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THE MOONSTONE.

VOL. II.

THE MOONSTONE

% |loman«.

BY

WILKIE COLLINS,

AUTHOR OF

THE WOMAN IN WHITE," "NO NAME," "ARMADALE,

ETC. ETC.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. IL

LONDON :

TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND.
1868.

[The Author resemes the right of Translation.^

THE MOONSTONE.

Betteredge's Narrative — {continued),
CHAPTER XX.

HOSE in front had spread tlie 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
herself with the horror of the thing.

" You are answerable for this V* 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

VOL. II. B

2 THE MOONSTONE.

calamity, my lady, than you are/' lie said. " If, in
half an hour from this, you still insist on my leav-
ing the house, I will accept your ladyship's dis-
missal, but not your ladyship's money."

It was spoken very respectfully, but very firmly
at the same time — and it had its effect on my mis-
tress 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 required. Penelope came in to us to
hear what the Sergeant wanted with her. I don't
think I ever felt what a good dutiful 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

THE MOONSTONE. 3

right to thank him for considering us both in this
way — and I did.

People in high life have all the luxui'ies to them-
selves— 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 our-
selvesj and to jog on with our duties as patiently
as may be. I don^t complain of this — I only
notice it. Penelope and I were ready for the Ser-
geant^ as soon as the Sergeant was ready on his
side. Asked if she knew what had led her fellow-
servant to destroy herself, my daughter answered
(as you will foresee) that it was for love of Mr.
Franklin 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 knowing 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 himself.

b2

4 THE MOONSTONE.

At tlie end of the half-liour_, my mistresses bell
rang.

On my way to answer it_, I met Mr. Franklin
coming out of liis aunt^s sitting-room. He men-
tioned 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 T' 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 treatment 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 men-
tion of him was enough to set Miss Rachers 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 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.

THE MOONSTONE. 0

T\Tiat lie had to say to the Sergeant was spoken
in my presence. He described her ladyship as
willing to acknowledge that she had spoken over
hastily. And he asked if Sergeant Cuff would con-
sent— 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 vou/^ savs INIr. Franklin.

^' m explain myself, sir," says the Sergeant.
" WTien I came here, I undertook to throw the
necessary light on the matter of the missing Dia-
mond. I am now ready, and waiting, to redeem
my pledge. "\Mien 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 undertook 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

6 THE MOONSTONE.

conduct him to my lady's room, he asked if Mr.
Franklin wished to be present. Mr. Franklin an-
swered, " 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 window, with his face hidden in his hands —
and Penelope peeping through the door, longing to
comfort him. In Mr. Franklin^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 justice 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 over willing 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

THE MOONSTONE. T

steady as Ms 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.

CHAPTER XXI.

HE 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 requested permission to justify him-
self— putting his justification as an act of respect to
my mistress. It was impossible, he said, that he
could be in any way responsible for the calamity
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
anything that could alarm Rosanna Spearman

THE MOONSTONE. »

He appealed to me to testify Trhether lie had, or
had not, carried that object out. I could, and did,
bear witness that he had. And there, as I thought,
the matter might have been judiciously left to come
to an end.

Sergeant Cuff, however, took it a step further,
evidently (as you shall now judge) with the purpose
of forcing the most painful of all possible ex-
planations 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 un-
connected 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 in connexion with the missing Diamond,
has, as I believe, driven the poor creature to her
own destruction. I don^t pretend 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."

'^ Is the person now in the house T' my mistress
asked, after waiting a little.

^^ The person has left the house, my lady."

That answer pointed as straight to Miss Rachel

10 THE MOONSTONE.

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 other of them to speak again !

" Be so good as to express yourself plainly/' said
my lady. " Do you refer to my daughter V

*'^ I do/' said Sergeant Cuflf, in so many words.

^ly mistress had her cheque-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 !

^' I 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 pro-
bably 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

THE MOONSTONE. 11

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 it by word of mouth. But, if
this inquiry is to go on, time is of too much im-
portance to be wasted in wi'iting. 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 sers^ant 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 purpose 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 knowledge of
her character dates from the beginning of her life.

12 THE MOONSTONE.

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 ex-
perience) the circumstances have fatally misled you
in this case. !Mind ! I am in possession 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 Cuff bowed. My mistress had pro-
duced 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 conviction, 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 KachePs 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 ?"

THE MOONSTONE. 13

My mistress signed to him that she would do
this. The Sergeant went on :

" 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 experience, that young ladies of rank and posi-
tion do occasionally have private debts which they
dare not acknowledge to their nearest relatives and
friends. Sometimes, the milliner and the jeweller
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 obliged you
to understand him ; with an abominable justice that
favoured nobody.

" My first information relating to the loss of the
Moonstone,^^ said the Sergeant, " came to me from
Superintendent Seegrave. He proved to my com-
plete satisfaction that he was perfectly incapable

14 THE MOONSTONE.

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 oiTended
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 anything, I
suspected 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 ap-
pearances in that young lady. She is still violently
agitated, though more than four-and-twenty hours
have passed since the Diamond was lost. She treats
me, as she has already treated Superintendent See-
grave. And she is mortally offended 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

THE MOONSTONE. 15

inform me, wlio is of an impetuous temperament.
Under these circumstances, and with that character,
what does she do ? She betrays an incomprehen-
sible resentment against Mr. Blake, Mr. Superin-
tendent, and myself — otherwise, the very thi'ee
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 experience. My own experience
explains Miss Verinder^s otherwise incomprehensible
conduct. It associates her with those other young
ladies that I know of. It teUs 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 con-
clusion which my experience draws from plain
facts. What does your ladyship^s experience say
against it V

" What I have said already,'^ answered my mis-
tress. ^' 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

16 THE MOONSTONE.

liim off — lie would have found himself exactly where
I wished him to be ! {Not a bene : — I am an average
good Christian^ when you don^t push my Chris-
tianity 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 wardrobes 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 whole proceeding by re-
fusing point-blank. That result satisfied 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 house (as things were
then) would put an obstacle in the way of my re-
covering her jewel. You saw yourselves that she
drove off in the face of that statement. You saw
yourselves that, so far from forgiving ]\Ir. Blake

THE MOONSTONE. 17

for having done more tlian 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. TV'hat
do these things mean ? If Miss Yerinder is not
pri^-y to the suppression of the Diamond, what do
these things mean 'i"

This time he looked my way. It was dowm'ight
frightful to hear him piling up proof after proof
against Miss Rachel, and to know, while one Avas
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 fom to my lady^'s view, which was my
view also. This roused my spirit, and made me put
a boldface on it before Sergeant CuflP. Profit, good
friends, I beseech you, by my example. It wiU
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 o^vn good !

Finding that I made no remark, and that my
mistress made no remark, Sergeant CuflP proceeded.
Lord ! how it did enrage me to notice that he was
not in the least put out by om* 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 Yerinder and the

VOL. II. c

18 THE MOONSTONE.

deceased Rosanna Spearman, taken together. We
will go back for a momentj if you please, to your
daughter's refusal to let her wardrobe be examined.
My mind being made up, after that circumstance, 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 determined to conduct
the inquiry in, what we should call at our ofi&ce, 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 ail the rest of it — nothing of the sort was to be
thought of, when your ladyship's daughter was (as
I believed) 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 honour of the
family at heart — would be safer to take as an as-
sistant 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 di'ift
of my proceedings at a very eai'ly date ; and, with

THE MOONSTONE. 19

his interest in Miss Verinder^ any mutual under-
standing was impossible between bim and me. I
trouble your ladyship with these particulars to show
you that T have kept the family secret within the
family circle. I am the only outsider who knows
it — and my professional existence depends on hold-
ing my tongue.'^

Here I felt that my professional existence de-
pended on not holding my 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 hear.

" 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 Cuff to contradict me, if he
dares V*

Having given vent in those words, I felt greatly
relieved. Her ladyship honoured me by a little
friendly pat on the shoulder. I looked with
righteous indignation at the Sergeant to see what
he thought of such a testimony as that ! Tlie Ser-
geant looked back like a lamb, and seemed to like
me better than ever.

My lady informed him that he might continue
his statement. " I understand,^' she said, " that
you have honestly done your best^ in what you

c 2

20 THE MOONSTONE.

believe to be my interest. I am ready to bear wbat
you bave to say next/''

" Wbat I bave to say next/^ answered Sergeant
CuflT, " relates to Rosanna Spearman. I recognised
tbe young woman, as your ladysbip may remember,
wben sbe brougbt tbe wasbing-book into tbis room.
Up to tbat time I was inclined to doubt wbetber
Miss Verinder bad trusted ber secret to any one.
^Tien I saw Eosanna, I altered my mind. I sus-
pected ber at once of being privy to tbe suppression
of tbe Diamond. Tbe poor creature bas met ber
deatb by a dreadful end, and I don^'t want your
ladysbip to tbink, now sbe^s gone, tbat I was unduly
bard on ber. If tbis bad been a common case of
tbieving, I sbould bave given Rosanna tbe benefit
of tbe doubt just as freely as I sbould bave given it
to any of tbe otber servants in tbe bouse. Our
experience of tbe Reformatory women is, tbat wben
tried in ser\dce — and wben kindly and judiciously
treated — tbey prove tbemselves in tbe majority of
cases to be bonestly penitent, and bonestly wortby
of tbe pains taken witb tbem. But tbis was not a
common case of tbieving. It was a case — in my
mind — of a deeply planned fraud, witb tbe owner of
tbe Diamond at tbe bottom of it. Holding tbis
view, tbe first consideration wbicb naturally pre-
sented itself to me, in connexion witb Rosanna, was

THE MOONSTONE. 21

this. Would Miss Yerinder 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 further^ and delude us into believing
that the Moonstone was stolen? In the latter
event there was Rosanna Spearman — with the cha-
racter of a thief — ready to her hand ; the person
of all others to lead your ladyship ofP^ and to lead
me offj on a false scent.''

Was it possible (I asked myself) that he could
put his case against Miss Rachel and Rosanna in a
more horrid point of view than this ? It was pos-
sible^ as you shall now see.

*^ I had another reason for suspecting the de-
ceased woman/' he said^ '' which appears to me to
have been stronger still. T\Tio would be the very
person to help Miss Verinder in raising money pri-
vately on the Diamond? Rosanna Spearman. No
young lady in Miss Verinder's position could manage
such a risky matter as that by herself. A go-
between she must have, and who so fit, I ask again,
as Rosanna Spearman ? Your ladyship's deceased
housemaid 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 (in
the money-lending line) who would advance a large
sum on such a notable jewel as the Moonstone,

22 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 unanswerably this part of
his report fixed the guilt of being concerned 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, ^^ I 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.

THE MOONSTONE. 23

" 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 pro-
pose, in either case, to keep a careful watch on all
her proceedings — on the people she sees, on the
rides and walks she may take^ and on the letters
she may write and receive.''

" What next ?" asked my mistress.

^^ I shall next," answered the Sergeant, '^ request
your ladyship'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 r" 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 as formerly acquainted
with Rosanna Spearman — and whose name and
address, your ladyship may rely on it, have been
communicated by Rosanna to INIiss Verinder. I
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,

24 THE MOONSTONE.

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 Moon-
stone on its arrival in London.^^

To hear her own daughter made the subject of
such a proposal as this, stung my mistress into
speaking angrily for the first time.

^^ Consider your proposal declined, in every par-
ticular,''' 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 Verinder's tempera-
ment. She is quite capable (according to my
belief) 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 circumstances that will touch her
to the quick. In plain English, I T^ant to tell
Miss Verinder, without a word of warning, of

THE MOONSTONE. 25

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 alterna-
tive?"

My mistress astonished me beyond all power
of expression. She answered him, on the in-
stant :

" 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 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 speech-
less with amazement, like an ordinary man.

My mistress rang the bell, and ordered her
waterproof 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.

26 THE MOONSTONE.

" You may rely on two things/^ she said to Ser-
geant CnflP, in the hall. " I will try the experi-
ment 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 ofiP to Frizinghall.

CHAPTER XXII.

Y mistress having left us, I had leisure to
think of Sergeant Cuff. I found him sitting
in a snug comer of the hall, consulting his memo-
randum book, and curling up viciously at the corners
of the lips.

" Making notes of the case T^ I asked.

" No," said the Sergeant. "^ Looking to see
what my next professional engagement is.^^

" Oh P' I said. '' You think it's aU over then,
here V

'^ 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. Bet-
teredge ?"

There was no getting a word more out of him on
the matter of the Moonstone. He had lost all in-
terest in his own inquiry ; and he would persist in
looking for the gardener. An hour afterwards, I

28 THE MOONSTONE.

heard them at high words in the conservatory, with
the dog-rose once more at the bottom of the dispute.

In the meantime, it was my business to find out
whether Mr. Fi'anklin persisted in his resolution to
leave us by the afternoon train. After having been
informed of the conference in my lady^s room, and
of how it had ended, he immediately decided on
waiting to hear the news from Frizinghall. This
very natural alteration in his plans — which, with or-
dinary people, would have led to nothing in particu-
lar— proved, in Mr. Franklin^s case, to have one ob-
jectionable result. It left him unsettled, with a
legacy of idle tine 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-
Englishman, 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 RacheFs
treatment of him ; and with nobody to address him-
self to but me. I found him (for example) in the
library, sitting under the map of Modern Italy, and
quite unaware of any other method of meeting his
troubles, except the method of talking about them.
" I have several worthy aspirations. Bettered ge ; but
what am I to do with them now ? I am full of

THE MOONSTONE. 29

dormant good qualities^ if Eachel would only have
helped me to bring them out V' 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 wits'' end how to con-
sole him, when it suddenly occurred to me that
here was a case for the wholesome application 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 di^awing-room. There was his hand-
kerchief 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 investi-
gating the empty 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.

30 THE MOONSTONE.

'' 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 you explain Rachel's con-
duct, Betteredge T' was the only answer I received.
Not being ready with the needful reply, I produced
Robinson Crusoe, in which I am firmly persuaded
some explanation 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 V he said, as if I had personally ob-
jected to looking into it. " Why the devil lose your
patience, Betteredge, when patience is all that's
wanted to arrive at the truth ? Don^t interrupt me.
Rachel's conduct is perfectly intelligible, if you will
only do her the common justice to take the Objec-
tive 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 Moon-
stone, on Thursday morning last, threw her into a
state of nervous excitement, 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 excitement, how
are we to expect that she should behave as she

THE MOONSTONE. 31

miglit otherwise have behaved to any of the people
about her ? Arguing in this way, from within-out-
wards, what do we reach ? We reach the Subjective
view. I defy you to controvert the Subjective view.
Very well then — what foUows ? Good Heavens ! the
Objective- Subjective explanation follows, of course !
Rachel, properly speaking, is not Rachel, but Some-
body Else. Do I mind being cruelly treated by
Somebody Else ? You are unreasonable enough, Bet-
teredge j but you can hardly accuse me of that. Then
how does it end ? It ends, in spite of your con-
founded 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. Franklin^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 offices next, smelt my

32 THE MOONSTONE.

pipe, and was instantly reminded that he had been
simple enough to give up smoking for Miss RacheFs
sake. In the twinkling of an eye, he burst in on
me with his cigar case, and came out strong on the
one everlasting subject, in his neat, witty, unbeliev-
ing, 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 wiU 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 fi'om your cigar case.
Throw her away, and try another V

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 inclined 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

THE MOONSTONE. 33

on with my young master and me ; and so (-while
the Sergeant and the gardener were wrangling over
the roses) we two spent the interval before the news
came back from Frizinghall.

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 cheque, 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. Begbic for obsti-
nacy 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

VOL. IT. D

34 THE MOONSTONE.

letter in my Land. "All!" lie said in aweary
way, " you have heard from her ladyship. Have I
anything to do with it, ]Mr. Betteredge T'

" You shall judge for yourself, Sergeant.'' I
thereupon read him the letter (with my best em-
phasis and discretion), in the following words :

" My Good Gabriel, — I request that you will in-
form Sergeant Cuff, that I have performed the
promise I made to him ; with this result, so far as
Rosanna Spearman is concerned. ^liss Yerinder
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 Yerinder left
us. After telling my daughter suddenly, and in so
many words, of Rosanna Spearman's suicide — this is
what has come of it."

Having reached that point, I looked up, and
asked Sergeant Cuff what he thought of the letter,
so far ?

" I should only offend you if I expressed my

THE MOONSTONE. 35

opinion/^ answered the Sergeant, " Go on, Mr.
Betteredge/^ he said, with the most exasperating re-
signation, " 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 mistresses. This time, however, my Christianity
held firm. I proceeded steadily with her ladyship's
letter :

" Having appealed to Miss Verinder in the man-
ner 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 occa-
sions, 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 apprehensions have been realised.

" Her answer to this, on her own solemn affirma-
tion, 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

D 2

36 THE MOONSTONE.

obstinate silence, when I ask her if she can explain
the disappearance of the Diamond. 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 cheque which I enclose. 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 circumstances, in this case, have
fatally misled him.''

There the letter ended. Before presenting the
cheque, 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 havQ
done with it."

I tossed the cheque across the table to him.

THE MOONSTONE. 87

"Do you believe in that part of her ladyship's

letter V I said, indignantly.

The Sergeant looked at the cheque^ and lifted

up 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. Til bear in mind the amount

in this cheque, Mr. Betteredge, when the occasion

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, before
the Moonstone is many months older."

If those words meant anything, and if the man-
ner in which he spoke them meant anything — it
came to this. My mistress's letter had proved, to
his miud, 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 said in these plain terms :

38 THE MOONSTONE.-

" Sergeant Cuff, I consider your last observation
as an insult 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
courtyard, but Mr. Begbie, the gardener, waiting
outside to continue the dog-rose controversy with
Sergeant Cuff.

" My compliments to the Sairgent,^'' 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.'^

"WhatP^ cries the Sergeant, behind me, "are
you not convinced yet T^

" The de^il a bit Tm convinced !" answered Mr.
Begbie.

" Then 1^11 walk to the station V^ says the Ser-
geant.

" Then Fll 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 inter-
ruption as this ? Sergeant Cuff noticed the change
in me, and encouraged it by a word in season.

THE MOONSTONE. 39

"Come! come'/'' lie 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 anything as her ladyship took it^ was a
privilege worth enjoy in g^even with the disadvantage
of it^s having been offered to me by Sergeant CuflP.
I cooled slowly down to my customary level. I re-
garded any other opinion of Miss Rachel^ than my
lady's opinion or mine, with a lofty contempt. 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 invented in my time.
Sergeant Cuff had hit me on the raw, and, though
I did look down upon him with contempt, the ten-
der 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 offence. Sergeant Cuff seized
my hand, and shook it till my fingers ached again.

