into his own
room. It was the next room to yours and the two had a door
of communication between them. On entering his own room,
Mr. Godfrey, as he supposed, closed this door. His money
troubles kept him awake.^ He sat, in his dressing-gown and
slippers, for nearly an hour, thinking over his position. Just
as he was preparing to get into bed, he heard you talking to
yourself in your own room and going to the door of com-
munication, found that he had not shut it as he supposed.

He looked into your room to see what was the matter. He
discovered you with the candle in your hand, just leaving
your bed-chamber. He heard you say to yourself, in a voice
quite unlike your own voice, "How do I know ? The Indians
may be hidden in the house."

Up to that time he had simply supposed himself, in giving
you the laudanum, to be helping to make you the victim of
a harmless practical joke. It now occurred to him that the
laudanum had taken some effect on you which had not been
foreseen by the doctor, any more than by himself. In the
fear of an accident happening, he followed you softly to see
what you would do.

He followed you to Miss Verinder's sitting-room and saw
you go in. You left the door open. He looked through the
crevice thus produced, between the door and the post, before
he ventured into the room himself.

In that position he not only detected you in taking the
Diamond out of the drawer — he also detected Miss Verin-
der, silently watching you from her bedroom, through her
open door. He saw that she saw 3'ou take the Diamond too.

Before you left the sitting-room again, you hesitated a lit-
tle. Mr. Godfrey took advantage of this hesitation to get

500

THE MOONSTONE

back again to his bedroom before you came out and discov-
ered him. He had barel}^ got back, before you got back too.
You saw him, as he supposes, just as he was passing through
the door of communication. At any rate, you called to him in
a strange, drowsy voice.

He came back to you. You looked at him in a dull sleepy
way. You put the Diamond into his hand. You said to
him, "Take it back, Godfrey, to your father's bank. It's safe
there — it's not safe here." You turned away unsteadily, and
put on your dressing-gown. You sat down in the large arm-
chair in your room. You said, "I can't take it back to the
bank. My head's like lead — and I can't feel my feet under
me." Your head sank on the back of the chair — you heaved
a heavy sigh — and you fell asleep.

Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite went back, with the Diamond, into
his own room. His statement is, that he came to no conclusion
at that time — except that he would wait and see what hap-
pened in the morning.

When the morning came, your language and conduct
showed that you were absolutely ignorant of what you had
said and done overnight. At the same time. Miss Verinder's
language and conduct showed that she was resolved to say
nothing, in mercy to you, on her side. If Mr. Godfrey Able-
white chose to keep the Diamond, he might do so with perfect
impunity. The Moonstone stood between him and ruin. He
put the Moonstone into his pocket.

V.

This was the story told by your cousin, under pressure of
necessity, to Mr. Luker.

Mr. Luker believed the story to be, as to all main essen-
tials, true — on this ground, that Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was
too great a fool to have invented it. Mr. BrufT and I agree
with Mr. Luker, in considering this test of the truth of the
story to be a perfectly reliable one.

The next question was the question of what j\Ir. Luker
would do in the matter of the Moonstone. He proposed the
following terms, as the only terms on which he would con-

5°^

THE MOONSTONE

sent to mix himself up with what was, even in his line of
business, a doubtful and dangerous transaction.

Mr. Luker would consent to lend Mr. Godfrey Ablewhitc
the sum of two thousand pounds, on condition that the Moon-
stone was to be deposited with him as a pledge. If, at the
expiration of one year from that date, Mr. Godfrey Able-
white paid three thousand pounds to Mr. Luker, he was to
receive back the Diamond, as a pledge redeemed. If he
failed to produce the money at the expiration of the year,
the pledge, otherwise the Moonstone, was to be considered
as forfeited to Mr, Luker — who would, in this latter case,
generously make Mr. Godfrey a present of certain promissory
notes of his, relating to former dealings, which were then in
the money-lender's possession.

