li~t'1/il
ILTS;'LET MD POUR OUT THE WATER," SHE WHISPERED. —[SEE P. 443.]




THE MOONSTONE
a lRovel
BY
WILKIE COLLINS
AUTHOgR OF
4" ARMADALZE" "NO NAME" "THE WOMAN IN WHITE" "ANTONINA' 
"MAN AND WIFE" "THE NEW MAGDALIN" ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS




Entered aceording to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Wahington.
PRINTED IN THE UN)TI  STATES OF AMERICA
C-A




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PREFACE.
IN some of my former novels the object proposed has
been to trace the influence of circumstances upon character. In the present story I have reversed the process.
The attempt made here is to trace the influence of character on circumstances. The conduct pursued, under a sudden emergency, by a young girl, supplies the foundation
on which I have built this book.
The same object has been kept in view in the handling of the other characters which appear in these pages.
Their course of thought and action under the circumstances
which surround them is shown to be (what it would most
probably have been in real life) sometimes right, and sometimes wrong. Right or wrong, their conduct, in either
event, equally directs the course of those portions of the
story in which they are concerned.
In the case of the physiological experiment which occupies a prominent place in the closing scenes of The Moorstone, the same principle has guided me once more. Hav.
ing first ascertained, not only from books, but from living
authorities as well, what the result of that experiment
would really have been, I have declined to avail myself
of the novelist's privilege of supposing something which
might have happened, and have so shaped the story as to
make it grow out of what actually would have happenedwhich, I beg to inform my readers, is also what actually
does happen in these pages.




8                     PREFACB.
With reference to the story of the Diamond, as here set
forth, I have to acknowledge that it is founded, in some
important particulars, on the stories of two of the royal
diamonds of Europe. The magnificent stone which adorns
the top of the Russian imperial sceptre was once the eye
of an Indian idol. The famous Koh-i-Noor is also supposed to have been one of the sacred gems of India; and,
more than this, to have been the subject of a prediction
which prophesied certain misfortune to the persons who
should divert it from its ancient uses.
GLOUCESTER PLACE, PORTMAN SQUARI,
June 30tk, 1868.




3n imoariam Matrio.








THE MOONSTONE.
prologue.
THE STORMING OF SERINGAPATAM (1799):
(Extracted from a Family Paper.)
ADDRESS these line-wrltten in India —to my relatives
in England.
My object is to explain the motive which has induced me,to refuse the right hand of fiiendship to my cousin, John
Herncastle. The reserve which I have hitherto maintained
in this matter has been misinterpreted by members of my
family whose good opinion I can not consent to forfeit. I
request them to suspeid their decision until they have read
my narrative. And I declare, on my word of honor, that
wwhat I am now about to write is, strictly and literally,the
truth.
The private difference between my cousin and me took its
rise in a great public event in which we were both concerned-the storming of Seringapatam, under General Bai  on
the 4th of May, 1799.
Ili order that the circumstances may be clearly understood,
I mast revert for a moment to the period before the assault,
and to the stories current in our camp of the treasure in
jewels and gold stored up in the Palace of Seringapatam.
II.
One of the wildest of these stories related to a Yellow
Diamond-a famous gem in the native annals oIhndia.
The earliest known traditions describe the stone as having
been set in the forehead of the four-handed Indian god who
typiies the Moon. Partly from  its peculiar color, partly
from a superstition which represented it as partaking of the
nature of the deity whom it adorned, and growing and less



12                 THE MOONSTONE.
ening in lustre with
the waxing and waning of the moon, it
first gained the name
by which it continues
to be known in India
to this day —the name
of THE MOONSTONE.
A similar superstition
was once  prevalent,
as I have heard, in
ancient  Greece  and
Rome; not applying,
however (as in India),
to a diamond devoted
to the service of a god,
but to a semi-transparent stone of the
inferior order of gems,
supposed to be affected
by the lunar influences
-the  moon in  this
latter case also, giving the name by which
the stone is still known
to collectors in our
own time.
The adventures of
the Yellow Diamond
begin with the eleventh century of the
Christian era. At that
date the Mohammedan conqueror, Mahmoud of Ghizni,
crossed India; seized on the holy city of Somnauth; and stripped
of its treasures the famous temple which had stood for centuries-the shrine of Hindoo pilgrimage, and the wonder of the
Eastern world.
Of all the deities worshiped in the temple, the moon-god
alone escaped the rapacity of the conquering Mohammedans.
Preserved by three Brahmans, the inviolate deity, bearing the
Yellow Diamond in its forehead, was removed by night, and
*was transported to the second of the sacred cities of India-the
city of Benares.
Here, in a new shrine —in a hall inlaid with precious