40 THE MOONSTONE.

^'1 declare to heaven/' says this strange officer
solemnly^ " I would take to domestic service to-
morrow, Mr. Betteredge, if T 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 Verinder — I'll only turn
prophet, for once in a way, and for your sake. I
have warned you abeady 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 some-
thing from ^the Yollands — when the postman de-
livers 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 un-
pleasantly than I felt those words. Miss Rachel's
assertion of her innocence had left Rosanna's con-
duct— the making the new nightgown, the hiding

THE MOONSTONE. 41

the smeared nightgown^ 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 neighbourhood, if Miss
Rachel remains in the neighbourhood. 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 mis-
take about it if the thing really happens."

He wrote accordingly on a blank leaf : — '^ Mr.
Septimus Luker, Middlesex-place, Lambeth, Lon-
don."

" There," he said, pointing to the address, " are

42 THE MOONSTONE.

the last words, on tlie subject of the Moonstone,
which I shall trouble you with for the present.
Time will show whether I am right or wrong. In
the meanwhile,, sir, I carry away with me a sincere
personal liking for you, which I think does honour
to both of us. If we don^t meet again before my
professional 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 promise you, in my
garden. And as for the white moss rose "

" The dc'il a bit ye^U get the white moss rose to
grow, unless ye bud him on the dogue-rose first,^^
cried a voice at the window.

We both turned round. There was the ever-
lasting 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 V cried the great Cuff,
hailing me through the window in his turn.
" Gentlemen, both V I answered, 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 V I might as well (as the
Irish say) have whistled jigs to a milestone. Away

THE MOONSTONE. 43

they went together^ 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.

Explaia 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 !

-<f.

CHAPTER XXIII.

HAD kept the pony-chaise ready, in case
Mr. Franklin persisted in leaving us by the
train that night. The appearance of the luggage,
followed downstairs by Mr. Franklin himself, in-
formed me plainly enough that he had held firm to
a resolution for once in his life.

'* So you have really made up your mind, sir V
I said, as we met in the hall. " Why not wait a
day or two longer, and give Miss Rachel another
chance V

The foreign varnish appeared to have all worn oflP
Mr. Franklin, now that the time had come for say-
ing 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

THE MOONSTONE. 45

will account for the steadiness of Mr. IVanklin'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 cannot even guess.
Is it conceivable that I should allow myself to be
trifled with in this way? It is quite conceivable,
in RacheFs 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 something to quiet her. To help
this end, I have not hesitated to dismiss the police-
ojQficer. 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 consult-

46 THE MOONSTONE.

ing 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 as-
sistance which you rendered to the enquiry
after the lost jewel is still an unpardoned offence,
in the present 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. It is impossible for me to
excuse the perversity that holds you responsible
for consequences . which neither you nor I could
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

THE MOONSTONE. 47

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 Diamond/^ he said_, '' I don^t believe there
was a happier household 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
Herncastle, and his birthday gift ? The Moonstone
has served the Colonel's vengeance, Betteredge,
by means which the Colonel himself never dreamt
ofr

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 happiest years of his life, in this
way. Penelope (sadly upset by all that had hap-
pened 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

48 THE MOONSTONE.

as a favour that lie would let us hear from him by
letter. He didnH 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 V says he, echoing the word after me.
" I am going to the devil V The pony started at
the word, as if he had 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 pleasant gen-
tleman ! 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 Moon-
stone, 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.

THE MOONSTONE. 49

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 innocence
failed also. It left Rosanna's secret journey to
Frizinghall, and Kosanna^s proceedings in the matter
of the nightgown, entirely unaccounted for. There
was no use in pointing this out to Penelope ; the ob-
jection made about as much impression on her as
a shower of rain on a waterproof 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. Able whitens, came back
to us empty. The coachman 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
determined to take Miss Rachel to her house in
London, on the Monday. The written instructions
informed the two maids of the clothing that was
wanted, and directed them to meet their mistresses
in town at a given hour. Most of the other ser-
vants 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

VOL. II. £

50 THE MOONSTONE.

going to Loudon 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 proceed-
ings. 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 bedtime, and fell asleep in
our chaii's.

How the Monday affected the rest of the house-
hold I don^t know. The Monday gave me a good
shake up. The first of Sergeant Cuff^s prophecies
of what was to happen — namely, that I should
hear from the YoUands — came true on that day.

I had seen Penelope and my lady^s maid off in

THE MOONSTONE. 51

the railTvay 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.

^^ AYell, my dear,^^ I said, " what do you want
with me ?'

" Whereas the man you call Franklin Blake T'
says the 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. Bettercdge came
in handy here. Whenever a woman tries to put

B 2

52 THE MOONSTONE.

you out of temper, turn the tables, and put her out
of temper instead. Tliey are generally prepared
for every effort you can make in your own defence,
but that. One word does it as well as a hundred ;
and one word did it \di\i Limping Lucy. I looked
her pleasantly in the face ; and I said — " Pooh !"

The girPs temper flamed out directly. She
poised herself on her sound foot, and she took her
crutch, and beat it furiously 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 V^ She screamed that answer out at the
top of her voice. One or two of the people at
work in the gi^ounds 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 Spear-
man V' 1 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 V

" 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

THE MOONSTONE. 53

irritate the girl by another of my smart replies. I
Jiad only noticed her temper at first. I noticed
her Tvretchedness now — and wretchedness is not
uncommonly insolent^ you Avill find, in humble life.
My answer 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 miserable life^ Mr. Betteredge — ^'ile people
had ill treated her and 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
spoilt 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. '■ I 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

54 THE MOONSTONE.

good hand. She was quick at her needle. I havp
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 hap-
pens 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 for ever.
Where is he ?" cries the girl, lifting her head from
the crutch, and flaming out again through her
tears. " Where's this gentleman that I mustn't
speak of, except with respect? Ha, Mr. Better-
edge, the day is not far off when the poor will rise
against the rich. I pray Heaven they may begin
with him. I pray Heaven they may begin with
himr

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 himself (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 Islv. Franklin Blake r''
I asked.

THE MOONSTONE. 55

*' I waut to see him."

*' For anything particular ?"

" I have got a letter to give him/'

" From Rosanna Spearman ?"

" 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 de-
tective fever was beginning to set in again.

" You can't see ^Ir. 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 towards
Cobb's Hole.

" Stop !" I said. '' I expect news of Mr. Franklin
Blake to-morroAv. 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,"

50 THE MOONSTONE.

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 bm-nt 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 enjoyed disap-
pointing me. Later in the day, I tried my luck
with her mother. Good Mrs. YoUand 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 writing to
Mr. Franklin Blake.

I leave you to imagine how I watched for the
postman on Tuesday morning. He brought me two
letters. One, from Penelope (which I had hardly
patience enough to read), announced that my lady
and Miss Rachel were safely established in London.

THE MOONSTONE. 57

The other, from Mr. Jeffco, informed me that Lis
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 favourite parliamentary plaything
which they call '^ a private bill." Mr. Jeffco him-
self showed Mr. Fi'anklin into his father's study.
" My dear Franklin ! why do you surprise me in this
way? Anything wrong?" ^^ Yesj something
wrong with Rachel; I am dreadfully distressed
about it." " Grieved to hear it. But I can't listen
to you now." '^ When can vou listen ?" " Mv
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 mc by Mr. Jefibo. The conversation
outside the study, was shorter still. " JeflPco, see
what time the tidal train starts to-morrow morning ?"
'^ At six-forty, Mr. Franklin." ^' Have me called at
five." '^ Going abroad, sir ?" " Going, Jcftco,
wherever the railway chooses to take me." " Shall
I tell your father, sir ?" " Yes ; tell him at the
end of the session/'

58 THE MOONSTONE.

The next morning Mr. Franklin had started for
foreign parts. To what particular place he was
bound, nobody (himself included) could presume to
guess. We might hear of him next in Europe, Asia,
Africa, or America. The chances were as equally
di\4ded 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. Penelope's belief that her
fellow-servant had destroyed herself through unre-
quited love for Mr. Franklin Blake, was confiimed —
and that was all. "\^Tiether the letter which Ro-
sanna had left to be given to him after her death
did, or did not, contain the confession which Mr.
Franklin had suspected her of trying to make to
him in her life-time, 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

THE MOONSTONE. 59

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 Quicksand, 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 doctor 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 gaieties in prospect j
and Miss Rachel, to her mother's astonishment,
eagerly took to it all. Mr. Godfrey had called ;
evidently as sweet as ever on his cousin, in spite of
the reception he had met with, when he tried his

60 THE MOONSTONE.

luck on the occasion of tlie birthday. To Penelope's
great regret, he had been most graciously received,
and had added Miss RachePs name to one of his
Ladies' Charities on the spot. My mistress was re-
ported to be out of spirits, and to have held two
long interviews with her lawyer. Certain specula-
tions followed, referring to a poor relation of the
family — one Miss Clack, whom I have mentioned
in my account of the birthday dinner, as sitting
next to Mr. Godfrey, and having a pretty taste in
champagne. Penelope was astonished to find that
Miss Clack had not called yet. She would surely
not be long before she fastened herself on my lady
as usual — and so forth, and so forth, in the way
women have of girding at each other, on and off
paper. This would not have been worth mention-
ing, I admit, but for one reason. I hear you are
likely to be turned over to Miss Clack, after parting
with me. In that case, just do me the favour of
not believing a word she says, if she speaks of your
humble servant.

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 mentioning this. It

THE MOONSTONE. 61

has slipped in somehow. Pass it over please. I am
fast coming to the end of mv offences against your
cultivated modern taste. Besides_, the dog was a
good creaturC; 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 discover}^, I found an ink-mark drawn round
one of the police reports. Here it is, at your ser-
vice. Read it as I read it, and you will set the
right value on the Sergeants 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, car\-ings, intagli, &c., &c., 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

62 THE MOONSTONE.

those strolling Indians who infest the streets. The
persons complained of were three in number. After
having been sent away by the police^ they had re-
turned again and again^ and had attempted to enter
the house on pretence of asking for charity.
\\'arned off in the front they had been discovered
again at the back of the premises. Besides the
annoyance complained of, Mr. Luker expressed
himself as being under some apprehension that rob-
bery might be contemplated. His collection con-
tained 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 magi-
strate, Mr. Luker admitted that he had no evidence
to produce of any attempt at robbery being in con-
templation. He could speak positively to the
annoyance and interruption caused by the Indians,
but not to anything else. The magistrate remarked
that, if the annoyance were repeated, the applicant

THE MOONSTONE. 63

could summon the Indians to that coiirtj where they
might easily be dealt with under the Act. As to
the valuables in Mr. Luker^s possession, Mr. Luker
himself must take the best measures for their safe
custody. He would do well perhaps to communi-
cate with the police, and to adopt such additional
precautions as their experience might suggest. The
applicant thanked his worship, and withdi'ew.^^

One of the wise ancients is reported (I forget
on what occasion) as having recommended his fel-
low-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 con-
clusion, 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 accomplish-
ment 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, being also in London at
the time. You see, I put things at their ^^orst, even

64 THE MOONSTONE.

Avhen tliey tell dead against my own view. If you
desert me, and side with the Sergeant, on the
evidence before you — if the only rational explana-
tion you can see is, that Miss Rachel and Mr. Luker
must have got together, and that the IMoonstone
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 persons 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 ex-
perience, 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

THE MOONSTONE. 65

hence. Lord ! -what a compliment he will feel it,
to be asked to take nothing on hearsay, and to he
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 compan-
ionable 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 myself, 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 pros-
perity, 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.

VOL. II.

SECOND PEEIOD. THE DISCOYEKY OF THE
TRUTH. (18-18—1849.)

Tlie Events related in several Narratives.
First Narrative.

Contrihuted hy Miss Clack ; niece of the late Sir John
Verinder.

CHAPTER 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 bygone 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 invari-
ably 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

THE MOONSTONE. 67

by sad and bitter meditations ; and the sweet sleep
has been but ill exchanged for the broken slumbers
Tvhich 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 in-
herit from Adam — has unexpectedly proved im-
portant 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 fortu-
nate enough to be useful (in the worldly sense of the
word) to Mr. Franklin Blake.

I have been cut off from all news of the prospe-
rous branch of the family for some time past. "When
we are isolated and poor^ we are not infrequentlv
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 amid the howKng
ocean of popery that surrounds us — a letter from
England has reached me at last. I iind my insig-
nificant existence suddenly remembered by Mr.
Franklin Blake. My wealthy relative — would -that

r2

68 THE MOONSTONE.

I could add my spiritually-wealtliy relative ! — 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 while visiting 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 recal the most intensely painful re-
membrances— and this done, I am to feel myself
compensated by a new laceration, in the shape of
Mr. Blake^s cheque. My natm-e is weak. It cost
me a hard struggle^ before Christian humility con-
quered sinful pride^ and self-denial accepted the
cheque.

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 la-
bourer (who forgives Mr. Blake for insulting her) is
worthy of her hire. Nothing escaped me at the
time I was visiting dear Aunt Verinder. Everything
was entered (thanks to my early training) day by
day as it happened ; and everything down to the
smallest particular, shall be told here. My sacred
regard for truth is (thank God) far above my respect
for persons. It will be easy for Mr. Blake to sup-

THE MOONSTONE. 69

press what may not prove to be sufficiently flattering
in these pages to the person chiefly concerned in
them. He has purchased my time ; but not even
his wealth can purchase my conscience too.*

My diary informs me^ that I was accidentally
passing Aunt Verinder's house in Montagu Square,
on Monday, 3rd 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 cannot call her my cousin !)
had arrived from the country a week since, and

* KoTE. Added hy Fraiiklin BlaJce. — Miss Clack may
make ker mind quite easy on this point. iS'othing will be
added, altered, or removed, in her manuscript, or in any of the
other manuscripts whicli pass through my hands. "VMiatever
opinions any of the writers may express, whatever pecuHari-
ties of treatment may mark, and perhaps in a Hterary sense,
disfigure, the narratives which I am now collecting, not a hne
will be tampered with anywhere, from fir.st to last. As
genuine documents they are sent to me — and as genuine
documents I shall preserve them ; endorsed by the attesta-
tions of witnesses who can speak to the facts. It only re-
mains 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.

70 THE MOONSTONE.

meditated making some stay in London. I sent up
a message 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 mes-
sage 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 provident
tially applicable to the person who answered the
door. The hall was dirty, and the chair was hard ;
but the blessed consciousness of returning good for
evil raised me quite above any trifling considerations
of that kind. The tract was one of a series ad-
dressed 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 favour me by ac-
cepting a tract ?"

She looked at the title. " Is it written by a

THE MOONSTONE. 71

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 towards others.

We had a meeting that evening of the Select Com-
mittee of the Mothers-Small-Clothes'-Conversion-So-
ciety. The object of this excellent Charity is — as all
serious people know — to rescue unredeemed fathers'
trousers from the pawnbroker, and to prevent their re-
sumption, 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 material usefulness. I had ex-
pected to see him in the board-room, on the Mon-
day 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 disap-
pointment he never appeared. On my expressing

72 THE MOONSTONE.

a feeling of surprise at his absence, my sisters of
the Committee all looked up together from their
trowsers (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 narra-
tive. On the previous Friday, two gentlemen — oc-
cupying widely-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
Able white.

Living in my present isolation, I have no means
of introducing the newspaper-account of the outrage
into my narrative. I was also deprived, at the
time, of the inestimable advantage of hearing the
events related by the fervid eloquence of Mr. God-
frey Ablewhite. All I can do is to state the facts
as they were stated, on that Monday evening, to
me ; proceeding on the plan which I have been
taught from infancy to adopt in folding up my
clothes. Everything 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 MOONSTONE. 73

The date — thanks to my dear parents^ no dic-
tionary that ever was written can be more particular
than I am about dates — was Friday^ June 30th,

1848.

Early on that memorable day, our gifted Mr.
Godfrey happened to be cashing a cheque 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 circumstance 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 mo-
mentary 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 re-
lated in an absurdly circumstantial manner. Oh,
my young friends and fellow-sinners ! beware of
presuming to exercise your poor carnal reason.
Ohj be morally tidy ! Let your faith be as your

74 THE MOONSTONE.

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 insensi-
bly into my Sunday-school style. Most inappro-
priate 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 pre-
.mising that the polite stranger was Mr. Luker, of
Lambeth, 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 entrusted with it by an old lady
whom he did not know, and who had given him no
instructions to wait for an answer. Such incidents
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 requested his attendance, within an hour's time,
at a house in Northumberland-street, Strand, which
he had never had occasion to enter before. The
object sought was to obtain from the worthy
manager certain details on the subjectof the Mothers'-
Small-Clothes-Conversion-Society, and the informa-

THE MOONSTONE. 75

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 an-
swered the door, and, on hearing Mr. Godfi'ey^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 odour 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
towards the closed folding doors communicating
with the front room, when, without the slightest
previous noise to warn him, he felt himself suddenly

76 THE MOONSTONE.

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 colour,, 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.

Here I should greatly enjoy saying a few cheer-
ing words on the devout confidence which could
alone have sustained Mr. Grodfrey in an emergency
so terrible as this. Perhaps, however, the position
and appearance of my admirable friend at the cul-
minating period of the outrage (as above described)
are hardly within the proper limits of female dis-
cussion. Let me pass over the next few moments,
and return to Mr. Godfrey at the time when the
odious search of his person had been completed.
The outrage had been perpetrated throughout in
dead silence. At the end of it some words were
exchanged, among the invisible wretches, in a
language which he did not understand, but in tones
which were plainly expressive (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

THE MOONSTONE. 77

felt the air flowing in from the open door, listened,
and felt persuaded that he was alone again in theroom.

An interval elapsed, and he heard a sound below
like the mstling 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, " Hullo V A man^s feet
ascended the stairs. !Mr. Godfrey felt Christian
fineers unfastening his bandage, and extracting his
gag. He looked in amazement at two respectable
strangers, and faintly articulated, ^' What does it
mean ?^' The two respectable strangers looked
back, and said, '^ Exactly the question we were
going to ask youj^

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 landlady of the house (persons of good repute in
the neighbourhood), 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 already de-
scribed 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 apart-

7.S THE MOONSTONE.

ments were wauted for three Oriental noblemen,
friends of his, who were 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
apartments. 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. Godfrey^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 respect-
able English friend, all leave the house together,
walking quietly in the direction of the Strand.
Remembering 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.