It is needless to say that Mr. Godfrey indignantly refused
to listen to these monstrous terms. Mr. Luker, thereupon,
handed him back the Diamond, and wished him good-night.

Your cousin went to the door and came back again. How
was he to be sure that the conversation of that evening would
be kept strictly a secret between his friend and himself?

Mr. Luker didn't profess to know how. If Air. Godfrey
had accepted his terms, Mr. Godfrey would have made him
an accomplice and might have counted on his silence as on
a certainty. As things were, Mr. Luker must be guided by
his own interests. If awkward inquiries were made, how
could he be expected to compromise himself, for the sake of
a man who had declined to deal with him?

Receiving this reply, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite did, what all
animals, human and otherwise, do, when they find them-
selves caught in a trap. He looked about him in a state of
helpless despair. The day of the month, recorded on a neat
little card in a box on the money-lender's chimney-piece, hap-
pened to attract his eye. It was the twenty-third of June.
On the twent3'-fourth he had three hundred pounds to pay
to the young gentleman for whom he was trustee and no
chance of raising the money, except the chance that ]\Ir.
Luker had offered to him. But for this miserable obstacle,
he might have taken the Diamond to Amsterdam, and have
made a marketable commodity of it, by having it cut up into
separate stones. As matters stood, he had no choice but to
accept Mr. Luker's terms. After all, he had a year at his

502

THE MOONSTONE

disposal in which to raise the three thousand pounds — and a
year is a long time.

Mr. Luker drew out the necessary documents on the spot.
When they were signed, he gave Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite
two checks. One, dated June 23d, for three hundred pounds.
Another, dated a week on, for the remaining balance — seven-
teen hundred pounds.

How the Moonstone was trusted to the keeping of Mr.
Luker's bankers, and how the Indians treated Mr. Luker and
Mr. Godfrey, after that had been done, you know already.

The next event in your cousin's life refers again to Miss
Verinder. He proposed marriage to her for the second time
— and, after having been accepted, he consented, at her re-
quest, to consider the marriage as broken oflf. One of his
reasons for making this concession has been penetrated by
Mr. Brufif. Miss Verinder had only a life-interest in her
mother's property — and there was no raising the missing
twenty thousand pounds on that.

But you will say, he might have saved the three thousand
pounds to redeem the pledged Diamond, if he had married.
He might have done so, certainly — supposing neither his wife,
nor her guardians and trustees, objected to his anticipating
more than half of the income at his disposal, for some un-
known purpose, in the first year of his marriage. But even
if he got over this obstacle, there was another waiting for
him in the background. The lady at the villa had heard of
his contemplated marriage. A superb woman, Mr. Blake,
of the sort that are not to be trifled with — the sort with the
light complexion and the Roman nose. She felt the utmost
contempt for Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. It would be silent
contempt if he made a handsome provision for her. Other-
wise, it would be contempt with a tongue to it. INIiss Ver-
inder's life-interest allowed him no more hope of raising the
"provision" than of raising the twenty thousand pounds. He
couldn't marry — he really couldn't marry, under all the cir-
cumstances.

How he tried his luck again with another lady, and how
that marriage also broke down on the question of money,
you know already. You also know of the legacy of five thou-
sand pounds, left to him shortly afterward, by one of thos-
many admirers among the soft sex whose good graces this

503

THE MOONSTONE

fascinating man had contrived to win. That legacy, as the
event has proved, led him to his death.

I have ascertained that when he went abroad, on getting
his five thousand pounds, he went to Amsterdam. There he
made all the necessary arrangements for having the Diamond
cut into separate stones. He came back, in disguise, and
redeemed the Moonstone on the appointed day. A few days
were allowed to elapse, as a precaution agreed to by both
parties, before the jewel was actually taken out of the bank.
If he had got safe with it to Amsterdam, there would have
been just time between July forty-nine and February fifty,
when the young gentleman came of age, to cut the Diamond,
and to make a marketable commodity, polished or unpolished,
of the separate stones. Judge from this what motives he
had to run the risk which he actually ran. It was "neck or
nothing" with him — if ever it was "neck or nothing" with
a man yet.