THE MOONSTONE.                    13
stones, under a roof supported by pillars of gold-the moongod was set up and worshiped. Here, on the night when
the shrine was completed, Vishnu the Preserver appeared to
the three Brahmans in a dream.
The deity breathed the breath of his divinity on the Diamond in the forehead of the god. And the Brahmans knelt
and hid their faces in their robes. The deity commanded
that the Moonstone should be watched, fiom that time forth,
by three priests in turn, night and day, to the end of the
generations of men. And the Brahmans heard and bowed
before his will. The deity predicted certain disaster to the
presumptuous mortal who laid hands on the sacred gem, and
to all of his house and name who received it after him. And
the Brahmans caused the prophecy to be written over the
gates of the shrine in letters of gold.
One age followed another-and still, generation after generation, the successors of the three Brahmans watched their
priceless Moonstone, night and day. One age followed another, until the first years of the eighteenth Christian century
saw the reign of Aurungzebe, Emperor of the Moguls. At
his command havoc and rapine were let loose once more
among the temples of the worship of Brahmah. The shrine
of the four-handed god was polluted by the slaughter of sacred animals; the images of the deities were broken in pieces;
and the Moonstone was seized by an officer of rank in the
army of Aurungzebe.
Powerless to recover their lost treasure by open force, the
three guardian priests followed and watched it in disguise.
The generations succeeded each other; the warrior who had
committed the sacrilege perished miserably; the Moonstone
passed (carrying its curse with it) from one lawless Mohammedan hand to another; and still, through all chances and
changes, the successors of the three guardian priests kept
their watch, waiting the day when the will of Vishnu the
Preserver should restore to them their sacred gem. Time
rolled on from the first to the last years of the eighteenth
Christian century. The Diamond fell into the possession of
Tippoo, Sultan of Seringapatam, who caused it to be placed
As an ornament in the handle of a dagger, and who commanded it to be kept among the choicest treasures of his armory. Even then-in the palace of the Sultan himself-the
three guardian priests still watched in secret. There were
three officers of Tippoo's household, strangers to the rest,
who had won their master's confidence by conforming, or
appearing to conform, to the Mussulman faith; and to those
three men report pointed as the three priests in disguise.




14                 THE MOONSTONB,
IIL
So, as told in our camp, ran the fanciful story of the Moon.
stone. It made no serious impression on any of us except
my cousin-whose love of the marvelous induced him to believe it. On the night before the assault on Seringapatam
he was absurdly angry with me, and with others, for treating the whole thing as a fable. A foolish wrangle followed;
and Herncastle's unlucky temper got the better of him. He
declared, in his boastful way, that we should see the Diamond on his finger if the English army took Seringapatam.
The sally was saluted by a roar of laughter, and there, as we
all thought that night, the thing ended.
Let me now take you on to the day of the assault.
My cousin and I were separated at the outset. I never
saw him when we forded the river; when we planted the
English flag in the first breach; when we crossed the ditch
beyond; and, fighting every inch of our way, entered the
town. It was only at dusk, when the place was ours, and
after General Baird himself had found the dead body of Tippoo under a heap of the slain, that Herncastle and I met.
We were each attached to a party sent out by the general's orders to prevent the plunder and confusion which followed our conquest. The camp-followers committed deplorable excesses; and, worse still, the soldiers found their way,
by an unguarded door, into the treasury of the Palace, and
loaded themselves with gold and jewels. It was in the court
outside the treasury that my cousin and I met to enforce the
laws of discipline on our own soldiers. Herncastle's fiery
temper had been, as I could plainly see, exasperated to a kind
of frenzy by the terrible slaughter through which we had
passed. He was very unfit, in my opinion, to perform the
duty that had been intrusted to him.
There was riot and confusion enough in the treasury, but
no violence that I saw. The men (if I may use such an expression) disgraced themselves good-humoredly. All sorts
of rough jests and catch-words were bandied about among
them; and the story of the Diamond turned up again unexpectedly, in the form of a mischievous joke. "Who's
got the Moonstone?" was the rallying cry which perpetually
caused the plundering as soon as it was stopped in one place
to break out in another. While I was still vainly trying to
establish order I heard a frightful yelling on the other side
of the court-yard, and at once ran toward the cries, in dread
of finding some new outbreak of the pillage in that direction.
I got to an open door, and saw the bodies of two Indians