THE MOONSTONE. 79

An inyestigation was next made in the room.
Dear Mr. Godfrey^s property was found scattered in
all directions. AThen the articles were collected,
however^ nothing was missing ; 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 belonging to the proprietors of the
house had been abstracted. The Oriental noble-
men 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 con-
spiracy was on foot in the midst of us; and our
beloved and innocent friend had been entangled in
its meshes. AVhen the Christian hero of a hundi'ed
charitable 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 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 condemned to narrate. My wealthy

80 THE MOONSTONE.

relative's clieque — thenceforth^ the incubus of my
existence — warns me that I have not done with this
record of violence yet. We must leave Mr. God-
frey 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. Re-
turning to his own residence^ he found a letter
waiting for him^ which was described as having been
left a short time previously by a boy. In this
case, as in Mr. Godfrey's case, the handwriting was
strange ; but the name mentioned was the name of
one of Mr. Luker's customers. His correspondent
announced (writing in the third person — apparently
by the hand of a deputy) that he had been unex-
pectedly summoned to London. He had just
established himself in lodgings in Alfred-place,
Tottenham Court-road; and he desired to see Mr.
Luker immediately, on the subject of a purchase
which he contemplated making. The gentleman
was an enthusiastic collector of oriental antiquities,
and had been for many years a liberal patron of the
establishment in Lambeth. Oh, when shall we
wxan ourselves from the worship of Mammon ! Mr.
Luker called a cab^ and drove off instantly to his
liberal patron.

THE MOONSTONE. 81

Exactly what had happened to Mr. Godfrey in
Northumberland-street now happened to Mr. Luker
in Alfred-place. Once more the respectable man
answered the door_, and showed the visitor upstairs
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, 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
well-filled purse of the respectable stranger, who
introduced himself as acting for his foreign friends.
The one point of difiference 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

VOL. II. «

82 THE MOONSTONE.

Mr. Godfrey) one of the loose papers tliat 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 afterwards. 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 authori-
ties held that a robbery had been planned, on in-
sufficient 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

THE MOONSTONE. S3

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 expla-
nations required being now given, I may proceed
with the simpler story of my own little personal
experiences in Montagu-square.

I was punctual to the luncheon-hour on Tuesday.
Reference to my diary shows this to have been a
chequered day — much in it to be devoutly regretted,
much in it to be devoutly thankful for.

Dear Aunt Verinder received me with her usual
grace and kindness. But I noticed, after a little
while, that something was wrong. Certain anxious
looks escaped my aunt, all of which took the direc-
tion of her daughter. I never see Ptachel myself
without wondering how it can be that so insignificant-
looking a person should be the child of such distin-
guished 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 distressingly
loud when she laughed, and sinfully wasteful and
capricious in what she ate and drank at lunch. I felt

G 2

84' THE MOONSTONE.

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 doctor told you, Rachel, about quieting yourself
with a book after taking your meals."

" 1^11 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
memorandum 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 prefeiTcd 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
connexion between what had happened at Lady
Verinder's country house, and what had happened
in Northumberland-street and Alfred-place — con-
cealment was not to be thought of; and per-

THE MOONSTONE. 85

feet fraokness became a necessity as well as a
virtue.

Some persons,, hearing what I now heardj would
have been probably overwhelmed with astonishment.
For my own part^ knowing RacheFs spirit to have
been essentially unregenerate from her childhood
upwards, 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 my-
self, The natural result ! oh, dear_, dear, the na-
tural 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 clergy-
man, 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 god-
less household. The natural result again ! Oh,
dear, dear, the natural result again !

" The doctors recommend plenty of exercise and
amusement for Rachel, and strongly urge 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 V^

My aunt went on, " I do my best to carry out
my instructions. But this strange adventure of

86 THE MOONSTONE.

Godfrey's happens 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 Rachers part. She is keeping a sinful
secret from you and from everybody. 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 ?"

As the word passed her lips, a special providence
occurred. The servant opened the door^ and an-
nounced Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.

«*x

CHAPTER IL

R. GODFREY followed the announcement of
his name — as Mr. Godfrey does everything
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 in-
convenience 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 com-
plete.

" Go to Miss Verinder/' said my aunt^ addressing
the servant^ '^ 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.

88 THE MOONSTONE.

" Wtat^^^ 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 blind-
folded ; 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 recognise 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 Ms injuries
public, and my injuries, as the necessary conse-
quence, 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 gaieties of London ? So glad to hear
it ! Miss Clack, I need all your indulgence. I am
sadly behind- hand with my Committee Work and
my dear Ladies. But I really do hope to look in
at the Mothers'- Small-Clothcs next week. Did you
make cheering progress at Monday's Committee ?

THE MOONSTONE. 89

Was the Board hopeful about future prospects?
And are we nicely off for Trousers V

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 truths 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 dis-
turbance 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 / should call, unbecom-
ingly 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. " I
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 ; it's all that a
well-regulated mind like Miss Clack's most instinc-
tively 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.''

90 THE MOONSTONE.

Even dear Mr. Godfrey partakes of the fallen
nature whicli 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
RacheFs 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 talk-
ing, and her insolent reference to me.

" Dearest Rachel," he said, in the same voice
which had thrilled me when he spoke of our pro-
spects and our trousers, " the newspapers have told
you everything — 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."

"^Tiy?"

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 in-
dulgence 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, God-
frey," she said — not taking the smallest notice.

THE MOONSTONE. 91

observe^ of me^ and still speaking to her cousin as
if she was one young man addressing another.
'' But I am quite sure you are not great ; I donH
believe you possess any extraordinary courage ; and
I am firmly persuaded — if you ever had any
modesty — that your lady-worshippers relieved you
of that virtue a good many years since. You have
some private reason for not talking of your ad-
venture in Northumberland-street ; and I mean to
know it.^^

" My reason is the simplest imaginable^ and the
most easily acknowledged/' he answered^ still bear-
ing with her. ^' I am tired of the subject."

" You are tired of the subject ? My dear God-
frey^ 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 learnt 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- worshippers.
I mean to make you go straight with me. Come,
and sit down. I am brimful of downright ques-
tions ; and I expect you to be brimful of downright
answers.''

She actually dragged him across the room to a

92 THE MOONSTONE.

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. Franklin Blake's
cheque 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 interfere. I had never noticed this
kind of torpor in her before. It was, perhaps, the
reaction after the trying time she had 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 — ^Ir. 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 anything, Godfrey ?"

" Nothing whatever. '^

" It is certain, I suppose, that the three men
who laid the trap for you were the same three men
who afterwards laid the trap for Mr. Luker T'

" Humanly speaking, my dear Rachel, there can
be no doubt of it/'

THE MOONSTONE. 93

^^ And not a trace of them has been disco-
vered ?"

" 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 what-
ever of the matter. How can I offer an 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 inquire.
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.

94 THE MOONSTONE.

Earnest Biblical students will perhaps be reminded
— as I was reminded — of tbe blinded children of tbe
devil, who went on with their orgies, unabashed, in
the time before the Mood.

" I want to know something about IMr. 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 ac-
cidentally at the bank ?"

'' Never.''

" You have seen him since ?"

" Yes. We have been examined together, as
well as separately, 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, belonging to Mr. Luker ; deposited by
Mr. Luker; sealed with Mr. Luker's seal; and only to

THE MOONSTONE. 95

be given up on Mr. Luker^s personal application.
That was tlie form, and that is all I know about it/^

She waited a moment, after be bad said that.
Sbe looked at ber motber, and sigbed. Sbe looked
back again at Mr. Godfrey, and went on.

'' Some of our private affairs, at bome,^^ sbe said,
'^ seem to bave got into tbe newspapers ?"

" I grieve to say, it is so.^^

" And some idle people, perfect strangers to us,
are trying to trace a connexion between wbat bap-
pened at our bouse in Yorksbire and wbat bas
bappened since, bere in London T'

^' Tbe public curiosity, in certain quarters, is, I
fear, taking tbat turn."

'^Tbe people wbo say tbat tbe tbree unknown
men wbo ill used you and Mr. Luker are tbe tbree
Indians, also say tbat tbe valuable gem '^

There sbe stopped. Sbe bad become gradually,
witbin tbe last few moments, wbiter and wbiter in
tbe face. Tbe extraordinary blackness of ber bair
made tbis paleness, by contrast, so ghastly to look
at, tbat we all tbougbt sbe would faint, at the
moment wben sbe checked herself in the middle of
her question. Dear Mr. Godfrey made a second
attempt to leave bis chair. My aunt entreated her
to say no more. I followed my aunt with a modest
medicinal peace-offering, in tbe shape of a bottle of

96 THE MOONSTONE.

salts. We none of us produced the slightest effect
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, expressly 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 judge !

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

THE MOONSTONE. 97

had never even lieard of The Moonstone. And
these vile people reply, without a shadow of proof
to justify them, He has his reasons for conceal-
ment ; we decline to believe him on his oath.
Shameful ! shameful V

Rachel looked at him very strangely — I can^t
well describe how — while he was speaking. "\Then
he had done, she said,

'' Considering that Mr. Luker is only a chance
acquaintance of yours, you take up his cause, God-
frey, rather warmly .^^

My gifted friend made her one of the most tinily
evangelical answers I ever heard in my life.

^' I hope, Rachel, I take up the cause of all op-
pressed 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 ? Xothing, compared to the
hardness of the unregencrate human heart ! She
sneered. I blush to record it — she sneered at him
to his face.

" Keep your noble sentiments for your Ladies'
Committees, Godfrey. I am certain that the scandal
which has assailed ^Ir. Luker, has not spared
You."

Even my aunt^s torpor was roused by those
words.

VOL. II. H

98 THE MOONSTONE.

" My dear Rachel/'' slie remonstrated^ '' you
have really no right to say that V

" I mean no harm, mamma — I mean good.
Have a moment's patience with me, and you will
see.^^

She looked back at Mr. Godfrey, with what ap-
peared to be a sudden pity for him. She went the
length — the very unladylike 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 associated you in people's
minds with Mr. Luker. You have told me what
scandal says of him. What does scandal say of
you V

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 for-
gotten, Rachel — it is, indeed/''

" I will hear it !" she cried out, fiercely, at the top
of her voice.

" Tell her, Godfrey !" entreated my aunt. " No-
thing can do her such harm as your silence is doing
now !"

Mr. Godfrey's line eyes filled with tears. He

THE MOONSTONE. 99

cast one last appealing look at her — and then he
spoke the fatal words :

'' If you will have it, Rachel — scandal says that
the Moonstone is in pledge to Mr. Luker^ and that
I am the man who has pawned it.''^

She started to her feet with a scream. She
looked backwards and forwards from Mr. Godfrey
to my aunt, and from 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 V

My aunt half rose from her chaii', 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

h2

100 THE MOONSTONE.

Mr. Godfrey unconsciously assisted me in conceal-
ing what I was about from Kacliel, 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 inac-
cessible, even to such generosity as this. She went
on from bad to worse.

'' 1 must, and will, stop it/^ she said. '^ Mamma !
hear what I say. ^liss 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 —
'^ I know that Godfrey Ablewhite is innocent ! Take
me to the magistrate, Godfrey ! Take me to the
magistrate, and I will swear it V

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.

THE MOONSTONE. 101

^^ You must not appear publicly in such a thing
as this/'' he said. " Your reputation, clearest
Kachel, is something too pure and too sacred to be
trifled with/'

"My reputation V^ 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 V^ 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 noiv !" She was too vehe-
ment to notice her mother's condition — she was on
her feet again, and back with Mr. Godfre}^, in an
instant. " I won't let you — I won't let any inno-
cent man — be accused and disgraced througli 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 re-
morse— we will say it was the language of hysterics.
Indulgent !Mr. Godfrey pacified her by takiug a
sheet of paper, and drawing out the declaration.

102 THE MOONSTONE.

She signed it in a feverish hurry, '' Show it every-
where— don^t think of me,'' she said, as she gave it
to him. " I 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 jSIr. 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 com-
promise 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 anybody,
a thundering knock at the street door startled us
all. I looked through the window, and saw the
World, the Flesh, and the Devil waiting before the
house — as typified in a carriage and horses, a pow-
dered 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/'

THE MOONSTONE. 103^

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 bs pitied or condemned ? I like to
lean towards mercy. Let us pity it.)

The drops had produced their effect. My poor
aunt^s complexion was like itself again. " Nb^ no_,
my dear/^ she said. ^' Go with our friends,, and
enjoy yourself.^''

Her daughter stooped^ and kissed her. I had
left the window, 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
offence. " 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 Vxe got the
prettiest bonnet in London.'''' She completed the
hollow 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

104 THE MOONSTONE.

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 offer 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 V' 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, be-
fore I leave the house V 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 V

He beamed on us with his beautiful smile ; he

THE MOONSTONE. 105

held out a hand to my aimt_, and a hand to me. I
was too deepty 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 narrative with the record of Mr. Godfrey^s
noble conduct. Unhappily, there is more, much
more, which the uni'clenting pecuniary pressure of
Mr. Blake^s cheque obliges me to tell. The painful
disclosures which were to reveal themselves in my
presence, during that Tuesday^s visit to ^lontagu-
square, were not at an end yet.

Finding myself alone with Lady Yerindcr, I turned
naturally to the subject of her health ; touching
delicately on the strange anxiety which she had
shown to conceal her indisposition, 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 men-
tioned that my christian name is Drusilla, permit

106 THE MOONSTONE.

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 — tlie alternative, after first making my
apologies, of taking my leave. Lady Verinder
stopped me, and insisted on my sitting down again.

" You have surprised a secret,'^ slie said, '' which
I had confided to my sister, Mrs. Ablewhite, and to
my lawyer, Mr. Bniff, 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 T'

It is needless to say that my time was entirely at
my aunt^s disposal.

'^ Keep me company then,'^ she said, " for an-
other 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 afterwards, if you don^t ob-
ject to assist me.^"*

It is again needless to say that, so far from ob-
jecting, I was all eagerness to assist her.

" You can wait herc,^^ 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

THE MOONSTONE. 107

tinge wliicli I had noticed in lier complexion. A
light ^hich Tvas not of this world — a light shining
prophetically from an nnmade grave — dawned
on my mind. !My aunt^s secret -was a secret no
longer.

CHAPTER III.

ONSIDERATION for poor Lady Verinder
forbade me even to hint that I had guessed
the melancholy truth, before she opened her lips. I
waited her pleasure in silence ; and_, having pri-
vately 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 and thousands of
perishing human creatures who were all at that
moment spiritually ill, without knowing it them-
selves. And I greatly feared that my poor aunt
might be one of the number. " Yes, dear," I said,
sadly. " Yes."

" I brought Rachel to London, as you know, for

THE MOONSTONE. 109

medical advice/^ slie Trent on. ^' I thought it right
to consult two doctors. ^^

Two doctors ! And, oh me (in RacheFs state),
not one clergyman! *^ Yes, dear ?^^ I said once
more. " Yes T'

" 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 expected^
of course, to receive some special directions for the
management of my daughter's health. To my sur-
prise, he took me gravely by the hand, and said,
' I have been looking at you, Lady Verinder, with a
professional as well as a personal interest. Y"ou 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 — most
kindly and gently conveyed to me — satisfied botli
the physicians that there had been precious time
lost, which could never be regained, and that my

110 THE MOONSTONE.

case had now passed beyond the reach of their 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 cannot, 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 w^orldly
affairs in order. My one great anxiety is that
Rachel should be kept in ignorance of the truth.
If she knew it, she would at once attribute my
broken health to anxiety about the Diamond, and
would reproach herself bitterly, poor child, for what
is in no 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 emo-
tions to expect from a Christian Englishwoman an-
chored firmly on her faith !

Little did my poor aunt imagine what a gush of
devout thankfulness thrilled through me as she

THE MOONSTONE. Ill

approached the close of her melancholy stor}^ Here
was a career of usefulness opened before me ! Here
was a beloved relative and perishing fellow-creature,
on the eve of the great change, utterly unprepared ;
and led, providentially led, to reveal her situation
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 overflowing tenderness was
not to be satisfied, noiVj with anything less than an
embrace. '' Oh '/■' I said to her, fervently, " the in-
describable interest with which you inspire me ! Oh !
the good I mean to do you, dear, before we part V*
After anotherwordor 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 neighbourhood; aU equally inexhaustible
in exhortation ; all affectionately ready to exercise
their gifts at a word from me. Alas ! the result was
far from encouraging. Poor Lady Verinder looked
puzzled and frightened, and met everything 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)

]12 THE MOONSTONE.

informed me that this was another case for prepara-
tion by books. I possessed a little library of works,
all suitable to the present emergency, all calculated
to arouse, convince, prepare, enlighten, 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 ? Tnrned
down at all the right places, aunt. And marked in
pencil where you are to stop and ask yourself,
^ Does this apply to me ' V Even that simple ap-
peal— so absolutely heathenising 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 surprise, which was at once instruc-
tive 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 provide my-
self with a first series of selected readings (say a
dozen only), and to return in time to meet the
lawyer, and witness Lady Yerinder^s Will. Promis-
ing 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
omnil)us. Permit me to give an idea of my devotion
to my aunt's interests by recording that, on this occa-
sion, I committed the prodigality of taking a cab.

THE MOONSTONE. 113

I drove home, selected and marked my first series
of readings, and drove back to Montagu-sqnare,
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 aban-
doned wretch could hardly have exhibited greater
consternation. He jumped up on his box, and,
with profane exclamations of dismay, drove off
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 — informed me that the doctor had
called, and was still shut up with Lady Verinder
Mr. BruflP, the lawyer, had arrived a minute since
and was waiting in the library. I was shown into
the library to wait too.

Mr. Bruff looked surprised to see me. He is
the family solicitor, and we had met more than
once, on previous occasions, under Lady Verinder^s
roof. A man, I grieve to say, grown old and
grizzled in the service of the ^vorld. A man who,

VOL. II. I

114 THE MOONSTONE.

in his hours of business,, -svas the chosen prophet 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 profanity. I lowered myself
to his own level, and mentioned 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."