I have only to remind you, before closing this report, that
there is a chance of laying hands on the Indians and of re-
covering the Moonstone yet. They are now, there is every
reason to believe, on their passage to Bombay in an East In-
diaman. The ship, barring accidents, will touch at no other
port on her way out ; and the authorities of Bombay, already
communicated with by letter overland, will be prepared to
board the vessel the moment she enters the harbor.

I have the honor to remain, dear sir, your obedient servant,
Richard Cuff, late sergeant in the Detective Force, Scot-
land Yard, London.^

SEVENTH NARRATIVE

In a Letter from Mr. Candy.

Frizinghall, Wednesday, Sept. 26, 1849. — Dear Mr. Frank-
lin Blake, you will anticipate the sad news I have to tell
you, on finding your letter to Ezra Jennings returned to you,

1 Note. — Wherever the report touches on the events of the birthday, or of
the three days that followed it, compare with Betteredge's Narrative — Chap-
ters VIII. to XIII.

THE MOONSTONE

unopened, in this inclosure. He died in my arms, at sunrise,
on Wednesday last.

I am not to blame for having failed to warn you that his
end was at hand. He expressly forbade me to write to you.
"I am indebted to Mr. Franklin Blake," he said, "for having
seen some happy days. Don't distress him, Mr. Candy —
don't distress him."

His sufferings, up to the last six hours of his life, were ter-
rible to see. In the intervals of remission, when his mind
was clear, I entreated him to tell me of any relatives of his
to whom I might write. He asked to be forgiven for refus-
ing anything to inc. And then he said — not bitterly — that
he would die as he had lived, forgotten and unknown. He
maintained that resolution to the last. There is no hope
now of making any discoveries concerning him. His story
is a blank.

The day before he died he told me where to find all his
papers. I brought them to him on his bed. There was a
little bundle of old letters which he put aside. There was
his unfinished book. There was his Diary — in many locked
volumes. He opened the volume for this year and tore out,
one by one, the pages relating to the time when you and
he were together. "Give those," he said, "to Mr. Franklin
Blake. In years to come he may feel an interest in looking
back at what is written there." Then he clasped his hands,
and prayed God fervently to bless you, and those dear to
you. He said he should like to see you again. But the
next moment he altered his mind. "No," he answered, when
I offered to write — "I won't distress him ! I won't distress
him !"

At his request I next collected the other papers — that is
to say, the bundle of letters, the unfinished book, and the
volumes of the diary — and inclosed them all in one wrapper,
sealed with my own seal. "Promise," he said, "that you will
put this into my coffin with your own hand ; and that }-ou will
see that no other hand touches it afterward."

I gave him my promise. And the promise has been per-
formed.

He asked me to do one other thing for him, which it cost
me a hard slruggle to comply with. He said, "Let my grave

?o5

THE MOONSTONE

be forgotten. Give me your word of honor that you will
allow no monument of any sort — not even the commonest
tombstone — to mark the place of my burial. Let me sleep,
nameless. Let me rest, unknown." When I tried to plead
with him to alter his resolution he became for the first,
and only time, violently agitated. I could not bear to see
it and I gave way. Nothing but a little grass mound marks
the place of his rest. In time the tombstones will rise
round it. And the people who come after us will look, and
wonder, at the nameless grave.

As I have told you, for six hours before his death his suf-
ferings ceased. He dozed a little. I think he dreamed.
Once or twice he smiled. A woman's name, as I suppose —
the name of "Ella" — was often on his lips at this time. A
few minutes before the end came he asked me to lift him on
his pillow, to see the sun rise through the window. He was
very weak. His head fell on my shoulder. He whispered,
"It's coming!" Then he said, "Kiss me!" I kissed his
forehead. On a sudden he lifted his head. The sunlight
touched his face. A beautiful expression, an angelic expres-
sion, came over it. He cried out three times, "Peace ! peace !
peace !" His head sank back again on my shoulder, and the
long trouble of his life was at an end.