THE MOONSTONE.                    15
(by their dress, as I guessed, officers of the palace) lying
across the entrance, dead.
A cry inside hurried me into a room, which appeared to
serve as an armory. A third Indian, mortally wounded, was
sinking at the feet of a man whose back was toward me.
The man turned at the instant when I came in, and I saw
John Herncastle, with a torch in one band and a dagger
dripping with blood in the other.  A stone, set like a pom.
mel, in the end of the dagger's handle, flashed in the torchlight, as he turned on me, like a gleam of fire. The dying
Indian sank to his knees, pointed to the- dagger in Herncastie's hand, and said, in his native language: "The Moonstone
will have its vengealnce yet on you and yours!"  He spoke
those words, and fell dead on the floor.
Before I could stir in the matter the men who had followed
me across the court-yard crowded in. My cousin rushed to
meet them, like a madman. "Clear the room!" he shouted
to me, "and set a guard on the door!" The men fell back as
he threw himself on them with his torchl and his dagger. I
put two sentinels of my own company, on whom I could rely,
to keep the door. Through the remainder of the night I saw
no more of my cousin.
Early in the morning, the plunder still goingl on, General
Baird announced publicly by beat of drum that any thief
detected in the fact, be he whom he miglht, should be hung.
The provost marshal was in attendance to prove that the
general was in earnest; and in the throng that followed the
proclamation Herncastle and I met again.
He held out his hand as usual, and said, " Good-morning."
I waited before I gave him my hand in return.
"Tell me first," I said, " how the Indian in the armory
met his death, and what those last words meant when he
pointed to the dagger in your hand."
"The Indian met his death, as I suppose, by a mortal
wound," said Herncastle.  "What his last words meant I
know no more than you do."
I looked at him narrowly. His frenzy of the previous day
had all calmed down. I determined to give him another
chance.
"Is that all you have to tell me?" I asked.
He answered, "That is all."
I turned my back on him; and we have not spoken since.
IV.
I beg it to be understood that what I write here about
my cousin (unless some necessity should arise for making it




16                  THE MOONSTONE.
public) is for the information of the family only. Herncas
tie has said nothing that can justify me in speaking to our
commanding officer. He has been taunted more than once
about the Diamond, by those who recollect his angry out.
break before the assault; but, as may easily be imagined, his
own remembrance of the circumstances under which I surprised him in the armory has been enough to keep him silent. It is reported that he means to exchange into anoth.
er regiment, avowedly for the purpose of separating himself
and me.
Whether this be true or not, I can not prevail upon myself to become his accuser-and I think with good reason.
If I made the matter public, I have no evidence but moral
evidence to bring forward  I have not only no proof that
he killed the two men at the door; I can not even declare
that he killed the third man inside-for I can not say that
my own eyes saw the deed committed. It is true that I
heard the dying Indian's words; but if those words were
pronounced to be the ravings of delirium, how could I contradict the assertion from my own knowledge?  Let our
relatives, on either side, form their own opinion on what I
have written, and decide for themselves whether the aversion I now feel toward this man is well or ill founded.
Although I attach no sort of credit to the fantastic Indian
legend of the gem, I must acknowledge, before I conclude,
that I am influenced by a certain superstition of my own in
this matter. It is my conviction, or my delusion, no matter
which, that crime brings its own fatality with it. I am not
only persuaded of Herncastle's guilt; I am even fanciful
enough to believe that he will live to regret it, if he keeps
the Diamond; and that others will live to regret taking it
from him, if he gives the Diamond away.