" Aye ? aye ? 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

THE MOONSTONE. 115

prodigal expenses of a cab. Not the cruellest 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. God-
frey Ablewhite, after the mauling he got from the
rogues in Northumberland-street ? Egad ! they^rc
telling a pretty story about that charitable gentle-
man at my club V

I had passed over the manner in which this
person had remarked 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 forbear-
ance. Feeling bound, after what had passed in my
presence that afternoon, to assert the innocence of
my admirable friend, whenever I found it called in
question — I own to having also felt bound to in-
clude in the accomplishment of this righteous pur-
pose, a stinging castigation in the case of Mr.
Bruff.

" I live very much out of the world,'^ I said ;

i2

116 THE MOONSTONE.

*' and I don't possess the advantage, sir, of belong-
ing to a club. But I happen 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. Natural enough. Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite
won't find the world in general quite so easy to
convince as a committee of charitable ladies. Ap-
pearances 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 after-
wards. 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 farther. I ought to have told him
that he was speaking in ignorance of a testimony
to Mr. Godfrey's innocence, offered by the only
person who was undeniably competent to speak
from a positive knowledge of the subject. Alas !
the temptation 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 ap-
pearance of the utmost innocence.

" By later events, Miss Clack, I mean events in
which the Indians are concerned," proceeded Mr.
Bruff, getting more and more superior to poor Me,
the longer he went on. " AYhat do the Indians do.

THE MOONSTONE. 117

the moment they are let out of the prison at
Frizinghall? They go straight to London, and fix
on Mr. Luker. What follows ? Mr. Luker feels
alarmed for the safety of ' a valuable of great price/
'svhich he has got in the house. He lodges it privately
(under a general description) in his bankers' strong-
room. Wonderfully clever of him : but the Indians are
just as clever on their side. They have their suspicions
that the '^ valuable of great price ^ is being shifted from
one place to another; and they hit on a singularly
bold and complete \ray 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 explanation is, that they acted on
blind suspicion, after seeing him accidentally speak-
ing 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 ? Xo ! no ! The plain inference is,
that Mr. Ablewhite had his private interest in the
' valuable ' as well as Mr. Luker, and that the
Indians were so uncertain as to which of the two
had the disposal of it, that there was no alter-
native but to search them both. Public opinion
says that. Miss Clack. And public opinion, on
this occasion, is not casilv refuted.'"

lis THE MOONSTONE.

He said those last words, looking so wonderfully
wise in iiis own worldly conceit, that I really (to
my shame be it spoken) could not resist leading him
a little farther still, before I overwhelmed him with
the truth.

" I don^t presume to argue with a clever lawyer
likeyou,'^ 1 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 upon anybody
but Miss Yerinder, in the mind of Sergeant Cuff.'''

"Do you mean to tell me. Miss Clack, that you
agree with the Sergeant V

" 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 v\-rong ;
and I offer the opinion that, if he had known
RachePs character as I know it, he would have sus-
pected everybody in the house but 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 Rachers word
of honour pointed the other, I would take her word
before the evidence, lawyer as I am ! Strong lan-
guage. Miss Clack; but I mean it.''^

THE MOONSTONE. 119

" Would you object to illustrate yoiu' meaning,
Mr. BruflP^ so that I may be sure I understand it ?
Suppose you found ^liss Verinder quite unaccounta-
bly interested in wbat has haj^pened 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 Y'

" Suppose anything you please^ Miss Clack, it
wouldn't shake my belief in Rachel Verinder by a
harr^s-breadth.^'

^^ She is so absolutely to be relied on as that V
'^ So absolutely to be relied on as that.''^
'^ Then permit me to inform you, Mr. Bruff, that
Mr. Godfrey 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 ayoung lady in my life.'^
I enjoyed the triumph — the unholy triumph,! fear,
I must admit — of seeing Mr. Bruff utterly confounded
and overthrown by a few plain words from Me.
He started to his feet, and stared at me in silence.
1 kept my seat, undisturbed, and related the whole
scene exactly as it had occmTcd. ^^ And what do you
say about Mr. Ablewhite now ?'^ I asked, with the
utmost possible gentleness, as soon as I had done.

120 THE MOONSTONE.

" If Racliel has testified to his innocence, ]Miss
Clack, I don't scruple to say that I believe in his
iHnocence 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 gi'eat things in my profession,
ma'am, if you had happened to be a man.''

With these 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 subject had greatly surprised and dis-
turbed him. Certain expressions dropped from his
lips as he l3ecame 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 suspect
dear Mr. Godfrey of the infamy of taking the
Diamond, and to attribute Eachel's conduct to a
generous resolution to conceal the crime. On Miss
Verind,er's own authority — a perfectly unassailable
authority, as you are aware, in the estimation of
Mr. Bruff' — that explanation of the circumstances

THE MOONSTONE. 121

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. ^''AVhat 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 these 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. BinifF alone,
even now. It seems almost beyond mere mortal
perversity that 1 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 beyond mortal perversity ; and
anything is credible when our fallen natures get the
better of us !

" Pardon me for intruding on your reflections,^'
1 said to the unsuspecting Mr. Bruif. " But surely
there is a conjecture to make which has not occurred
to us yet."

" ^laybe. Miss Clack. 1 own I don^t know what
it is.^^

" Before 1 was so fortunate, sir, as to convince
you of IMr. Ablewhite's innocence, you mentioned

122 THE MOONSTONE.

it as one of the reasons 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 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. Bruff," I
said, modestly.

" It won^t do, IMiss Clack — it really wonH do a
second time. Franklin Blake is a prime favourite
of mine, as you are well aware. But that doesn^t
matter. 1^11 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. Able-
white, on. grounds wbich abstractedly justify sus-
pecting Mr. Blake too. Very good — let's suspect
them together. It's quite in his character, we will
say, to be capable of stealing the Moonstone.
The only question is, whether it was his interest to
do so."

" Mr. Franklin Blake's debts," I remarked, " are
matters of family notoriety."

THE :moonstone. 123

" And Mr. Godfrey Able whitens debts have not
arrived at that stage of development yet. Quite
true. But there happen 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
interest 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 disappeared 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 Frank-
lin with the secret. So there he was. Miss Clack, with
his creditors content to wait, and with the certain
prospect before him of marrying an heiress. By
all means consider him a scoundrel; but tell me,
if you please, why he should steal the Moon-
stone ?'

^^ The human heart is unsearchable,^^ I said
gently. " Who is to fathom it V

" In other words, ma^am — though he hadn^t the
shadow of a reason for taking the Diamond — he

124 THE MOONSTONE.

might have taken it^ nevertheless, through natural
depravity. Very -well. Say he did. Why the
devil ''

" I beg your pardon, Mr. Bruff. If I hear the
devil referred to in that manner, I must leave the
room.^^

'^Ibeg2/oz<r pardon, Miss Clack — Fll be more
careful in my choice of language for the future.
All I meant to ask Tvas 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 (without 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 disappear-
ance 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. Bachers own innocence is (as her

THE MOOXSTOXE. I'iO

mother knows^ and as I know) beyond a doubt.
Mr. x\blewliite^s innocence is equally certain — or
Racliel would never liave testified to it. And
Franklin Blake^s innocence, as you have just seen,
unanswerably asserts 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 ^loonstone to London, and that
Mr. Luker, or his banker, is in private possession
of it at this moment. "What is the use of my ex-
perience, what is the use of any person^s experience,
in such a case as that ? It baffles me ; it baffles
you ; it baffles everybody."

No — not everybody. It had not baffled Sergeant
Cufif. I was about to mention this, with all pos-
sible 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 receive us.

This stopped the discussion. Mr. Bruff collected
his papers, looking a little exhausted by the de-
mands which our conversation had made on him.
I took up my bag-fall of precious publications,
feeling as if I could have gone on talking for hours.
We proceeded in silence to Lady Yerindcr's room.

Permit me to add here, before my narrative
advances to other events, that I have not described

126 THE MOONSTONE.

wliat 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 persons on whom suspicion rested,
at the time when the Indian Diamond was believed
to be in London. A report of my conversation
in the library with Mr. Bruff appeared to me to
be exactly what was wanted to answer this pur-
pose— 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
humiliating 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.

HE signing of the Will was a much shorter
matter than I had anticipated. It was
hurried over^ to my thinkings 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 downstairs again.

Mr. Bruff 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 fulfil, and my bag of
precious publications ready on my lap. He might

128 THE MOONSTONE.

as well have expected to move St. PauFs
Cathedral by looking at it^ as to move Me.
There 'was one merit about him (due no doubt to
his worldly training) w hicli I have no wish to deny.
He was quick at seeing things. I appeared to pro-
duce almost the same impression on him which I had
produced on the cabman. He too uttered a profane
expression^ and withdrew in a violent hurry, and
left me mistress of the held.

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.

" I 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 ojl
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 pre-
cious 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 f " Satan behind the Looking

THE MOONSTONE. 121I-'

Glass/' "Satan under the Tea Table ;"' ''Satan out of
the Window'^ — and many others.

'' Give youi' 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 ! Sub-
ject : Satan among the Sofa Cushions.

Poor Lady Verinder (reclining thoughtlessly oii
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, 1
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 between me and my mission of
mercy — on the miserable pretence 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 treachesrouly
behind my back) now sought to rob me of the only
right of property that my poverty coidd claim — my
right of spiritual property in my perishing aunt.

VOL. II. K

130 THE MOONSTONE.

"■ The doctor tells mc/^ my poor misguided rela-
tive 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 you 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 moment 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 provoked the doctor to prac-
tise 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 V*

I slipped it under the sofa cushions, half in, and
half out, close by her handkerchief, and her smelling-
bottle. Every time her hand searched for either of

THE MOONSTONE. 131

these, it would touch the book ; aud_, 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 towards the
window as I said that. It was full of flowers, in.
boxes and pots. Lady Verinder was extravagantly
fond of these perishable 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 ?" 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 sm'prise 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 T^ I immediately said good-
bye ; and, crossing the hall, slipped into the library.
Samuel, coming up to let me out, and suj^posing 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 pre-
cious publications. In the breakfast-room I found
my aunt^s favourite canary singing in his cage.
She was always in the habit of feeding the bird

132 THE MOONSTONE.

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 favourite 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 embroidery,
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 oflP by curtains 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
bed-room floor — at the risk, undoubtedly, of being
insulted, if the person with the cap-ribbons hap-
pened 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 anything. All
was silent and solitary — it was the seiTants* tea-
time, I suppose. ^ly 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

THE MOONSTONE. 133

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 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 !
tiy me V' But one book was now left at the bottom
of my bag, and but one apartment was still unex-
plored— 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, everyw^here 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 exquisite 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 !

\\Tien I folded up my things that night — Avhen
1 reflected on the true riches which 1 had scattered

134.- THE MOONSTONE.

"vvitli 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 morning, how young I felt ! I might add,
how young I looked, if I w^ere capable of dwelling
on the concerns of my own perishable body. But
I am not capable — and I add nothing.

Towards 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 lodg-
ings in which I then lived looked in at xhe door,
and said, " Lady Verinder's servant, to see Miss
Clack.^^

I occupied the parlour floor, at that period of my
residence in London. The front parlour 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 w^hich of Lady Verinder^s
servants had asked for me. It was the young fgot-
man, Samuel — a civil fresh-coloured person, with a
teacliable look and a very obliging manner. I had

THE MOONSTONE. 135

always felt a spiritual interest in Samuel, and a wish
to try him with a few serious words. On this occa-
sion, I invited him into my sitting-room.

He came in, with a large parcel under his arm.
Wlien he put the parcel down, it appeared to
fi'ighten him. " My lady^s love. Miss ; and I was
to say that you would find a letter inside. ^^ Having
given that message, the fresh-coloured young foot-
man 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 V^
He ran as he said the words — and I found mvself

fl36 THE MOONSTONE.

alone again, with some anxious thoughts to occupy
^ne.

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. Instead of sustaining our
sisterhood, under an overwhelming flow of Trousers
which quite prostrated our little community, he
;had arranged to take coffee in Montagu Square,
and to go to a ball afterwards ! The afternoon of
the next day had been selected for the Festival of
the British-Ladies'-Servants'-Sunday-Sweetheart-
Supervision Society. Instead of being present, the
life and soul of that struggling Institution, 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 himself to me in a new character, and
-to become associated in my mind with one of the
.most awful backslidings of modern times.

To return, however, to the history of the passing
day. On finding myself alone in my room, I na-
turally turned my attention to the parcel which
appeared to have so strangely intimidated the fresh-
coloured young footman. Had my aunt sent me
my promised legacy ? and had it taken the form of
cast-off clothes, or worn-out silver spoons, or un-

THE MOONSTONE. 137

fashionable jewellery, or anything of that sort ?
Prepared to accept all, and to resent nothing, • I
opened the parcel — and what met my -s-iew ? The
twelve precious publications which I had scattered
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 con-
sequence of a mission; riots may be the conse-
quence of a mission ; wars may be the consequence
of a mission : wc 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 feci with nobody's hearts but our
own. Glorious, glorious privilege ! And how is it
earned ? Ah, my friends, you may spare yourselves

138 THE MOONSTONE.

the useless inquiry ! We are the only people who
cq,n 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 Yerinder^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 — Preparation by
Little Notes. In other words, the books themselves
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 distributed about the house
on the plan I had adopted on the previous 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 T*
&c. '^ Dear aunt, I was reading last night, and I
chanced on the following passage,^^ &c. Other let-
ters were written for me by my valued fellow-
workers, the sisterhood at the Mothers' Small-
clothes. ^' Dear madam, pardon the interest taken
in vou bv a true, though humble, friend.^' " Dear

THE MOONSTONE. 139

madam^ may a serious person surprise you by say-
ing a few cheering words V Using these and other
similar forms of courteous appeal^ we reintroduced
all my precious passages under a form which not
even the doctor^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
postj and six I kept in my pocket for personal dis-
tribution 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 fervour of my zeal to dis-
tribute the letters, it never occurred to me to inquire
about E/achel. 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 ! in-
cluded) were all at the concert, and eagerly devoted
myself to my good work, while time and opportu-
nity were still at my own disposal.

140 THE MOONSTONE.

My aunt's correspondence of the morning — in-
cluding the six awakening letters which I had posted
'Overnight — was lying unopened on the library table.
'She had evidently not 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 pui'posely 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
upstairs 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 librar}^ (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 performer of the soft little knock
proved to be an exception to general rules. Samuel's

THE MOONSTONE. 141:

voice below me (after apparently answering some
questions wliicli I did not hear) said, " unmistake-
ably, *' Up-stairS; if you please, sir/^ The next
moment I heard footsteps — a man^s footsteps — ap-
proaching the drawing-room floor. Who could this
favoured male visitor possibly be ? Almost as soon
as I asked myself the question, the answer occurred
to me. Who could it be but the doctor ?

In the case of any other -visitor, 1 should have
allowed myself to be discovered in the drawing-
room. There would have been nothing out of the
common in my ha^dng got tired of the library, and
having gone upstairs for a change. But my own
self-respect stood in the way of my meeting the
person 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 doorway. 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 rest-
lessly backwards and forwards, I also heard him
talking to himself. I even thought I recognised the
voice. Had I made a mistake? AVas it not the

142 THE MOONSTONE.

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 curtains the least little morsel in
the world, and listened.

The words I heard were, '^ I'll do it to-day V
And the voice that spoke them was Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite's.

CHAPTER Y.

Y hand di'opped from the curtain. But don^t
suppose — oh_, don^t suppose — that the dread-
ful embarrassment of my situation was the upper-
most 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 con-
cert. Xo ! I thought only of the words — the start-
ling words — which had just fallen from his lips. He
would do it to-day. He had said_, in a tone of ter-
rible resolution, he would do it to-day. What, oh
what, would he do ! Somethini^ even more deplo-
rably unworthy of him than what he had done al-
ready ? Would he apostatise from the faith ? \A'ould
he abandon us at the Mothers^ Small-Clothes ? Had
we seen the last of his angelic smile in the com-
mittee-room? Had we heard the last of his unri-
valled eloquence at Exeter Hall ? I was so wrought up
by the bare idea of such awful eventualities as these in

144 THE MOONSTONE.

connexion with such a man, that I believe I should
have rushed from my place of concealment,, and im-
plored him in the name of all the Ladies' Committees
in London to explain himself — when I suddenly heard
another voice in the room. It penetrated through
the curtains ; it was loud, it was bold, it was want-
ing 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 T'

He laughed softly, and answered, " ^liss Clack is
in the library .^^

^^ Clack in the library!^'' She instantly seated
herself on 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 ex-
tremely cold now, and felt no doubt whatever. To
show myself, after what I had heard, was impossible.
To retreat — except into the fireplace — was equally
out of the question. A martyrdom was before me.
In justice to myself, I noiselessly arranged the cur-
tains 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 pro-

THE MOONSTONE. 145

ceeded. " 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 V 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 V

" Those w^ere 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 indisposition would soon
pass aw^ay."

" You don^t think it's serious, do you, Godfi'ey ?"

" 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 al-
most 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

VOL. ir. L

146 THE MOONSTONE.

position wliicli lie occupied^ wlien lie did that, lie-
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 at Exeter Hall !

" It^s hard to get over one^s bad habits, Godfrey.
But do try to get over the habit of paying compli-
ments— do, to please me/''

'^ I never paid you a compliment, Rachel, in my
life. Successful love may sometimes use the lan-
guage of flattery, I admit. But hopeless love,
dearest, always speaks the truth .^^

He drew his chair close, and took her hand, w^hen
he said " hopeless love." There was a momentary
silence. He, w^ho thrilled everybody, had doubtless
thrilled litr. 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 dis-
cover 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 wc were to be cousins, and nothing more."

'' I break the agreement, Rachel, every time I see

you."

'' Then don't see me."

THE MOONSTONE. 147

'' Quite useless ! I break the agreement every
time I tliink 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
day 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 V

His voice trembled, and he put his white hand-
kerchief 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 so
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 a
Ladies Committee now, I wish myself at the utter-
most ends of the earth V

l2

148 THE MOONSTONE.

If the annals of apostacy offer anything compa-
rable 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-Sweet-
heart-Supervision. I thought of the other Societies,
too numerous to mention, all built up on this man
as 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 INIr. 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 ! ]\Iy 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. Kachel was the
next to speak.

^' You have made your confession,^^ she said.
*' I wonder whether it would cure you of your un-
happy 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.

THE MOONSTONE. 14D

^^ Would you think, to look at me/' she went on,
" that I am the wretchedest girl living ? It's true,
Godfrey. T\Tiat 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 you. Your silence, dearest, has
never lowered you in the estimation of your true
friends. The disappearance of your precious birth-
day gift may seem strange ; your unexplained
connexion with that event may seem stranger
still "

^'Ai-e you speaking of the Moonstone, God-
frey ?"