So he has gone from us. This was, as I think, a great
man — though the world never knew him. He bore a hard
life bravely. He had the sweetest temper I have ever met
with. The loss of him makes me feel very lonel}'. Perhaps
I have never been quite myself again since my illness. Some-
times I think of giving up my practice and going away and
trying what some of the foreign baths and waters will do
for me.

It is reported here that you and Miss Verinder are to be
married next month. Please to accept my best congratu-
lations.

The pages of my poor friend's journal are waiting for you
at my house — sealed up, with your name on the wrapper. I
was afraid to trust them to the post.

My best respects and good wishes attend Miss Verinder.
I remain, dear Mr. Franklin Blake, truly yours.

Thomas Candy.
506

THE MOONSTONE
EIGHTH NARRATIVE

Contributed by Gabriel Betteredge.

I AM the person, as you remember, no doubt, who led the
way in these pages, and opened the story. I am also the
person who is left behind, as it were, to close the story up.

Let nobody suppose that I have any last words to say
here concerning the Indian Diamond. I hold that unlucky
jewel in abhorrence and I refer you to other authority than
mine for such news of the Moonstone as you may, at the
present time, be expecting to receive. My purpose, in this
place, is to state a fact in the history of the family which
has been passed over by every body and which I won't allow
to be disrespectfully smothered up in that way. The fact
to which I allude is — the marriage of Miss Rachel and
Mr. Franklin Blake. This interesting event took place at
our house in Yorkshire, on Tuesday, October ninth, eigh-
teen hundred and forty-nine. I had a new suit of clothes on
the occasion. And the married couple went to spend the
honey-moon in Scotland.

Family festivals having been rare enough at our house,
since my poor mistress's death, I own — on this occasion of
the wedding — to having, toward the latter part of the day,
taken a drop too much on the strength of it.

If you have ever done the same sort of thing yourself, you
will understand and feel for me. If you have not, you will
very likely say, "Disgusting old man ! why does he tell us
this ?" The reason why is now to come.

Having, then, taken my drop, bless you ! you have got
your favorite vice, too : only your vice isn't mine, and mine
isn't yours — I next applied the one infallible remedy — that
remedy being, as you know, Robinson Crusoe. Where I
opened that unrivalled book I can't say. Where the lines
of print at last left off running into each other I know, how-
ever, perfectly well. It was at page three hundred and eigh-
teen— a domestic bit concerning Robinson Crusoe's marriage,
as follows :

"With those Thoughts I considered my new Engagement,

507

THE MOONSTONE

that I had a Wife " — observe ! so had Mr. Franklin ! — "one
Child born" — observe again ! that might yet be Mr. Frank-
lin's case, too! — "and my Wife then — " What Robinson
Crusoe's wife did or did not do "then," I felt no desire to
discover. I scored the bit about the child with my pencil and
put a morsel of paper for a mark to keep the place : "Lie you
there," I said, "till the marriage of Mr. Franklin and Miss
Rachel is some months older — and then we'll see!"

The months passed, more than I had bargained for, and
no occasion presented itself for disturbing that mark in the
book. It was not till this present month of November, eigh-
teen hundred and fifty, that Mr. Franklin came into my room,
in high good spirits, and said, "Betteredge ! I have got some
news for you ! Something is going to happen in the house
before we are many months older."

"Does it concern the family, sir ?" I asked.

"It decidedly concerns the family," says Mr. Franklin.

"Has your good lady anything to do with it, if you please,
sir?"

"She has a great deal to do with it," says Mr. Franklin,
beginning to look a little surprised.

"You needn't say a word more, sir," I answered. "God
bless you both ! I'm heartily glad to hear it."

Mr. Franklin stared like a person thunderstruck. "May
I venture to inquire where you got your information?" he
asked. "I only got mine, imparted in the strictest secrecy,
five minutes since."