THE MOONSTONE.                   17
Xte Story
FIRST PERIOD. LOSS OF THE DIAMOND (1848).
The Events related by Gabriel Betteredge, house-steward in the Serviee
of Julia, Lady Verinder.
CHAPTER I.
IN the first part of Robinson Crusoe, at page one hundred
and twenty-nine, you will find it thus written:
" Now I saw, though too late, the Folly of beginning a
Work before we count the Cost, and before we judge rightly
of our own Strength to go through with it."
Only yesterday I opened my Robinson Crusoe at that
place. Only this morning (May twenty-first, eighteen hundred and fifty) came my lady's nephew, Mr. Franklin Blake,
and held a short conversation with me, as follows:
"Betteredge," says Mr. Franklin, "I have been to the lawyer's about some family matters; and, among other things,
we have been talking of the loss of the Indian Diamond, in
my aunt's house in Yorkshire, two years since. The lawyer
thinks, as I think, that the whole story ought, in the interests of truth, to be placed on record in writing-and the
sooner the better."
Not perceiving his drift yet, and thinking it always desirable for the sake of peace and quietness to be on the
lawyer's side, I said I thought so too. Mr. Franklin went
on:
" In this matter of the Diamond," he said, " the characters
of innocent people have suffered under suspicion alreadyas you know. The memories of innocent people may suffer,
hereafter, for want of a record of the facts to which those
who come after us can appeal. There can be no doubt that
this strange family story of ours ought to be told. And I
think, Betteredge, the lawyer and I together have hit on the
right way of telling it."
Very satisfactory to both of them, no doubt. But I failed
to ife what I myself had to do wit it so far
o.0




18                  THE MOONSTONE.
"We have certain events to relate," Mr. Franklin proceed
ed; " and we have certain persons concerned in those events
who are capable of relating them. Starting from these plain
facts, the lawyer's idea is that we should all write the story
Df the Moonstone in turn-as far as our own personal experience extends, and no further. We must begin by showing
how the Diamond first fell into the hands of my uncle Herncastle, when he was serving in India fifty years since. This
prefatory narrative I have already got by me in the form of
an old family paper, which relates the necessary particulars
on the authority of an eye-witness. The next thing to do is
to tell how the Diamond found its way into my aunt's house
in Yorkshire, two years since, and how it came to be lost in
little more than twelve hours afterward. Nobody knows as
much as you do, Betteredge, about what went on in the
house at that time. So you must take the pen in hand, and
start the story."
In those terms I was informed of what my personal concern was With the matter of the Diamond. If you are curious to know what course I took under the circumstances, I
beg to inform you that I did what you would probably have
done in my place. I modestly declared myself to be quite
unequal to the task imposed upon me-and I privately felt,
all the time, that I was quite clever enough to perform it, if
I only gave my own abilities a fair chance. Mr. Franklin, I
imagine, must have seen my private sentiments in my face.
He declined to believe in my modesty; and he insisted on
giving my abilities a fair chance.
Two hours have passed since Mr. Franklin left me. As
soon as his back was turned I went to my writing-desk to
start the story. There I have sat helpless (in spite of my
abilities) ever since; seeing what Robinson Crusoe saw, as
quoted above-namely, the folly of beginning a work before
we count the cost, and before we judge rightly of our own
strength to go through with it. Please to remember, I
opened the book by accident, at that bit, only the day before
I rashly undertook the business now in hand; and, allow me
to ask-if that isn't prophecy, what is?
I am not superstitious; I have read a heap of books in my
time; I am a scholar in my own way. Though turned seventy, I possess an active memory, and legs to correspond.
You are not to take it, if you please, as the saying of an ignorant man, when I express my opinion that such a book as
Robinson Crusoe never was written, and never will be written again. I have tried that book for years-generally in