'^ 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 Diamond ever comes to light, it
will be known that I accepted a dreadful responsi-
bility ; 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 .

150 THE MOONSTONE.

It's my fault for not speaking more plainly. Cost
me -what it may, I ^vill be plainer now. Suppose
you were not in love witli me ? Suppose you were
in love with some other woman ?"
" Yes r

" Suppose you discovered that woman to be
utterly unworthy 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 not a feeling to be bidden ? Suppose

the love this wretch had inspired in you ? Oh,

how can I find words to say it in ! How can I
make a maii understand that a feeling which
horrifies me at myself, can be a feeling that fasci-
nates me at the same time ? It's the breath of my
lifcj 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 defence. Mind this ! He doesn't know —

THE MOONSTONE. 151

lie never will know, what I have told you. I
will never see him — I don^t care what hap-
pens— I will never, never, never see him again !
Don^t ask me his name ! DonH 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 estima-
tion, 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 cushions ; and she burst out
crying. Before I had time to feel shocked at this,
I was horror-sti-uck by an entirely unexpected pro-
ceeding 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

152 THE MOONSTONE.

speaker. She sat, cither quite thunderstruck, or
quite fascinated — I donH 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 listen-
ing, 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 en-
noble 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 I
will you honour me, will you bless me, by being
my wife ?"

By this time I should certainly have decided oii

THE MOONSTONE. 153

stopping my ears, if Racliel had not encouraged me
to keep them open, by answering him in the first
sensible words I had ever heard fall from her
lips.

^^ Godfrey !" she said_, " you must be mad V
"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 towards 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 forgetful-
ness 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 honours you ; a home whose peaceful
claims and happy duties win gently on you day by
day — try the consolation, 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
devotion, and to Time that heals even wounds as
deep as yours.^^

She began to yield already. Oh, what a bring-
ing-up she must have had ! Oh, how differently
I should have acted in her place !

154 THE MOONSTONE.

" DonH tempt me, Godfrey/' she said ; " I am
wretehed enough and reekless enough as it is.
Don't tempt me to be more wretched and more
reckless still V

" One question, Rachel. Have you any personal
objection to me V

" 1\ 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 E-achel,
who respect and admire their husbands ? And yet
they and their husbands get on very wxll. 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 thej^ 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 man, some years hence.
Or you may marry the man, dearest, who is now
at your feet, and who prizes your respect and

THE MOONSTONE. 155

admiration above tlie 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 V

*' I won't even rise from my knees, till you have
said yes V^

" If I say yes you will repent, and I shall
repent, when it is too late V^

" 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 household at Frizinghall.
Do my father and mother live unhappily to-
gether ?"

" 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

156 THE MOONSTONE.

have seen the result. Is there no encouragement
in it for you and for me '^"^

" You won^'t hurry me^, Godfrey V*

" My time shall be yours. '^

^' You won't ask me for more than I can give ?'^

'^ My angel ! I only ask you to give me yourself/'

'' Take me V

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

tiU her face touched his ; and then No ! I

really cannot 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 Avas just one moment too late. I had
calculated, you see, on her resisting. She sub-
mitted. To every right-feeling person 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, how-
ever, judging by Mr. Godfrey's next words, to be
one more trifling formality which it was necessary

* See Betteredge's Narrative, chapter viii.

THE MOONSTONE. 157

to observe. 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, Godfrey. Go no"«^, and come back
this evening. We have been here alone together
quite long enough."

She rose, and, in rising, looked for the first time
towards 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 keep-
ing 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- coloured young
footman, on the stairs, suddenly suspended any
further proceedings on her side or on mine. It
was unmistakeably the voice of a man in great
alarm.

" Miss Rachel V he called out, " where are you.
Miss Rachel ?"

She sprang back from the curtains, and ran to
the door.

138 THE MOONSTONE.

Tlie footman came just inside tlie room. His
ruddy colour was all gone. He said^ '' Please to
come down stairs^ Miss ! My lady has fainted^ and
we canH bring her to again. ^^

In a moment more I was alone, and free to go
downstairs in my turn, quite unobserved.

Mr. Godfrey passed me in the hall, hurrying out,,
to fetch the doctor. " Go in, and help them V 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 dreadful
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 scepticism, may be interested in hearing
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 open-
ing one of the letters which I had addressed to
her. I was so shocked at this, that it never
occui'red to me, until some days afterwards, that
she had also died without giving me my little
legacy.

CHAPTER VI.

(1.) ''ey^l^SS CLACK presents her compli-
rarWvitSl ments to Mr. Fi'anklin 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 ^ish on an event so awful,
under the circumstances, as Lady Verinder^s death.
She has, therefore, attached to her own manuscript
copious Extracts from precious 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 compli-
ments to jNIiss Clack, and begs to thank her for the
fifth chapter of her narrative. In returning the
extracts sent with it, he will refrain from mention-
ing any personal objection which he may entertain
to this species of literature, and will merely say

160 THE MOONSTONE.

that the proposed additions to the manuscript are
not necessary to the fulfilment of the purpose that
he has in view."

(3.) " Miss Clack begs to acknowledge the return
of her Extracts. She affectionately reminds Mr.
Franklin Blake that she is a Christian^ and that it
is^ therefore, quite impossible for him to offend 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 offer him the
use of her Extracts for the second time. In the
meanwhile she would be glad to know, before be-
ginning the final chapters of her narrative, whether
she may be permitted to make her humble contri-
bution 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 honour of giving her when she
began her nan'ative. She is requested to limit her-
self 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 wit^
nesses."

(5.) '' Miss Clack is extremely soiTy to trouble

THE MOONSTONE. 161

Mr. Franklin Blake with another letter. Her Ex-
tracts 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 her-
self put down. But J no — Miss C. has learnt Per-
severance in the School of Adversity. Her object
in writing is to know whether Mr. Blake (who pro-
hibits everything else) prohibits the appearance of
the present correspondence in Miss Clack^s narra-
tive? 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 intimation 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 offend her — has not succeeded in accom-
plishing the object of the writer. She affectionately
requests Mr. Blake to retire to the privacy of his
own room, and to consider with himself whether the

VOL. II. M

162 THE MOONSTONE.

training whicli can tlius 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 favoured with an intimation to that effect_,
Miss C. solemnly pledges herself to send 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 VII.

HE foregoing correspondence will sufficiently
explain why no choice is left me but to
pass over Lady A^erinder^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 occasion of my spend-
insf a few davs under the same roof with her. In
the course of my visit, something happened, relating
to her marriage-engagement with Mr. Godfrey Able-
white, which is important enough to require special
notice in these pages. ^Tien this last of many
painful family circumstances has been disclosed, my
task will be completed ; for I shall then have tokl
all that I know, as an actual (and most unwilling)
witness of events.

M 2

164 THE MOONSTONE.

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 cast-
away 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 attending
the ceremony.

Lady Verinder's death left her daughter under
the care of her brother-in-law, Mr. Ablewhite the
elder. He was appointed guardian by the will,
until his niece married, or came of age. Under
these circumstances, !Mr. Godfrey informed his father,
I suppose, of the new relation in which he stood
towards Rachel. At any rate, in ten days from
my aunt's death, the secret of the marriage engage-
ment 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.

THE MOONSTONE. 165

Rachel gave him some trouble at the outset,,
about the choice of a place iu 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 asso-
ciated with the scandalous affair of the lost Moon-
stone. Her guardian^s own residence at Frizing-
hall was open to neither of these objections. But
RachePs presence in it^ after her recent bereave-
ment^ operated as a check on the gaieties of her
cousinSj the Miss Ablewhites — and she herself re-
quested that her visit might be deferred to a more
favourable opportunity. It ended in a proposal^
emanating from old Mr. Ablewhite^ to try a fur-
nished 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, tra-
velling backwards and forwards by the London train,
always at their disposal.

I describe this aimless flitting about from one
place of residence to another — this insatiate restless-
ness of body and appalling stagnation of soul — merely
with a view to arri\'ing at results. The eveut
which (under Providence) proved to be the means
of bringing Rachel Verinder and myself together

166 THE MOONSTONE.

again, was no other than the hiring of the house at
Brighton.

My Aunt Ablewhite is a large, silent, fair-com-
plexioned woman, with one noteworthy point in her
character. From the hour of her bii-th she has
never been known to do anything for herself. She
has gone through life, accepting everybody's help,
and adopting everybody's opinions. A more hope-
less person, in a spiritual point of view, I have
never met with — there is absolutely, in. this perplex-
ing case, no obstructive material to work upon.
Aunt Able white would listen to the Grand Lama of
Thibet exactly as she listens to Me, and would re-
flect his views quite as readily as she reflects mine.
She found the furnished house at Brighton by stop-
ping at an hotel 'in London, composing herself on
a sofa, and sending for her son. She discovered
the necessary servants 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 ser-
vants. You are so clever — please get them for me."
I looked round the untidy room. The chm'ch-bells
were going for a week-day service ; they suggested
a word of affectionate remonstrance on my part.

THE MOONSTONE. 167

^' Oh J aunt V I said sadly, " is this worthy of a Chris-
tian Englishwoman? Is the passage from time to
eternity to be made in this manner V My aunt
answered, '^ FU put on my gown, Drusilla, if you
will be kind enough to help me/' What was to be
said after that ? T have done wonders with murde-
resses— I have never advanced an inch with Aunt
Able white. ^^ 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 ?
Hindrances and pitfalls, dear girls, which beset us
on our way to higher things ! Greatly to my sur-
prise, 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

168 THE MOONSTONE.

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 coloured up for a moment, and
then proceeded to explain herself.

" 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
acknowledged was simply shocking. Here in Chris-
tian England was a young woman in a state of be-
reavement, with so little idea of where to look for
true comfort, that she actually expected to find it
among her mother's friends ! Here was a relative
of mine, awakened to a sense of her shortcomings
towards others, under the influence, not of convic-
tion and duty, but of sentiment and impulse !
Most deplorable to think of — but, still, sug-
gestive 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 character. I decided, as a
useful test, to probe her on the subject of her mar-
riage engagement to Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.

THE MOONSTONE. 169

Having first met her advances witli all possible
cordiality,, I sat by her on the sofa, at her own re-
quest. We discussed family affairs 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 declined
to take the hint. Any open reference to the ques-
tion, 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 martyrdom
in Montagu Square. This was, of itself, enough to
encourage me to take her future 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 fervour which
assured me that I should achieve no common results.
Rapidity of proceeding was, as I believed, of impor-
tance in this case. I went back at once to the
question of the servants wanted for the furnished
house.

" Where is the list, dear V

170 THE MOONSTONE.

Rachel produced it.

" Cook, kitchen-maid, housemaid, and footman/'
I read. '^ My dear Rachel, these servants are only
wanted for a term — the term dm-ing which your
guardian has taken the house. We shall have great
difficulty in finding persons of character and capa-
city to accept a temporary engagement of that sort,
if we try in London. Has the house in 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 wonH 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 meantime I will undertake to meet the diffi-
culty 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."

THE MOONSTONE. 171

'^ Quite the same tiling. 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. Biighton is so
lively ; you are sure to enjoy it.^^

In those words the in^dtation was given, and the
glorious prospect of interference was opened before
me.

It was then the middle of the week. By Satur-
day afternoon the house was ready for them. In
that short intei-val I had sifted, not the characters
only, but the religious views as well, of all the dis-
engaged servants who applied to me, and had suc-
ceeded 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 to take sittings
for our little party in the church in which he him-
self ministered. The other — a single lady, like
myself — placed the resources of her library (com-
posed throughout of precious publications) entirely
at my disposal. I bon'owed half-a-dozen works, all
carefully chosen with a view to Rachel. When
these had been judiciously distributed in the various

172 THE MOONSTONE.

^ rooms she would be likely to occupy, I considered
that my preparations were complete. Sound doc-
trine in the servants who waited on her; sound
doctrine in the minister who preached to her;
sound doctrine in the books that lay on her table
— such was the treble welcome which my zeal had
prepared for the motherless girl ! A heavenly
composure filled my mind, on that Saturday after-
noon, as I sat at the window waiting the arrival
of my relatives. The giddy throng passed and re-
passed 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 travellers arrived.
To my indescribable 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

THE MOONSTONE. 173

be able to come with us/' said my Aunt Ablewhite.
'' There was something in the way which kept him
in town, Mr. Bruff volunteered to take his place,
and make a holiday of it till Monday morning.
^ By-the-by, Mr. Bruff, 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 am sure it^s
fatiguing enough to look at the man.^^

Bachel stood silent, at a window by herself, with
her eyes fixed on the sea.

" 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. Bi-uff remained to dinner, and stayed through
the evening. 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 care-
fully. 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 peculiar in-

174 THE MOONSTONE.

terest 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 Ablewhite out of her dressing-gown in time
for church. Her invalid daughter (suffering from
nothing, in my opinion, but incurable laziness, in-
herited 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 useful-
ness, nothing discourages Me.

We found Aunt Ablewhite and Mr. Bruff at
luncheon. T\Tien Rachel declined eating anything,
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.

THE MOONSTONE. 175

'^ There is only one remedy for a headaclie/^

said this horrible old man. '' A walk^ Miss

Rachel^ is the thing to cure you. I am entirely

at your servicej if you will honour me by accepting

. my arm.^''

" With the greatest pleasure. A walk is the very
thing I was longing for.^^

" It^s past two/^ I gently suggested. '' And the
afternoon ser^ice^ Rachel^ begins at three.^^

^' How can you expect me to go to church again/^
she asked petulantly^ " with such a headache as
mine T'

Mr. Bruff officiously opened the door for her. In
another 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 oppor-
tunity, 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

176 THE MOONSTONE.

took an early leave of us all ; intending to go
back to London by the first train tbe 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 with-
drew to her own room. She never appeared at
dinner. Her maid (the person with the cap-
ribbons) was sent downstairs to announce that her
headache had returned. I ran up to her and
made all sorts of sisterly offers 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.

When 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 serious friend's pre-
cious 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 things to

THE MOONSTONE. 177

think of. She gave these answers^ with her atten-
tion apparently absorbed in folding and refolding
the frilling of her nightgown. 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^ yesterday, about ]\Ir. Bruff? I thought^
when I saw you after your walk with hini; 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 V' she said. " It was news
I was interested in hearing — and I am deeply in-
debted 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 T' I re-
peated. " I suppose, my dear Rachel, that must
be news of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite V'

She started up in the bed, and turned deadly
pale. It was evidently on the tip of her tongue to

VOL. II. N

178 THE MOONSTONE.

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 Ablewhite."

It was my turn to start at that.

"What can you possibly mean?'' I exclaimed.
'' The marriage 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
feelings^ at that 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 towards
Rachel might have been viewed as presenting diffi-
culties 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

THE MOONSTONE. 179

at all. But^ ah my friends ! a working Chris-
tian of my experience (with an evangelising pros-
pect before her) takes broader views than these.
Supposing Rachel really broke off 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 de-
pression would be the effect. Her pride would be
exhausted, her stubbornness would be exhausted,
by the resolute resistance which it was in her cha-
racter to make under the circumstances. She
would turn for sympathy to the nearest person who
had sympathy to offer. And I was that nearest
person — brimful of comfort, charged to overflowing
with seasonable and reviving words. Never had
the evangelising prospect looked brighter, to my
eyes, than it looked now.

She came down to breakfast, but she eat 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 profane sort, associated with
performances on the stage which it curdles one's

n3

180 THE MOONSTONE.

blood to think of. It would have been premature
to interfere with her at such a time as this. I pri-
vately 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 indescri-
bable luxury to find myself indulging in earnest
conversation with serious persons. Infinitely en-
couraged and refreshed, I turned my steps back
again to the house, in excellent time to await the
arrival of our expected ^dsitor. I entered the
dining room, always empty at that hour of the
day — and found myself face to face with Mr. God-
frey Ablewhite !

He made no attempt to fly the place. Quite the
contraiy. He advanced to meet me with the ut-
most eagerness.

" Dear Miss Clack, I have been only waiting to
see you! Chance set me free of my London en-
gagements to-day sooner than I had expected — and
I have got here, in consequence, earlier than my
appointed time.^^

Not the slightest embarrassment encumbered his
explanation, 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

THE MOONSTONE. 181

of that scene. But lie knew^ on the other hand,
that my attendances at the Mothers^-S mall-Clothes,
and my relations with friends attached to other
charities, must have informed me of his shameless
neglect of his Ladies and of 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
paralysed me with astonishment.

^' I have seen Rachel,^' he said with perfect tran-
quillity. " You are aware, dear friend, that she was
engaged to me? Well, she has taken a sudden
resolution to break the engagement. Reflection has
convinced her that she will best consult her welfare
and mine by retracting a rash promise, and lea'ving
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 compo-
sure, " I have submitted.''^

His conduct under the circumstances, was so

182 THE MOONSTONE.

utterly inconceivable^ that I stood bewildered with
my band in his. It is a piece of rudeness to stare
at anybody, and it is an act of indelicacy to
stare at a gentleman. I committed both those im-
proprieties. And I said, as if in a dream, '' What
does it mean V

'' Permit me to tell you,^^ he replied. " And
suppose we sit down V*

He led me to a chair. I have an indistinct re-
membrance 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.

CHAPTER VIII.

HAVE lost a beautiful girl_, an excellent
social position, and a handsome income/'
Mr. Godfrey began ; '^ and I baA'e 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 V' I repeated.

" Let me appeal, dear Miss Clack, to your expe-
rience 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 slug. 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 Verinder. I don^t know why I
have shamefully neglected my dear Ladies. I donH

184 THE MOONSTONE.

know why I have apostatised from the Mother's-
S mall- 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 f'

I began to recover myself. A mental problem
was involved here. I am deeply interested in men-
tal problems — and I am not, it is thought, without
some skill in solving them.