Here was an opportunity of producing Robinson Crusoe !
Here was a chance of reading that domestic bit about the
child, which I had marked on the day of Mr. Franklin's mar-
riage ! I read those miraculous words with an emphasis
which did them justice — and then I looked him severely in
the face. "Now, sir, do you believe in Robinson Crusoe?"
I asked, with a solemnity suitable to the occasion.

"Betteredge !" says Mr. Franklin, with equal solemnity,
"I'm convinced at last." He shook hands with me — and I
felt that I had converted him.

With the relation of this extraordinary circumstance, my
re-appearance in these pages comes to an end. Let nobody
laugh at the unique anecdote here related. You are wel-

508

THE MOONSTONE

come to be as merry as you please over every thing else I
have written. But when I write of Robinson Crusoe, by the
Lord, it's serious — and I request you to take it accordingly !
When this is said, all is said. Ladies and gentlemen, I
make my bow and shut up the story.

EPILOGUE

THE FINDING OF THE DIAMOND

I.

The Statement of Sergeant Cuff's Alan ( 1 849).

ON the twenty-seventh of June last I received instructions
from Sergeant Cuff to follow three men, suspected of
murder, and described as Indians. They had been seen on
the Tower Wharf that morning, embarking on board the
steamer bound for Rotterdam.

I left London by a steamer belonging to another company,
which sailed on the morning of Thursday, the 28th.

Arriving at Rotterdam, I succeeded in finding the com-
mander of the Wednesday's steamer. He informed me that
the Indians had certainly been passengers on board his ves-
sel— but as far as Gravesend only. Off that place, one of
the three had inquired at what time they would reach Ca-
lais. On being informed that the steamer was bound to Rot-
terdam, the spokesman of the party expressed the greatest
surprise and distress at the mistake which he and his two
friends had made. They were all willing, he said, to sacri-
fice their passage-money, if the commander of the steamer
Avould only put them ashore. Commiserating their position,
as foreigners in a strange land and knowing no reason for
detaining them, the commander signaled for a shore boat,
and the three men left the vessel.

This proceeding of the Indians having been plainly re-
solved on beforehand, as a means of preventing their being

509

THE MOONSTONE

traced, I lost no time in returning to England. I left the
steamer at Gravesend and discovered that the Indians had
gone from that place to London. Thence I again traced them
as having left for Plymouth. Inquiries made at Ply-
mouth proved that they had sailed, forty-eight hours pre-
viously, in the Bewley Castle East Indiaman, bound direct
for Bombay.

On receiving this intelligence, Sergeant Cuff caused the
authorities at Bombay to be communicated with overland —
so that the vessel might be boarded by the police imme-
diately on her entering the port. This step having been taken,
my connection with the matter came to an end. I have
heard nothing more of it since that time.

II.
The Statement of the Captain (1849).

I AM requested by Sergeant Cuff to set in writing certain
facts, concerning three men, believed to be Hindoos, who were
passengers, last summer, in the ship Bewley Castle, bound
for Bombay direct, under my command.

The Hindoos joined us at Plymouth. On the passage out
I heard no complaint of their conduct. They were berthed
in the forward part of the vessel. I had but few occasions
myself of personally noticing them.

In the latter part of the voyage we had the misfortune to
be becalmed for three days and nights off the coast of India.
I have not got the ship's journal to refer to and I can not
now call to mind the latitude and longitude. As to our po-
sition, therefore, I am only able to state generally that the
currents drifted us in toward the land and that, when the
wind found us again, we reached our port in twenty-four
hours afterward.

The discipline of a ship, as all sea-faring persons know,
becomes relaxed in a long calm. The discipline of my ship
became relaxed. Certain gentlemen among the passengers
got some of the smaller boats lowered and amused themselves
by rowing about and swimming, when the sun, at evening-
time, was cool enough to let them divert themselves in that

510

THE MOONSTONE

way. The boats, when done with, ought to have been slung
up again in their places. Instead of this they were left
moored to the ship's side. What with the heat, and what
with the vexation of the weather, neither officers nor men
seemed to be in heart for their duty while the calm lasted.