THE MOONSTONE.                  19
combination with a pipe of tobacco-and I have found it
my friend in need in all the necessities of this mortal life.
When my spirits are bad-Robinson Crusoe. When I want
advice-Robinson Crusoe. In past times, when my wife
plagued me; in present times, when I have had a drop too
much-Robinson Crusoe. I have worn out six stout Robinson Crusoes with hard work in my service. On my lady's
last birthday she gave me a seventh. I took a drop too
much on the strength of it; and Robinson Crusoe put me
right again. Price four shillings and sixpence, bound in
blue, with a picture into the bargain.
Still, this don't look much like starting the story of the
Diamond-does it?  I seem to be wandering off in search
of Lord knows what, Lord knows where. We will take a
new sheet of paper, if you please, and begin over again, with
my best respects to you.
CHAPTER IL
I SPOKE of my lady a line or two back. Now the Diamond could never have been in our house, where it was lost,
if it had not been made a present of to my lady's daughter;
and my lady's daughter would never have been in existence
to have the present, if it had not been for my lady who
(with pain and travail) produced her into the world. Consequently, if we begin with my lady, we are pretty sure of
beginning far enough back. And that, let me tell you, when
you have got such a job as mine on hand, is a real comfort
at starting.
If you know any thing of the fashionable world you have
heard tell of the three beautiful Miss Herncastles. Miss
Adelaide, Miss Caroline, and Miss Julia-this last being the
youngest and the best of the three sisters, in my opinion;
and I had opportunities of judging, as you shall presently
see. I went into the service of the old lord, their father
(thank God, we have got nothing to do with him in this
business of the Diamond; he had the longest tongue and the
shortest temper of any man, high or low, I ever met with)I say, I went into the service of the old lord, as page-boy in
waiting on the three honorable young ladies, at the age of
fifteen years. There I lived till Miss Julia married the late
Sir John Verinder. An excellent man, who only wanted
somebody to manage him; and, between ourselves, he found
somebody to do it; and what is more, he throve on it, and




20                 THE MOONSTONE.
grew fat on it, and lived happy and died easy on it, dating
from the day when my lady took him to church to be married to the day when she relieved him of his last breath and
closed his eyes forever.
I have omitted to state that I went with the bride to the
bride's husband's house and lands down here. "Sir John,"
she said, "I can't do without Gabriel Betteredge."  "My
lady," says Sir John, " I can't do without him, either." That
was his way with her-and that was how I went into his
service. It was all one to me where I went, so long as my
mistress and I were together.
Seeing that my lady took an interest in the out-of-door
work, and the farms, and such like, I took an interest in them
too-with all the more reason that I was a small farmer's
seveth son myself: My lady got me put under the bailiff,
and I didmy best, and gave satisfaction, and got promotion
accordingly. Some years later, on the Monday as it might
be, my lady says, " Sir John, your bailiff is a stupid old man.
Pension him liberally, and let Gabriel Betteredge have his
place." On the Tuesday as it might be, Sir John says, " My
lady, the bailiff is pensioned liberally; and Gabriel Betteredge has got his place."  You hear more than enough of
married people living together miserably. Here is an example to the contrary. Let it be a warning to some of you,
and an encouragement to others. In the mean time, I will
go on with my story.
Well, there I was in clover you will say. Placed in a position of trust and honor, with a little cottage of my own to
live in, with my rounds on the estate to occupy me in the
morning and my accounts in the afternoon, and my pipe and
my Robinson Crusoe in the evening-what more could I
possibly want to make me happy? Remember what Adam
wanted when he was alone in the Garden of Eden; and if
you don't blame it in Adam, don't blame it in me.
The woman I fixed my eye on was the woman who kept
house for me at my cottage. Her name was Selina Goby.
I agree with the late William Cobbett about picking a wife.
See that she chews her food well, and sets her foot down
firmly on the ground when she walks, and you're all right.
Selina Goby was all right in both these respects, which was
one reason for marrying her. I had another reason, likewise,
entirely of my own discovering. Selina, being a single woman, maae me pay so much a week for her board and services.
Selina, being my wife, couldn't charge for her board, and
would have to give me her services for nothing. That was
the point of view I looked at it from. Economy-with a dash