^^ Best of friends, exert your intellect, and help
me,^' he proceeded. '^'^Tell me — why does a time
come when these matrimonial 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 modest round of useful work, in saying my few
earnest words when called on by my Chairman?
WTiat do I want with a position ? I have got a
position. W^hat do I want with an 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

THE MOONSTONE. 185

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 experience
(there is no sort of doubt about it) a most over-
powering 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 honour of
stating them when we first sat down together in
these two chairs. I have lost a beautiful girl, an
excellent social position, 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 spiritual 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 occa-
sionally humbled to the level of the most poorly-
gifted people about them. The object, no doubt, in

186 THE MOONSTONE.

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 these salutary
humiliations in the deplorable proceedings on dear
Mr. Godfrey^s part, of which I had been the unseen
witness. And it was equally easy to recognise the
welcome reappearance 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 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
Christian Hero overflowed. He pressed my hands
alternately to his lips. Overwhelmed by the ex-
quisite 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

THE MOONSTONE. 187

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 P' he exclaimed. " I
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. " Busi-
ness 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 difficulty,
I fear, in reconciling him to the breaking-off of the
engagement. I must stop him, for all our sakes,
from coming here till he is reconciled. Best and
dearest of friends, we shall meet again V'

With those words he hurried out. In equal
haste on my side, I ran upstairs to compose myself
in my own room before meeting Aunt Ablewhite
and Bachel at the luncheon-table.

I am well aware — to dwell for a moment yet on
the subject of Mr. Godfrey — that the all-profaning

188 THE MOONSTONE.

opinion of the 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^ 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 influence
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 experi-
ence of persons and things. In less than a month
jfrom the time of which I am now writing, events in
the money-market (which diminished 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.

THE MOONSTONE. 189

Let me dry my eyes_, and return to my narrative.

I went downstairs to luncheon, naturally anxious
to see how E-achel was affected by lier release from
her marriage engagement.

It appeared to me — but I own I am a poor au-
thority 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 her-
self 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 IMe. I should hear all
about the man ; I should hear all about the ]\Ioon-
stone. 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 after-
noon in an invalid chair. Rachel accompanied her.
" I wish I could drag the chair,^^ she broke out.
recklessly. " I wish I could fatigue myself till I
was ready to drop.^^

She was in the same humour in the evening. I
discovered in one of my friend^s precious publica-
tions— the Life, Letters, and Labours of Miss Jane

190 THE MOONSTONE.

Ann Stamper, forty-fourth edition — passages "wliich
bore with a marvellons appropriateness on RachePs
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 patience was to be exhausted in that way !
I kept INIiss Jane Ann Stamper by me, and waited
for events with the most unfaltering trust in the
future.

Old Mr. 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 positive 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 certainly come, and the salutary exhaustion
of RacheFs resisting powers would as certainly-
follow. I am not ignorant that old Mr. Able-
white 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

THE MOONSTONE. 191*

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. Bruff.

I never remember feeling the presence of the
lawyer to be more unwelcome than I felt it at that
moment. He looked ready for anything in the way
of an obstructive proceeding — capable even of keep-
ing the peace^ with Rachel for one of the com-
batants !

^' This is a pleasant surprise^ sir/^ said Mr. Able-
white^ addressing himself with his deceptive cor-
diality to Mr. Bruff. " "^'hen I left your office
yesterday, I didn^t expect to have the honour of
seeing you at Brighton to-day.^''

^^ I 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
discovering the carriage in which you were travel-
Ung."

Having given that explanation, he seated him-
self 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 window ;
placidly fanning herself as usual. Mr. Ablewhite

192 THE MOONSTONE.

stood up in the middle of tlie 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 extraordinary news from Godfrey. And I am
here to inquire about it. You have a sitting-room
of your own in this house. Will you honour me
by showing me the way to it.^^

Rachel never moved. Whether she was deter-
mined 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 honour of conducting him into
her sitting-room.

" Whatever you wish to say to me,"*^ she an-
swered, " can be said here — in the presence of my
relatives, and in the presence " (she looked at Mr.
Bruff) '' of my mother^s trusted old friend.''^

" Just as you please, my dear,^' said the amiable
Mr. Ablewhite. He took a chair. The rest of
them looked at his face — as if they expected it, after
seventy years of worldly training, to speak the
truth. / looked at the top of his bald head ; having
noticed on other occasions that the temper which
was really in him had a habit of registering itself
there.

THE MOONSTONE. * 193

" Some weeks ago/'' pursued the old gentleman,
" my son informed me that Miss Verinder had done
him the honour to engage herself to marry him.
Is it possible, Rachel, that he can have misinter-
preted— or presumed upon — what you really said
to him V

" Certainly not/^ she replied. " I did engage
myself to marry him."

" Very frankly answered V^ said Mr. Able white.
" And most satisfactory^ my dear, so far. In re-
spect 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 loyers' 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, ]\Ir. Able-
white," she said. '' Nothing in the least like a
quarrel took place yesterday between your son and
me. If he told you that I proposed breaking off
our marriage engagement, and that he agreed on
his side — he told you the truth."

The self-registering thermometer at the top of
Mr. Ablewhite^s bald head, began to indicate a rise

VOL. 11. o

194 THE MOONSTONE

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, comCj my dear \" he said, in his most
soothing manner, " now don't be angry, and don't
be hard on poor Godfrey ! He has e\idently 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 oflf?"

" 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 you .?"

THE MOONSTONE. 195

'' It came^ in the first instance, from me. And
it met^ as I have told you^ with your son^s consent
and approval/^

The thermometer went np 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. ^' Injustice 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. Bruff 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 better 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. Ablewhite — pre-
serving her composure in a manner which (ha^ing
regard to her age and her sex) was simply awful
to see.

" Your son put the same question to me which

o2

196 THE MOONSTONE.

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 I should
best consult his welfare and mine by retracting a
rash promise, and leaving him free to make his
choice elsewhere.^'

" What has my son done T' persisted Mr. Able-
white. '^ I have a right to know that. "What has
my son done T'

She persisted just as obstinately on her side.

"You have had the only explanation which I
think it necessary 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 V

Rachel was silent for a moment. Sitting close
behind her, I heard her sigh. Mr. Bruff took her
hand, and gave it a little squeeze. She recovered
herself, and answered Mr. Ablewhite as boldly as
ever.

" I have exposed myself to worse misconstruction
than that,'' she said. " And I have borne it
patiently. The time has gone by, when you could
mortify me by calling me a jilt."

She spoke with a bitterness ojf tone which
satisfied me that the scandal of the Moonstone had

THE MOONSTONE. 197

been in some way recalled to her mind. '* I have
no more to saj/' she added^ wearily^ not addressing
the words to any one in particular^ and looking
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. ^' T^^lat do you
mean ?"

" Insult V 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 me when I married your aunt. Her family
— 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

198 THE MOONSTONE.

couldn^t point to the time when the Ablewhites
hadn't a shirt to their backs^ and couldn't sign
their own names. Ha I ha ! I wasn't good enough
for the Herncastles, when / married. And, now it
comes to the pinch, my son isn't good enough for
you. I suspected it, all along. You have got the
Herncastle blood in you, my young lady ! I sus-
pected it all along."

'' A very unworthy suspicion," remarked Mr.
Bruflf. " I am astonished that you have the courage
to acknowledge it."

Before Mr. Ablewhite could find words to answer
in, Rachel spoke in a 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 back-
wards and forwards 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, 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 dis-
tressing interview, felt more than one inward call
to interfere with a few earnest words^ and had con-

THE MOONSTONE. 199

trolled myself under a dread of tlie possible results,
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 considera-
tions of mere expediency. If I had contemplated
interposing any remonstrance of my own humble
devising, I might possibly have still hesitated. But
the distressing domestic emergency which now con-
fronted me, was most marvellously and beautifully
provided for in the Correspondence 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 V

When I first attracted the attention of the com-
pany by rising, I could see that he was on the
point of saying something 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 me 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.

200 THE MOONSTONE.

with anybody else. But 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 my 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 wis-
dom, words of love — the blessed, blessed, blessed
words of Miss Jane Ann Stamper !^'

I was stopped there by a momentary impediment
of the breath. Before I could recover myself, this
monster in human form shouted out furiously,

" Miss Jane Ann Stamper be V'

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 V' ; 1 handed, it to him
with an expression of agonised 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 instantly sat down again

THE MOONSTONE. 201

in my corner. There had once been an occasion,
under somewhat similar circumstances,, when Miss
Jane Ann Stamper had been taken by the two
shoulders 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, stammering with rage, ^^ asked this
impudent fanatic into the house ? Did you 1"

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. Able-
white. 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 everybody that Rachel
had said something — short and plain as her answer
had been — which gave him the upper hand of her
at last.

" Oh ?" he said. '^ Miss Clack is here as your
guest — in my house V'

It was RacheFs turn to lose her temper at that.
Her colour rose, and her eyes brightened fiercely.
She turned to the lawyer, and, pointing to Mr.
Ablewhite, asked, haughtily, "What does he
mean T'

202 THE MOONSTONE.

Mr. Bruff interfered for the third time.

'* You appear to forget/^ lie said, addressing
Mr. Ablewhite, ^' that you took this house as Miss
Yerinder^s guardian, for Miss Verinder's use.^'

'^ Not quite so fast," interposed i\Ir. Able white.
'^ I have 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 inter-
rupted us. I beg to inform you, sir, that, if my
son is not good enough to be Miss Verinder^s
husband, I cannot presume to consider his father
good enough to be Miss Verinder'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 responsibility 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 Kachel,
for refusing to marry his son !

The instant the door closed. Aunt Ablewhite exhi-

THE MOONSTONE. 203

bited 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,
'^ 1 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 went back to Rachel and kissed
her. " I beg your pardon, my dear," she said,
" in my husband's name. "What can I do for
you ?"

Consistently perverse in everything — capricious
and unreasonable 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 Miss
Verinder," said Mr. Bruff, " might I ask you, Mrs.
Ablewhite, to send Penelope down with her mis-
tress'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 satis-
faction as well as to Rachel's."

The trust of the family in this man was some-

204 THE MOONSTONE.

thing TTonderful to see. Without a word more, on
her side, Annt Ablewhite left the room.

'' Ah V said Mr. Bruff, looking after her. " The
Herncastle blood has its drawbacks,, I admit. But
there is something in good breeding, after all V

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 in-
terest than his — rivetted 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 Bachel to a chair by the window, and spoke to
her there.

" My dear young lady/^ he said, " Mr. Able-
white's conduct has naturally shocked you, and
taken you by surprise. Tf 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

THE MOONSTONE. 205

about her, and never the worst. She named her
brother-in-law your guardian because she believed
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 hap-
pened 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 honour
Mrs. Bruff 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 T^

At those words, I rose to interfere. Mr. Bruff
had done exactly what I had dreaded he would do,
when he asked Mrs. Ablewhite for RacheFs bonnet
and shawl.

Before I could interpose a word, Rachel had ac-
cepted his invitation in the warmest terms. If I
suffered the arrangement 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 tram«

206 THE MOONSTONE.

mels of worldly discretion to tlie winds, and spoke
witli tlie fervour that filled me, in the words that
came first.

"Stop!'' I said— "stop! I ranst be heard.
Mr. Bruflf! you are not related to her, and I am.
I invite her — I summon the executors to appoint
me guardian. Rachel, dearest Rachel, I ofi"er you
my modest home ; come to London by the next
train, love, and share it with me V

Mr. BruflP said nothing. Rachel looked at me
with a cruel astonishment which she made no efi'ort
to conceal.

" You are very kind, Drusilla,'''' she said. " I
shall hope to visit you whenever I happen to be in
London. But I have accepted Mr. Brufi'^s invita-
tion, and I think it will be best, for the present, if
I remain under Mr. 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 fervour 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. Bruflf.

Their hardness — theii' hideous, worldly hardness
— revolted me.

THE MOONSTONE. 207

" Oh, Rachel ! Rachel V' I burst out. " Haven't
you seen yet, that my heart yearns to make a Chris-
tian of you ? Has no inner voice told you that I am
trying to do for you, vrhat I \vas 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?"

Before I could answer, Mr. Bruff came forward,
and offering 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 inter-
ference 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 lan-
guage, 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

203 THE MOONSTONE.

away, for God^s sake, before that woman can say
any more ! Oh, think of my poor mother^s harm-
less, useful, beantifiil life ! You were at the funeral,
Mr. Bruff ; you saw how everybody 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 ! I>on^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 attempted 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 for-
titude. I remember it now with my customary
superiority to all feeling of offence.

Mr. Bruff had his parting word of mockery for
me, before he too hurried out, in his turn»

THE MOONSTONE. 209

^' You had better not have explained yourself,
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/^ she said. '' Fm only a poor ser^^ant
— but I declare Fm ashamed of you V She too
went out, and banged the door after her.

I was left alone in the room. Reviled by them
all, deserted 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 chequered chapters
in my life, ends here. From that day forth, I never
saw Rachel Verinder again. She had my forgive-
ness 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
Labours of Miss Jane Ann Stamper left her as a
legacy by my will.

'c?

j^iiSsSBSl^S*-

VOL. II.

Second Narrative.

Contributed hy Mathew Bruff, Solicitor, of Gray's Inn Square.
CHAPTER I.

Y 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
charming 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 in-
volved— at the period of which I am now^ Avritiug —
in the mystery of the Indian Diamond. I had the
honour of an interview, at my own office, with an

THE MOONSTONE. 211

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 cele-
brated traveller, Mr. Murthwaite, the day after-
wards, and that 1 held a conversation with him on
the subject of the Moonstone, which has a very im-
portant 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 engage-
ment comes first in point of time, and must there-
fore 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 rcsporsibility of
making his will. Lady Verinder exerted her influ-
ence to rouse him to a sense of duty in this matter ;
and I exerted my influence. He admitted the jus-

p2

212 THE MOONSTONE.

tice 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 instruc-
tions on the subject of his will. They proved to
be the simplest instructions I had ever received in
the whole of my professional career.

Sir John was dozing, when I entered the room.
He roused himself at the sight of me.

"How do you do, Mr. Bruff?'' he said. "I
shan^t be very long about this. And then 1^11 go
to sleep again/' He looked on with great interest
while I collected pens, ink, and paper. " Are you
ready T' he asked. I bowed, and took a dip of
ink, and waited for my instructions.

" I leave eveiy thing to my wife,'' said Sir John.
" That's all." He turned round on his pillow, and
composed himself to sleep again.
I was obliged to distui'b 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 ? Everything to my wife. That's my
Will."

THE MOONSTONE. 213

His property was entirely at his own disposal,
and was of two kinds. Property in land (I pur-
posely abstain from nsing teclinical language), and
property in money. In tlie 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 exe-
cuted, and Sir John himself, good man, was finish-
ing his interrupted nap.

Lady Verinder amply justified the confidence
which her husband had placed in her. In the first
days of her widowhood, she sent for me, and made
her Will. The view she took of her position was
so thoroughly sound and sensible, that I was re-
lieved of all necessity for ad^dsing her. My re-
sponsibility began and ended with shaping her in-
structions 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 fireproof box at my

214 THE MOONSTONE.

office, through more years than I like to reckon up.
It was not till the summer 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 pro-
nounced the sentence on poor Lady Yerinder,
which was literally a sentence 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.

It was impossible to improve the provisions re-
lating to her daughter. But, in the lapse of time,
her wishes in regard to certain minor legacies, left
to different relatives, had undergone some modifica-
tion ; 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 permission to embody her recent instruc-
tions in a second Will. My object was to avoid
certain inevitable confusions and repetitions 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 WiU has been de-
scribed by ^liss Clack, who was so obliging as to
witness it. So far as regarded Rachel Verinder's
pecuniary interests, it was, word for word, the

THE MOONSTONE. 215

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 AYill 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 remember — 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
ofiice, and I observ^ed 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 Doctor^s-commons this
morning ? Lady Verinder's Will has been asked
for, and examined, already V

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 Doctor's-
commons by anybody who applies, on the payment
of a shilling fee.)

" Did you hear who asked for the Will ?" I asked.

216 THE MOONSTONE.

" Yes ; the clerk had no hesitation in telling me.
Mr. Smalley, of the firm of Skipp and Smalley,
asked for it. The Will has not heen copied yet
into the great Folio Registers. So there was no
alternative but to depart from the usual 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 what he wanted with
it?^^

I shook my head. "I shall find out/'' I an-
swered, " 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 con-
cerned in this unaccountable examination of my
deceased chent^s Will, I might have found some
difficulty in making the necessary discovery. But
I had a hold over Skipp and Smalley which made
my course in this matter a comparatively easy one.
My common-law clerk (a most competent and ex-
cellent man) was a brother of Mr. Smalley^s ; and,
owing to this sort of indirect connexion with me,
Skipp and Smalley had, for some years 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 fii'm. I intended.

THE MOONSTONE. 217

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 "svhat had happened, I sent
him to his brothei-^s office, " with Mr. Brnff^s com-
pliments, and he wonld be glad to know -why Messrs.
Skipp and Smalley had found it necessary to exa-
mine Lady Yerinder's Will.''''

This message brought ]Mr. Smalley back to my
office, in company with his brother. He acknow-
ledged 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 professional 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 suspicious — and I insisted on know-
ing more. Worse still, I declined to consider any
additional information offered me, as a secret placed
in my keeping : I claimed perfect fi'eedom to use
my own discretion. Worse even than that, I took
an unwarrantable advantage of my position. " Choose,
sir/^ I 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 tp-ants, I
carried my point. !Mr. Smalley chose his alter-

218 THE MOONSTONE.

native, 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 informa-
tion, 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 combined 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 hus-
band (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 hand-
some income — and that was all.

When I came to think over what I had dis-
covered, I was sorely perplexed what to do next.

Hardly a week had passed since I had heard (to
my surprise and distress) of Miss Verinder's pro-

THE MOONSTONE. 219

posed 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 the man — whom I had always believed to
be a smooth-tongued impostor — justifying the very
worst that I had thought of him, and plainly reveal-
ing the mercenary object 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 ^Ir. Godfrey Able-
white 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 Yerinder for her income alone. If, on
the other hand, he stood in urgent need of realising
a large sum by a given time, then Lady Verinder's
Will would exactly meet the case, and would pre-
serve her daughter from falling into a scoundrels
hands.

In the latter event, there would be no need for

220 THE MOONSTONE.

me to distress Miss Rachel, in the first days of her
mourning for her mother, by an immediate revela-
tion of the truth. In the former 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 j\Irs. Ablewhite and Miss
Verinder to be staying. 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. ^ATien 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 engagement?^'

"Yes," she said, indifierently, ''if you have
nothing more interesting to talk about.'-*

" Will you forgive an old friend and servant of
your family, Miss Rachel, if I venture on asking
whether your heart is set on this marriage.''

" I am marrying in despair, Mr. Brufi* — on the
chance of dropping into some sort of stagnant hap-
piness which may reconcile me to my life."