On the third night nothing unusual was heard or seen by
the watch on deck. When the morning came the smallest of
the boats was missing — and the three Hindoos were next
reported to be missing too.

If these men had stolen the boat shortly after dark, which
I have no doubt they did, we were near enough to the land
to make it vain to send in pursuit of them, when the discov-
ery was made in the morning. I have no doubt they got
ashore, in that calm weather, making all due allowance for
fatigue and clumsy rowing, before day-break.

On reaching our port, I there learned, for the first time,
the reason my three passengers had for seizing their oppor-
tunity of escaping from the ship. I could only make the
same statement to the authorities which I have made here.
They considered me to blame for allowing the discipline of
the vessel to be relaxed. I have expressed my regret on
this score to them and to my owners. Since that time nothing
has been heard, to my knowledge, of the three Hindoos. I
have no more to add to what is here written.

III.

The Statement of Mr. Murthivaite (1850).

(IX A LETTER TO MR. BRUFF.)

Have you any recollection, my dear sir, of a semi-savage
person whom you met out at dinner, in London, in the au-
tumn of forty-eight? Permit me to remind you that the
person's name was Murthwaite, and that you and he had a
lonsT conversation together after dinner. The talk related to
an Indian Diamond, called the Moonstone, and to a conspir-
acv then in existence to get possession of the gem.

Since that time I have been wandering in Central Asia.
Thence, I have drifted back to the scene of some of my past
adventures in the north and north-west of India. About a

THE MOONSTONE

fortnight since I found myself in a certain district or prov-
ince, but little known to Europeans, called Kattiawar.

Here an adventure befell me, in which, incredible as it may
appear, you are personally interested.

In the wild regions of Kattiawar, and how wild they are
you will understand, when I tell you that even the husband-
men plow the land armed to the teeth, the population is
fanatically devoted to the old Hindoo religion — to the an-
cient worship of Brahma and Vishnu. The few Moham-
medan families, thinly scattered about the villages in the inte-
rior, are afraid to taste meat of any kind. A Mohammedan
even suspected of killing that sacred animal, the cow, is, as
a matter of course, put to death without mercy in these parts,
by the pious Hindoo neighbors who surround him. To
strengthen the religious enthusiasm of the people, two of
the most famous shrines of Hindoo pilgrimage are contained
Avithin the boundaries of Kattiawar. One of them is Dwarka,
the birth-place of the god Krishna. The other is the sacred
city of Somnath — sacked and destroyed, as long since as the
eleventh century, by the Mohammedan conqueror, Mahmud
of Ghazni.

Finding myself for the second time, in these romantic re-
gions, I resolved not to leave Kattiawar without looking once
more on the magnificent desolation of Somnath. At the
place where I planned to do this, I was, as nearly as I could
calculate it, some three days distant, journeying on foot, from
the sacred city.

I had not been long on the road before I noticed that other
people — by twos and threes — appeared to be traveling in the
same direction as myself.

To such of these as spoke to me I gave myself out as a
Hindoo-Buddhist, from a distant province, bound on a pil-
grimage. It is needless to say that my dress was of the sort
to carry out this description. Add, that I know the language
as well as I know my own, and that I am lean enough and
brown enough to make it no easy matter to detect my Euro-
pean origin — and you will understand that I passed muster
with the people readily; not as one of themselves, but as a
stranger from a distant part of their own country.

On the second day the number of Hindoos traveling in

512

THE MOONSTONE

my direction had increased to fifties and hundreds. On the
third day the throng had swollen to thousands ; all slowly
converging to one point — the city of Somnath.