THE MOONSTONE.                   21
of love. I put it to my mistress, as in duty bound, just as I
have put it to myself.
"I have been turning Selina Goby over in my mind," I
said, "and I think, my lady, it will be cheaper to marry her
than to keep her."
My lady burst out laughing, and said she didn't know
which to be most shocked at-my language or my principles.
Some joke tickled her, I suppose, of the sort that you can't
take unless you are a person of quality. Understanding
nothing myself but that I was fiee to put it next to Selina,
I went and put it accordingly. And what did Selina say?
Lord! how little you must know of women, if you ask that.
Of course, she said Yes.
As my time drew nearer, and there got to be talk of my
having a new coat for the ceremony, my mind began to misgive me. I have compared notes with other men as to what
they felt while they were in my interesting situation; and
they have all acknowledged that, about a week before it
happened, they privately wished themselves out of it. I went
a trifle further than that myself; I actually rose up, as it
were, and tried to get out of it. Not for nothing! I was
too just a man to expect she would let me off for nothing.
Compensation to the woman when the man gets out of it is
one of the laws of England. In obedience to the laws, and
after turning it over carefully in mind, I offered Selina Goby
a feather-bed and fifty shillings to be off the bargain. You
will hardly believe it, but it is nevertheless true-she was
fool enough to refuse.
After that it was all over with me, of course. I got the
new coat as cheap as I could, and I went through all the rest
of it as cheap as I could. We were not a happy couple, and
not a miserable couple. We were six of one, and half a
dozen of the other. How it was I don't understand, but we
always seemed to be getting, with the best of motives, in one
another's way. When I wanted to go up stairs, there was
my wife coming down; or when my wife wanted to go down,
there was I coming up.  That is married life, according to
my experience of it.
After five years of misunderstandings on the stairs, it
pleased an all-wise Providence to relieve us of each other
by taking my wife. fI was left with my little girl Penelope,
and with no other child. Shortly afterward Sir John died,
and my lady was left with her little girl Miss Rachel, and
no other child. I have written to very poor purpose of my
lady, if you require to be told that my little Penelope was
taken care of under my good mistress's own eye, and was




22'1                THE MOONSTONE.
sent to school, and taught, and made a sharp girl, and promoted, when old enough, to be Miss Rachel's own maid.
As for me, I went on with my business as bailiff year after year up to Christmas, 1847, when there came a change in
my life. On that day my lady invited herself to a cup of
tea alone with me in my cottage. She remarked that reckoning from the year when I started as page-boy in the time
of the old lord, I had been more than fifty years in her service, and she put into my hands a beautiful waistcoat of wool
that she had worked herself, to keep me warm in the bitter
winter weather.
I received this magnificent present quite at a loss to find
words to thank my mistress with for the honor she had done
me. To my great astonishment, it turned out, however, that
the waistcoat was not an honor, but a bribe. My lady had
discovered that I was getting old before I had discovered it
myself, and she had come to my cottage to wheedle me (if I
may use such an expression) into giving up my hard, out-ofdoor work as bailiff, and taking my ease for the rest of my
days as steward in the house. I made as good a fight of it
against the indignity of taking my ease as I could. But my
mistress knew the weak side of me; she put it as a favor to
herself  The dispute between us ended, after that, in my
wiping my eyes, like an old fool, with my new woolen waistcoat, and saying I would think about it.
The perturbation in my mind, in regard to thinking about
it, being truly dreadful after my lady had gone away, I applied the remedy which I have never yet found to fail me in
cases of doubt and emergency. I smoked a pipe and took a
turn at Robinson Crusoe. Before I had occupied myself
with that extraordinary book five minutes I came on a comforting bit (page one hundred and fifty-eight), as follows:
"To-day we love what to-morrow we hate." I saw my way
clear directly. To-day I was all for continuing to be farmbailiff; to-morrow, on the authority of Robinson Crusoe, I
should be all the other way. Take myself to-morrow while
in to-morrow's humor, and the thing was done. My mind
being relieved in this manner, I went to sleep that night in
the character of Lady Verinder's farm-bailiff, and I woke
up next morning in the character of Lady Verinder's housesteward. All quite comfortable, and all through Robinson
Crusoe!
My daughter Penelope has just looked over my shoulder
to see what I have done so far. She remarks that it is beautifully written, and every word of it true. But she points