THE MOONSTONE. 221

Strong language ! and suggestive of something
below tlie siu'face_, in the shape of a romance. But
I had my ottu 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 T'

" 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 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 bar-
gained for.

" It sounds strangely/^ I went on_, '' in my old-
fashioned ears "

^' "\Miat 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 V^

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

222 THE MOONSTONE.

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 wxU 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 get-
ting 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, unconscions of
my presence, unconscious of everything about her;
lost — buried, I might almost say — in her own
thoughts.

I made no attempt to disturb her. My expe-
rience 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 anything which interests them, is to ask a multi-
tude of questions, and then to run off, and talk it
all over with some favourite friend. Rachel
Verinder's first instinct, under similar circumstances,
was to shut herself up in her own mind, and to
think it over by herself. This absolute self-depend-
ence is a great virtue in a man. In a woman it has

THE MOONSTONE. 223

the serious drawback of morally separating her from
the mass of her sex^ and so exposing her to miscon-
struction by the general opinion. I strongly sus-
pect 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 ^drtues in my estimation ; partly_, no
doubt, because I sincerely admired and liked her;
partly, because the view I took of her connexion
with the loss of the Moonstone was based on my
own special knowledge of her disposition. Badly
as appearances might look, in the matter of the
Diamond — shocking as it undoubtedly was to know
that she was associated in any way w ith the mystery
of an undiscovered theft — I was satisfied never-
theless 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 say,
before Rachel roused herself. She suddenly looked
up at me with a faint reflection of her smile of hap-
pier times — the most irresistible smile I have 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 rumours of my mar-

224 THE MOONSTONE.

riage when you get back to London, contradict them
at once, on my authority/^

" Have you resolved to break your engagement ?"
I asked.

" Can you doubt it P^"* she returned proudly,
'^ after what you have told me \"
. '^My dear Miss Rachel, you are very young —
and you may find more difiiculty in withdrawing
from your present position 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 circumstances ;
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 awk-
ward difiiculties, in my time. But this was the
first occasion on which I had ever found myself ad-
vising a young lady how to obtain her release from
a marriage engagement. The suggestion I offered
amounted briefly to this. I recommended her to
tell Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite — at a private interview.

THE MOONSTONE. 225

of course — that he had^ to her certain 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 impossibility
— 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 opposing 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 Yerinder 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 im-
possible for her to follow it.

" May I ask,^-* I said, ^'^ what objec1?fon you see
to following it V

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 V she began.

'^Yes^^

" What would you call it ?"

" I should call it the conduct of a meanly deceit-
ful man."*'

*^Mr. Bruff! I have believed in that man. I
have promised to marry that man. How can I tell

VOL. II. Q

226 THE MOONSTONE.

him he is mcan^ 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 think-
ing of him as my husband. If I say what you
tell me to say to him — I am owning that I have de-
graded 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 unendurable to me.''

Here was another of the marked peculiarities in
her character disclosing itself to me without reserve.
Here was her sensitive horror of the bare contact
with anything mean, blinding her to every considera-
tion of what she owed to herself, hurrying her into
a false position which might compromise 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 doubt that it was
the best advice that 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 ob-
jection 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

THE MOONSTONE. 227

him to his face that he is the most contemptible of
living creatures, after that V'

"But^my dear Miss Rachel/^ I remonstrated, " it's
equally impossible for you to tell him that you with-
draw 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 resolution, 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 re-
minded 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 reasons for it ?"

q2

228 THE MOONSTONE.

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 cer-
tainly 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 w as in a strange conflict of feelings about her
w^hen I left her that day. She was obstinate ; she
was w rong. She was interesting ; she was admir-
able ; she was deeply to be pitied. I made her
promise to write to me the moment she had any
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. Abelwhite 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 under-
lined, revealed ]\Ir. Godfrey Able whitens 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. RacheFs income.

THE MOONSTONE. 229

which would have helped him to anything else^
would not help him here ; and Rachel had accord-
ingly released herself, without encountering a
momenta'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
splendour for the rest of his life?

Any exultation I might otherwise have felt at the
lucky turn which things had now taken, was effectu-
ally checked by what passed at my interview with
old Mr. AblcAvhite.

He came, of course, to know whether I could give
him any explanation of Miss Verinder^s extra-
ordinary conduct. It is needless to say that I was
quite unable to afford him the information 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 Yerinder 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 my reflections ended, and how
thoroughly well founded my distrust of Mr. Able-
white proved to be, are items of information which.

230 THE MOONSTONE.

(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
narrative — that Miss Verinder found the quiet
and repose which she sadly needed, poor thing, in
my house at Hampstead. She honoured us by
making a long stay. My wife and daughters were
charmed with her ; and, when the executors decided
on the appointment of a new guardian, I feel sin-
cere pride and pleasure in recording that my guest
and my family parted like old friends, on either
side.

CHAPTER II.

HE next thing I have to do^ is to present
sucli additional information as I possess on
the subject of the Moonstone^ 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,
nevertheless, in respect of its bearing very remark-
ably 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 :

232 THE MOONSTONE.

'^ Recommended by Mr, Septimus Luker/^

The audacity of a person in Mr. Luker^s position
presuming to recommend anybody to me, took me
so completely by surprise^ that I sat silent for tbe
moment, wondering whether my own eyes had not
deceived me. The clerk, observing my bewilder-
ment, favoured me with the result of his own
observation of the stranger who was waiting down-
stairs.

^^ Here'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 recommendation, and of the stranger's
visit at my office. To the astonishment 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 anybody who may read these lines,
that no living person (in England, at any rate) can
claim to have had such an intimate connexion with
the romance of the Indian Diamond as mine has
been. I was trusted with the secret of Colonel

THE MOONSTONE. 233

Herncastle^s plan for escaping assassination. I re-
ceived the Colonels 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 combatted Mr. Franklin Blake's
scruples, and induced him to be. the means of trans-
porting the Diamond to Lady Verinder's house.
If anyone can claim a prescriptive right of interest
in the Moonstone, and in everything 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 apologising — in an excellent selection
of English words — for the liberty which he had
taken in disturbing me, the Indian produced a small
parcel the outer covering of which was of cloth of

234 THE MOONSTONE.

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.

" I 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 recommend-
ation?''

The Indian bowed.

" May I ask how it is that Mr. Luker himself
did not advance 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 gentleman 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

THE MOONSTONE. 235

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 in 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 pro-
duced."

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 pro-
test. He rose — this admirable assassin rose to go,
the moment I had answered him !

"Will your condescension towards a stranger,
excuse my asking one question,'"' he said, " before I
take my leave T'

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 customary) for me to pay it back ?"

'^According to the usual course pursued in this
country," I answered^ " you would have been en-

236 THE MOONSTONE.

titled to pay the money back (if you liked) in one
year's time from the date at which it was first ad-
vanced to you/'

The Indian made me a last bow, the lowest of
all — and suddenly and softly walked out of the
room.

It was done in a moment, in a noiseless, supple,
cat-like way, which a little startled me, I own. As
soon as I was composed enough to think, I arrived
at one distinct conclusion in reference to the other-
wise incomprehensible visitor who had favoured 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 sur-
face of him, for all that. He had not shown the
slightest sign of attempting to fix anything 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 a debtor, of money
that had been advanced as a loan. ^Vhen 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

THE MOONSTONE. 237

more carefully I reflected on what had passed be-
tween us, the more shrewdly I supected the pro-
duction 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 further,
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 honour him by consent-
ing to a personal interview.

I made another unprofessional sacrifice to mere
curiosity. I honoured him by making an appoint-
ment at my oflBce, 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 teU me may be
fairly stated as follows :

The day before I had received the visit of the
Indian, Mr. Luker had been favoured with a caU
from that accomplished gentleman. In spite of his

238 THE MOOK STONE.

European disguise^ Mr. Luker had instantly identi-
fied 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 dis-
covery he had rushed to the conclusion (naturally
enough I own) that he must certainly be in the
company of one of the three men, who had blind-
folded him, gagged him, and robbed him of his
banker's receipt. The result was that he became
quite paralysed with terror, and that he firmly be-
lieved 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 after-
wards 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 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 per-
spiration was pouring off me like rain, sir,'' the

THE MOONSTONE. 239

wretclied creature concluded. '^ I didn^t kuow what
I was talking about. And I hope you^ll look over
it, Mr. BruflP, sir, in consideration 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 anything 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 him.

What did it mean ? Mr. Luker's explanation
gave me no assistance towards 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
suspecting that the way to my dressing-room and
the way to discovery, meant, on this particular occa-
sion, one and the same thing.

CHAPTER III.

HE prominent personage among the guests
at the dinner party I found to be Mr.
Murthwaite.

On his appearance in England^ after his wander-
ings, society had been greatly interested in the
traveller, 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 indifference to placing his safety
in. peril for the second time, revived the flagging
interest of the worshippers 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.

THE MOONSTONE. 241

When tlie 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 English-
men living. As a general rule, political talk
appears to me to be of all talk the most dreary and
the most profitless. Glancing at IMr. Murthwaite,
when the bottles had made their first round of the
table, I found that he was apparently of my way of
thinking. He was doing it very dexterously — with
all possible consideration for the feelings of his
host — but it is not the less certain that he was
composing himself for a nap. It stiTick 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 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
Yerinder, and you took some interest in the strange

VOL. II. E

242 THE MOONSTONE.

succession of events which ended in the loss of the
Moonstone V

The eminent traveller did me the honour of
waking up in an instant, and asking me who I was.

I informed him of my professional connexion
with the Herncastle family, not forgetting the
curious position which I had occupied towards the
Colonel and his Diamond in the bygone time.

Mr. Murthwaite shifted round in his chair, so as
to put the rest of the company behind him (Con-
servatives and Liberals alike), and concentrated his
whole attention on plain Mr. BruflP, of Gra/s Inn
Square.

^^ Have you heard anything, lately, of the In-
dians ?^^ 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 usually privileged to pay the
money back V^

THE MOONSTONE. 243

^' Is it possible that you don^t see his motive,,
Mr. BrvL^r

" I am ashamed of my stupidity^ !Mr. Murthwaite
— ^but I certainly don^t see it/^

The great traveller became quite interested in
sounding the immense vacuity of my dulness to its
lowest depths,

" Let me ask you one question/^ he said. " In
what position 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. Brufif, 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 Colonel Heracastle^s WiU,
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
Verinder^ 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

k2

244 THE MOONSTONE.

in view, and tliat tlie 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 to 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 Brah-
mins all of them, Mr. Bruff, 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 matter
would not have been worth inquiring into. But
they have done more. They have succeeded to the
organisation which their predecessors established in
this country. Don't start ! The organisation 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

THE MOONSTONE. 245

that shady sort of Englishman, who lives in the
byeways 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
this modest little Indian organisation as we go on.
Having now cleared the ground, I 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 Dia-
mond?'^

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 sup-
pose, as a matter of course T'

" 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 J'

246 THE MOONSTONE.

" They would provide themselves with a copy of
the Will from Doctors^ Commons/^ I said.

^^ Exactly. One or other of those shady English-
men to whom I have alluded^ would get them the
copy you have described. 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 agi'ee 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 Diamond
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, dis-
guised as jugglers, and waiting their time. In
London, it is needless to say, they had their organi-
sation at their disposal to keep them informed of
events. Two men would do it. One to follow
anybody 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.

THE MOONSTONE. 247

These commonplace precautions would readily in-
form them that Mr. Franklin Blake had been to
the bank, and that Mr. Franklin Blake was the
only person in the house who was going to visit
Lady Verinder. What actually followed upon that
discovery, you remember, no doubt, quite as cor-
rectly as I do.^'

I remembered that Franklin Blake had detected
one of the spies, in the street — that he had, in con-
sequence, advanced the time of his arrival in York-
shire by some hours — and that (thanks to old Bet-
teredge^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 neighbourhood. 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
RacheFs 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 explanation based on the theory of clair-
voyance was an explanation which would carry no
conviction whatever with it, to my mind.

248 THE MOONSTONE.

" Nor to mine either/^ said Mr. Murthwaitc.
" The clairvoyance in this case is simply a develop-
ment 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 marvellous and the supernatural. Their
boy is unquestionably a sensitive subject to the mes-
meric influence — and_, under that influence, he has
no doubt reflected what was already in the mind
of the person mesmerising him. I have tested the
theory of clairvoyance — and I have never found the
manifestations get beyond that point. The Indians
don^t investigate the matter in this way; the In-
dians look upon their boy as a Seer of things in-
visible to their eyes — and, I repeat, in that marvel
they find the source of a new interest in the pur-
pose 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 mesmerism, or with
anything 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 results back, by rational means, to natural
causes. Have I succeeded to your satisfaction so far?^''

THE MOONSTONE. 249

" Not a doubt of it^ Mr. Murthwaite ! I am
waiting, however^ with some anxiety_, to hear the
rational explanation of the difficulty which I have
just had the honour of submitting to you/''

Mr. Murthwaite smiled. " It^s the easiest diffi-
culty 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 ud-
doubtedly 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 Betteredge. However, they had the
merit of seeing for themselves that they had taken
a false step — for, as you say, again, with plenty o
time at their disposal, they never came near the
house for weeks after war ds.^^

" Why, Mr. Murthwaite ? That's what I want
to know ! Why T'

" Because no Indian, Mr. BruflP, ever runs an
unnecessary risk. The clause you drew in Colonel
Herncastle's Will,, informed them (didn't it ?) that
the Moonstone was to pass absolutely into !Miss
Verinder's possession on her bu'thday. Very well.

250 THE MOONSTONE.

Tell me wliich 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 cor-
rect ? Take the conduct of the Indians themselves
as the proof. They appeared at the house, after
waiting all those weeks, on Miss Verinder's birth-
day ; and they were rewarded for the patient
accuracy of their calculations by seeing the Moon-
stone in the bosom of her dress ! When I heard
the story of the Colonel and the Diamond, later in
the evening, 1 felt so sure about the risk Mr.
Franklin 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 Verinder, that I recom-
mended following the ColoneFs plan, and destroying
the identity of the gem by having it cut into
separate stones. How its extraordinary disappear-
ance, that night, made my advice useless, and
utterly defeated the Hindoo plot — and how all

THE MOONSTONE. 251

further action on the part of the Indians was
paralysed 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 ex-
planation 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 character — and thanks to his not
having had hundreds of other "\^'ills 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. "^ATien
did the second chance offi?r itself? The second
chance off'ered 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 Frizinghall, 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 bv one Mrs.

252 THE MOONSTONE.

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 addi'ess on the outside^ though expressed
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 language, which they rightly
guessed at as Hindustani. Their object in coming
to me was, of course, to have the letter 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 Macann at
Frizinghall in Yorkshire. ^^ The Hindoo characters
followed ; and the English translation appeared
at the end, expressed in these mysterious words :

" In 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

THE MOONSTONE. 253

come to me in tlie 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 j ^' and the conduct of the Indians themselves
will explain the rest. The god of the moon is re-
presented^ 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 reference 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 proceed-
ings 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,

254 THE MOONSTONE.

and to London they went. What was the next
news we heard of them, Mr. Bruff ?"

" They were annoying Mr. Luker/' I answered,
" by loitering about his house at Lambeth."

" Did you read the report of Mr. Luker's appli-
cation to the magistrate V^

" Yes."

" In the course of his statement he referred, if
you remember, to a foreign workman in his em-
ployment, 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. Bruff, 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 Mr.
Murthwaite alluded. My only question had been.
How had the Indians discovered the circumstance ?
This question (the 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. Mui'thwaite to lead me blindfold

THE MOONSTONE. 255

througli the last windings of the lab}Tinth_, 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 \i, or it would never have been in Mr. Luker's
possession. Has there been any discovery made of
who that person was T'

" 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 (with-
out, 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.

" Very well/' said Mr. Murthwaite, quietly,
^' let us leave it to time to clear the matter up. In
the meanwhile, Mr. Bruff, we must get back again
to the Indians, on your account. Their journey to
London simply ended in their becoming the victims

256 THE MOONSTONE.

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 employment, 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 conspira-
tors 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 receipt, 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 of great price') in a banker's strong room.
Now Mr. Bruff, what is their third chance of seizing
the Diamond ? and when will it come V

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

THE MOONSTONE. 257

redeemed — because that will be the earliest period at
which the Diamond can be removed from the safe
keeping of the bank V

" I told you you would find it out for yourself,
Mr. Brufi*^ 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
respectable authority has satisfied them that Mr.
Luker has spoken the truth. "When do we sup-
pose, at a rough guess, that the Diamond found its
way into the money-lender^s hands P^-*

" Towards the end of last June/^ I answered,
" as well I can reckon it.^^

"And we are now in the year 'forty-eight.
Very good. If the unknown person who has
pledged the Moonstone can redeem 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 your 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

VOL. II. 8

256 THE MOONSTONE.

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 coffee came in ; the guests rose, and dispersed
themselves about 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,
towards 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.

N the spring of the year eighteen hundred
and forty-nine I was wandering in the
East_, and had then recently altered the travelling
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 servants to obtain my letters and remittances
from the English consul in a certain city, which was
no longer included as one of my resting places in
my new travelling 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,
encamped on the borders of a desert. At the end

s2

260 THE MOONSTONE.

of that time the missing man made his appearance,
with the money and the letters, at the entrance of
my tent.

" I 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. Bruff.

I know nothing, in a case of this kind, so un-
endurable 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. Bruff entreated me
to lose no time in returning to England.

By daybreak 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

THE MOONSTONE. 261

any real existence^ except in our good Betteredge's
own brain. But^ barring this drawback,, I am
bound to own that be has stated no more tban the
truth in representing me as wounded to the heart
by Rachel's treatment, and as leaving England in
the first keenness of suffering caused by the bitterest
disappointment of my life.

I went abroadj resolved — if change and absence'
could help me-*-to forget her. It is, I am per-
suaded, no true view of human nature which denies
that change and absence do help a man under these
circumstances : they force his attention 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, dis-
tance, 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 pros-
pect of seeing her again, the more irresistibly her
influence began to recover its hold on me. On
leaving England, 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

?62 THE MOONSTONE.

first person I enquired after, when Mr. Bruff and I
met again.