A trifling service which I was able to render to one of my
fellow-pilgrims during the third day's journey proved the
means of introducing me to certain Hindoos of the higher
caste. From these men I learned that the multitude was on
its way to a great religious ceremony, which was to take
place on a hill at a little distance from Somnath. The cere-
mony was in honor of the god of the Moon and it was to
be held at night.

The crowd detained us as we drew near to the place of
celebration. By the time we reached the hill the moon was
high in the heavens. My Hindoo friends possessed some
special privileges which enabled them to gain access to the
shrine. They kindly allowed me to accompany them. When
we arrived at the place we found the shrine hidden from our
view by a curtain hung between two magnificent trees. Be-
neath the trees a flat projection of rock jutted out and formed
a species of natural platform. Below this I stood, in com-
pany with my Hindoo friends.

Looking back down the hill, the view presented the grand-
est spectacle of nature and man, in combination, that I have
ever seen. The lower slope of the eminence melted imper-
ceptibly into a grassy plain, the place of the meeting of three
rivers. On one side the graceful winding of the waters
stretched away, now visible, now hidden by trees, as far
as the eye could see. On the other the waveless ocean slept
in the calm of the night. People this lovely scene with tens
of thousands of human creatures, all dressed in white, stretch-
ing down the sides of the hill, overflowing into the plain, and
fringing the nearer banks of the winding rivers. Light this
halt of the pilgrims by the wild red flames of cressets and
torches, streaming up at intervals from every part of the
innumerable throng. Imagine the moonlight of the East,
pouring in unclouded glory over all — and you will form some
idea of the view that met me, w^hen I looked forth from the
summit of the hill.

A strain of plaintive music, played on stringed instru-
ments and flutes, recalled my attention to the hidden shrine.

513

THE MOONSTONE

I turned and saw on the rocky platform the figures of
three men. In the central figure of the three I recognized
the man to whom I had spoken in England, when the In-
dians appeared on the terrace at Lady Verinder's house.
The other two, who had been his companions on that occasion,
were no doubt his companions also on this.

One of the Hindoos, near whom I was standing, saw me
start. In a whisper he explained to me the apparition of the
three figures on the platform of rock.

They were Brahmans, he said, who had forfeited their
caste in the service of the god. The god had commanded
that their purification should be the purification by pilgrim-
age. On that night the three men were to part. In three
separate directions, they were to set forth as pilgrims to the
shrines of India. Never more were they to look on each
other's faces. Never more were they to rest on their wan-
derings, from the day which witnessed their separation to the
day which witnessed their death.

As those words were whispered to me the plaintive music
ceased. The three men prostrated themselves on the rock,
before the curtain which hid the shrine. They rose — they
looked on one another — they embraced. Then they descended
separately among the people. The people made way for them
in dead silence. In three different directions I saw the crowd
part at one and the same moment. Slowly the grand, white
mass of the people closed together again. The track of the
doomed men through the ranks of their fellow-mortals was
obliterated. We saw them no more.

A new strain of music, loud and jubilant, rose from the
hidden shrine. The crowd around me shuddered and pressed
together.

The curtain between the trees was drawn aside and the
shrine was disclosed to view.

There, raised high on a throne, seated on his typical ante-
lope, with his four arms stretching toward the four corners
of the earth, there soared above us, dark and awful in the
mystic light of heaven, the god of the Moon. And there,
in the forehead of the deity, gleamed the yellow Diamond,
whose splendor had last shone on me, in England, from the
bosom of a woman's dress !

5H

THE MOONSTONE

Yes ; after the lapse of eight centuries the Moonstone looks
forth once more over the walls of the sacred city in which
its story first began. How it has found its way back to its
wild native land — by what accident, or by what crime, the
Indians regained possession of their sacred gem — may be in
your knowledge, but is not in mine. You have lost sight of
it in England and, if I know any thing of this people, you
have lost sight of it forever.

So the years pass, and repeat each other; so the same
events revolve in the cycles of time. What will be the next
adventures of the Moonstone? Who can tell?

515

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JO Advaaii am

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