I was informed, of course, of all that had hap-
pened 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 Bachel and Godfrey Ablewhite in re-
calling the marriage promise, on either side. I
doubled 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 Godfrey^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 in-
quiries (still inquiries after Rachel !) advanced
naturally to the present 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 re-
quested to act as guardian, and who had accepted
the proposal. They were reported to me, as getting

THE MOONSTONE. 263

on together admirably well, and as being now
established, for the season, in Mrs. Merridew's house
in Portland-place.

Half an hour after receiving this information, I
was on my 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 Verinder not received My
card ? The servant begged my pardon — Miss
Verinder had received it.

The inference was too plain to be resisted.
Bached 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.

264 THE MOONSTONE.

Merridew, and requested her to favour 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 surprise, 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 question 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 ap-
plying 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.

" Miss Verinder begs to decline entering into any
correspondence with Mr. Franklin Blake.^'

Fond as I was of her, I felt indignantly the insult
offered to me in that reply. Mr. Bruff came in to
speak to me on business, before I had recovered
possession of myself. I dismissed the business on
the spot, and laid the whole case before him. He
proved to be as incapable of enlightening me as Mrs.

THE MOONSTONE. 265

Merridew herself. I asked him if any slander had
been spoken of me in RacheFs 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. Bruff^s roof? Never.
Had she not so much as asked, during all my long
absence, whether I was living or dead? No such
question 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 unpar-
doned offence, in the present dreadful state of
RacheFs 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 to-
wards me which is there described, is as bitter as
ever against me now?" .^i^B^

Mr. Bruff looked unaffectedly distressed.

" If you insist on an answer," he said," '* I own
lean place no other interpretation on her conduct
than that."

I rang the bell, and directed my servant to pack

266 THE MOONSTONE.

my portmanteau, 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 V

" Mr. Bruff, the assistance I innocently ren-
dered to the inquiry after the Diamond was an
unpardoned offence, in Rachel's mind, nearly a year
since ; and it remains an unpardoned offence still.
I won't accept that position ! I am determined to
find out the secret of her silence towards her mother,
and her enmity towards me. If time, pains, and
money can do it, I will lay my hand on the thief
who took the Moonstone V

The worthy old gentleman attempted to remon-
strate— to induce me to listen to reason — to do his
duty towards 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 fol-
low it onwards, step by step, till I come to the
present time. There are missing links in the evi-
dence, as / left it, which Gabriel Betteredge can
supply, and to Gabriel Betteredge I go !"

THE MOONSTONE. 267

Towards 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 pas-
sages, 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 beehive 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 figiu-e 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.

ETTEREDGE !'' I said, pointing to the
well-remembered book on his knee, " has
Robinson Crusoe informed you, this evening, that
you might expect to see Franklin Blake ?"

^^ By the lord Harry, Mr. Franklin V' cried the
old man, " that's exactly what Robinson Crusoe has
done r

He struggled to his feet with my assistance, and
stood for a moment, looking backwards and for-
wards between Robinson Crusoe and me, apparently
at a loss to discover which of us had surprised him
most. The verdict ended in favour of the book.
Holding it open before him in both hands, he sur-
veyed the wonderful volume with a stare of unut-
terable anticipation — as if he expected to see
Robinson Crusoe himself walk out of the pages, and
favour us with a personal interview.

" Here's the bit, Mr. Franklin!'' he said, as sooq

THE MOONSTONE. 269

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 : — ' I stood like one Thunder-
struck^ or as if I had seen an Apparition/ If that
isn^t as much as to say : ^ Expect the sudden ap-
pearance of Mr. Franklin .^lake^ — there's no mean-
ing in the English language!'^ 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
circumstances, to overwhelm me with questions.
But no — the hospitable 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. " ni ask what brings you here afterwards —
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 ! I'll 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

270 THE MOONSTONE.

bid you welcome, sir ! I bid you heartily welcome !'*
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 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 attach-
ment to Rachel, and his attachment to me, he was
sorely puzzled and distressed at the turn 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 philosophy of the Betteredge school.

" Miss Rachel has her faults — Fve never denied
it," he began. '^ And riding the high horse, now
and then, is one of them. She has been trying to
ride over you — 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 V

I had heard him talk of the late Mrs. Betteredge

THE MOONSTONE. 271

pretty often — invariably producing her as his one
undeniable example of the inbred frailty and per-
versity 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 ex-
ercise on that favourite female animal whenever I
happened to deny her anything that she had set her
heart on. So sure as I came home from my work
on these occasions^ so sure was my Avife 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 — affection-
ately, you understand — up in my arms, and carried
her, holus-bolus, into the best parlour, 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 afterwards ; and then
I cleared the table, and washed the crockery, and

272 ' THE MOONSTONE.

cleaned the knives and forks, and put the things
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.
' Fve 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 London ; don't put up with her in York-
shire. 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. ^' I shall walk
to Frizinghall, 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'm heartily sorry for this," he said. " I had
hoped, Mr. Franklin, to hear that things were aU
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

THE MOONSTONE. 273

object to that on Miss Rachers account/^ tlie old
man added slily. " Hotlierstone lives^ Mr. Franklin^
on his own freehold/^

I remembered the place the moment Betteredge
mentioned it. The farm-house stood in a sheltered
inland yallev^ on the banks of the prettiest stream
in that part of Yorkshire : and the farmer had a
spare bedroom and parlonr_, ^vhich he T^as accustomed
to let to artistSj anglers^ and tourists in general. A
more agreeable place of abode, during my stay in
the neighbourhood, I could not have wished to
find.

'' Are the rooms to let T' I inquired.

" Mrs. Hotherscone herself, sir,, asked for my
good word to recommend the rooms, yesterday.''^

'' ril take them, Betteredge, with the greatest
pleasure .^^

We went back to the yard, in which I had left
my travelling bag. After putting a stick through
the handle, and swinging the bag over his
shoulder, Betteredge appeared to relapse into the
bewilderment which my sudden appearance had
caused, when I surprised him in the beehive chair.
He looked incredulously at the house, and then he
wheeled about, and looked more incredulously still
at me.

'^ I^•e lived a goodish long time in tlic world/^

VOL. II. T

274 THE MOONSTONE.

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 V

He led the "way out, wagging his head and growl-
ing ominously. " There^s only one more mii'acle
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
humour 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 privi-
leges of curiosity began.

He dropped back, so as to let me get on a level
with him. " Fine evening for a walk, Mr. Frank-
lin," he said, as if we had just accidentally
encountered each other at that moment. ^' Sup-
posing you had gone to the hotel at Frizinghall,
sir?"

*' Yes ?"

" I should have had the honour of breakfasting
with you, to-morrow morning."

THE MOONSTONE. 275

" Come and breakfast with me at Hotherstone's
Farm, instead."

" 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
burniDg to know what''s brought you down here, if
you please, in this sudden way."

'^ ^Tiat brousfht me here before ?" I asked.

o

'' The Moonstone, Mr. Franklin. But what
brings you now, sir ?"

" The Moonstone again, Betteredge.'^

The old man suddenly stood still, and looked at
me in the grey twilight as if he suspected his own
ears of deceiving him.

" If that's a joke, sir," he said, ^' Fm 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 no-
body has done yet — to find cut who took the
Diamond."

" Let the Diamond be, Mr. Franklin ! Take
my advice, and let the Diamond be ! That cursed

t2

276 THE MOONSTONE.

Indian jewel has misguided everybody who has
come near it. Don"*! 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 Ser-
geant Cuff himself made a mess of it ? Ser-
geant Cuff!" repeated Betteredge, shaking his
forefinger at me sternly. " The greatest policeman
in England V

•* 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 anything of him lately T'

" 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 gardener 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 Sergeant Cuff's help. And I must trust
to you, at starting."

THE MOONSTONE. 277

It is likely enough tliat I spoke rather care-
lessly. At any rate, Betteredge seemed to be piqued
hy 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, after he had spoken, which I detected
in his manner, suggested to me that he was pos-
sessed of some information which he hesitated to
communicate.

" I expect you to help me," I said " in picking
up the fragments 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 V
asked Betteredge, with an appearance of the utmost
humility.

" I expect more — from ^vhat you said just
now."

'' Mere boasting, Mr. Franklin," returned the
old man obstinately. " 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.

278 THE MOONSTONE.

" Betteredge^ would you be glad to hear that
Rachel and I were good friends again T^

" I have served your family, sir_, to mighty little
purpose, if you doubt it V^

" Do you remember how Rachel treated me,
before I left England ?'

'^ As well as if it was yesterday ! My lady her-
self wrote you a letter about it ; and you were
so good as to shovr the letter to me. It said that
Miss Rachel was mortally oflPended with you, for
the part you had taken in trying to recover her
jewel. And neither my lady, nor you, nor anybody
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 Dia-
mond 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 Moon-
stone, is the one chance of inquiry that Rachel her-
self has left me V

Those words evidently put the case before him, as
he had not seen it yet. He asked a question which
satLsfied me that I had shaken him.

THE MOONSTONE. 27^

" There is do ill-feeling in this^ Mr. Franklin,, on.
your side — is there ?"

"There ^as 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 I want nothing more.''^

" You don^t feel any fear^ sir — supposing you
make any discoveries — in regard to what you may
find out about Miss Rachel ?"

I understood the jealous belief in his young mis-
tress which prompted those words.

" I am as certain of her as you are/^ I answered.
" The fullest disclosure of her secret will reveal no-
thing 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 exclaimed, " 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 yom'-
self. You remember that poor girl of ours —
Rosanna Spearman ?'^

" Of course V

" You always thought she had some sort of con-
fession, in regard to this matter of the Moonstone^
which she wanted to make to you?"

280 THE MOONSTONE.

'' I certainly coiildn^t account for her strange con-
duct in any other way/"*

" You may set that doubt at rest^ Mr. Franklin,
whenever you please/'

It was my turn to come to a standstill now. I
tried vainly, in the gathering darkness, to see his face.
In the surprise of the moment, I asked a little im-
patiently what he meant.

^' Steady, sir V proceeded Betteredge. " I
mean what I say. Rosanna Spearman left a
sealed letter behind her — a letter addressed to
you.''

" 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 T'

" The same, Mr. Franklin.''

" Why wasn't the letter forwarded to me ?"

" Limping Lucy has a will of her own, sir. She
wouldn't 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."

THE MOONSTONE. 2 SI

" Nonsense ! We might get there in half an
honr/^

^' Tou might, sir. And when you did get there,
you would find the door locked.-" He pointed to a
lights glimmering below 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 V Make yourself comfortable
for to-night, and come to me to-morrow morning —
if you^llbe sokindr^

" 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 III.

HAVE only the most indistinct recollection
of what happened 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 restless
nighty with much kindling of matches, and many
lightings of one little candle ; and an immense sen-
sation of relief when the sun rose, and there was a
prospect of getting up.

It had been arranged over-night 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 my hand, and
set forth, in some doubt whether I should not sur

THE MOONSTONE. Zbt>

prise the excellent Betteredge in liis bed. To my
great relief lie proved to be quite as excited about
the coming event as I 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 /first caught it in the company
of Sergeant Cuff."

" Aye ! aye ! 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 Bet-
teredge, good Mrs. YoUand performed a social cere-
mony, strictly reserved (as I afterwards learnt) for
strangers of distinction. She put a bottle of Dutch
gin and a couple of clean pipes on the table, and

284 THE MOONSTONE.

opened the conversation by saying_, '^ What news
from London^ sir?"''

Before I could find an answer to this immensely
comprehensive question, an apparition advanced to-
wards 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 Avas an object of
mingled interest and horror, which it quite fasci-
nated 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 beha-
viour, and Betteredge (probably) translated them
into polite English. I speak of this in complete un-
certainty. My attention was absorbed in following
the sound of the girl"s crutch. Thump-thump, up
the wooden stairs ; thump-thump across the room
above our heads ; thump-thump down the stairs
again — and there stood the apparition at the open

THE MOONSTONE. 285

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, " I want to look at

you.-

There was no mistaking the expression on her
face. I inspired her with the strongest emotions
of abhorrence and disgust. Let me not be vain
enough to say that no waman had ever looked
at me in this manner before. I Avill 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 circumstances. 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. " Is 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

286 THE MOONSTONE.

keeping her eyes still mercilessly fixed on me. " I
can^t find out what she saw 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 V
.she said, in the first soft tones which had fallen
from her, in my hearing. ^^ Oh, my lost darling !
ivhat 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 an-
swered, '^ Yes."

'' Can you sleep ?"

^' Yes."

'^ When you see a poor girl in service, do you
feel no remorse ?"

" Certainly not. Why should I ?"

She abruptly thrust the letter (as the phrase is)
into my face.

'^ Take it V she exclaimed furiously. " I never
set eyes on you. before. God Almighty forbid I
should ever set eyes on you again."

W^ith 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 everybody. I could only sup-
pose that she was mad.

THE MOONSTONE. 287

Having reached that inevitable conclusion, I
turned to the more interesting object of investiga-
tion which was presented to me by Rosanna Spear-
man^s letter. The address was written as follows : —
'^ For Franldin Blake. Esq. To be given into his
own hands (and not to be trusted to anyone 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 behaviour to you, whilst yoa were staying in
the house of my mistress, Lady Verinder, do what
you are told to do in the memorandum enclosed
with this — and do it without any person being
present to overlook you. Your humble servant,

" Rosanna Spearman.^^

I turned to the slip of paper next. Here is the
literal copy of it, word for word :

" ]\Iemorandum : — 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
flagstaff at the Coast-guard station above CobVs
Hole in a line together. To Ipy down on the rocks,
a stick, or any straight thing to guide my hand.

28S THE MOONSTONE.

exactly in the line of tlie beacon and the flagstaff.
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 qnicksand. To feel
along the stick, among the seaweed (beginning from
the end of the stick which points towards 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/'

Just as I had read the last words — underlined
in the original — I heard the voice of Bettered ge
behind me. The inventor 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 in-
terested in it. But the second — the memorandum
— produced a strong impression on him.

'^ The Sergeant said it V 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 everybody, from the great Cuff down-
wards, readv and waiting, as one may say, to show

THE MOONSTONE. 289

itself to you ! It's the ebb now, sir, as anybody may
see for tbemselves. 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, mend-
ing a net. " Tammie Bright V' he shouted, at the
top of his voice.

" I hear you P' Tammie shouted back.

'' When's the turn of the tide V

" In an hour^s time.'^

We both looked at our watches.

" We can go round by the coast, Mr. Franklin,"
said Betteredge ; '^' 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 Spearman) at the period of Ser-
geant Cuff's inquiry. With my old friend's help,
I soon had the succession of circumstances clearly
registered in my mind. Rosanna's journey to
Frizinghall, when the whole household believed her
to be ill in her own room — Bosanna's mysterious
employment of the night-time, with her door locked,
and her candle burning tiU the morning — Rosanna's
suspicious purchase of the japanned tin case, and
the two dog's chains from Mrs. Yolland — the Ser-

VOL. II. V

290 THE MOONSTONE.

geant's positive conviction that Rosanna had hidden
something at the Shivering Sand, and the Sergeant's
absolute ignorance 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 quicksand, 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-
staff in a line together. Following the memoran-
dum as our guide, we next laid my stick in the ne-
cessary direction, as neatly as we could, on the un-
even 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. Having 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

A glance at the letter reminded me that I
was charged, when I made my discovery, to make
it alone.

THE MOONSTONE. 291

'^ 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 humour that fancy of
hers. Besides,''^ he added, confidentially, " there's
nothing in the letter against your letting out the
secret afterwards. I'll hang about in the fir planta-
tion, and wait till you pick me up. Don't be
longer than you can help, sir. The detective-fever
isn't an eay disease to deal with, under these cir-
cumstances."

With that parting caution, he left me.

The interval of expectation, short as it was when
reckoned by the measure of time, assumed for-
midable 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 fresh-
ness 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 cheerfulness ;
and the bared wet surface of the quicksand itself,
glittering with a golden brightness, hid the horror
of its false brown face under a passing smile. It

v2

292 THE MOONSTONE.

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 anything but
the edges of the rocks. An inch or two further
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 progress stopped by a thick growth of seaweed
— which had fastened 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

THE MOONSTONE. 293

which was placed nearest to the quicksand, I de-
termined to pursue the search for the chain on a
plan of my own. My idea was to '' sound^^ imme-
diately under the rocks, on the chance of recover-
ing 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 surface of the quicksand. The sight of it so
near me^ still disturbed 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 sunlight. I own I closed my eyes at
the moment when the point of the stick first
entered the quicksand.

The instant afterwards, 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 excitement from head to
foot. Sounding blindfold, 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 seaweed

294 THE MOONSTONE.

with my left hand, I laid myself down over the
brink, and felt with my right hand under the over-
hanging edges of the rock. My right hand found
the chain.

I drew it up without the slightest difficulty.
And there was ihe 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 completely re-
moved the linen. It came out in a thick roll,
moulded, 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 nightgown.

THE MOONSTONE. 295

The uppermost side, when I spread it out, pre-
sented 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 rivetted on the stain, and
my mind took me back at a leap from present
to past. The very words of Sergeant Cuff 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 house with the stain of 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 satisfy you,
you haven't far to look for the hand that took the
Diamond."

One after another those words travelled over my
memory, repeating themselves again and again
with a wearisome, mechanical 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 Bettcrcdge s
patience had failed him at last. He was just

296 THE MOONSTONE.

visible between the sand bills, returning to tbe
beacb.

Tbe old man's appearance recalled me, tbe
moment I perceived it, to my sense of present tbings,
and reminded me tbat tbe inquiry wbicb I bad pur-
sued tbus far, still remained incomplete. I had dis-
covered the smear on the nightgown. To whom did
tbe nightgown belong ?

My first impulse was to consult the letter in
my pocket- — the letter which I bad found in the
case.

As I raised my hand to take it out, I remembered
tbat there was a shorter way to discovery than this.
The nightgown itself would reveal tbe truth ; for, in
all probability, the nightgown was marked with its
owner's name.

I took it up from tbe sand, and looked for tbe
mark.

I found the mark, and read —

My Own Name.

There were the familiar letters wbicb told me
tbat tbe nightgown was mine. I looked up from
them. There was the sun ; there were the glittering
waters of the bay ; there was old Betteredge, advan-
cing nearer and nearer to me. I looked back again
at tbe letters. My own name. Plainly confronting
me — my own name.

THE MOONSTONE. 297

^' If time^ painSj and money can do it^ I will lay
my liand 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 creature. And,
on the unanswerable evidence of the paint-stain, I
had discovered Myself as the Thief.

END OF VOL. II.

lONDON :

SAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET.

COVENT GARDEN.

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