THE MOONSTONE.                  23
out one objection. She says, what I have done so far isn't
in the least what I was wanted to do. I am asked to tell
the story of the Diamond, and, instead of that, I have been
telling the story of my own self: Curious, and quite beyond
me to account for. I wonder whether the gentlemen who
make a business and a living out of writing books ever find
their own selves getting in the way of their subjects like
me? If they do, I can feel for them. In the mean time,
here is another false start, and more waste of good writingpaper. What's to be done now? Nothing that I know of,
except for you to keep your temper, and for me to begin it
all over again for the third time
CHAPTER III.
THE question of how I am to start the story properly I
have tried to settle in two ways. First, by scratching
my head, which led to nothing. Second, by consulting my
daughter Penelope, which has resulted in an entirely new
idea.
Penelope's notion is that I should set down what happened regularly day by day, beginning with the day when we
got the news that Mr. Franklin Blake was expected on a
visit to the house. When you come to fix your memory
with a date in this way, it is wonderful what your memory
will pick up for you upon that compulsion. The only difficulty is to fetch out the dates, in the first place. This Penelope offers to do for me by looking into her own diary,
which she was taught to keep when she was at school, and
which she has gone on keeping ever since. In answer to an
improvement on this notion, devised by myself, namely, that
she should tell the story instead of me, out of her own diary,
Penelope observes, with a fierce look and a red face, that her
journal is for her own private eye, and that no living creature shall ever know what is in it but herself. Whenr I inquire what this means, Penelope says, "Fiddlestick!" I say,
Sweet-hearts.
Beginning, then, on Penelope's plan, I beg to mention that
I was specially called one Wednesday morning into my
lady's own sitting-room, the date being the twenty-fourth of
May, eighteen hundred and forty-eight.
"Gabriel," says my lady, " here is news that will surprise
you. Franklin Blake has come back from abroad. He has
been staying with his father in London, and he is coming to




24                  THE MOONSTONE.
us to-morrow to stop till next month and keep Rahels
birthday."
If I had had a hat in my hand nothing but respect would
have prevented me from throwing that hat up to the ceiling.
I had not seen Mr. Franklin since he was a boy, living along
with us in this house. He was, out of all sight (as I remembered him), the nicest boy that ever spun a top or broke a
window. Miss Rachel, who was present, and to whom I
made that remark, observed, in return, that she remembered
him as the most atrocious tyrant that ever tortured a doll,
and the hardest driver of an exhausted little girl in string
harness that England could produce. "I burn with indignation, and I ache with fatigue," was the way Miss Rachel
summed it up, " when I think of Franklin Blake."
Hearing what I now tell you, you will naturally ask how
it was that Mr. Franklin should have passed all the years,
from the time when he was a boy to the time when he was a
man, out of his own country. I answer, because his father
had the misfortune to be next heir to a Dukedom, and not
to be able to prove:
In two words, this was how the thing happened:
My lady's eldest sister married the celebrated Mr. Blake
-equally famous for his great riches and his great suit at
law. How many years he went on worrying the tribunals
of his country to turn out the Duke in possession, and to put
himself in the Duke's place-how many lawyers' purses he
filled to bursting, and how many otherwise harmless people
he set by the ears together disputing whether he was right
or wrong- is more by a great deal than I can reckon up.
His wife died, and two of his three children died, before the
tribunals could make up their minds to show him the door
and take no more of his money. When it was all over, and
the Duke in possession was left in possession, Mr. Blake discovered that the only way of being even with his country
for the manner in which it had treated him was not to let
his country have the honor of educating his son. "How
can I trust my native institutions," was the form in which
he put it, "after the way in which my native institutions
have behaved to me?"  Add to this that Mr. Blake disliked
all boys, his own included, and you will admit that it could
only end in one way. Master Franklin was taken from us
in England, and was sent to institutions which his father
could trust, in that superior country, Germany; Mr. Blake
himself, you will observe, remaining snug in England, to improve his fellow-countrymen in the Parliament House, and
to publish a statement on the subject of the Duke in posses



THE MOONSTONE.                  25
sion, which has remained an unfinished statement from that
day to this.
There! Thank God, that's told! Neither you nor I need
trouble our heads any more about Mr. Blake, senior. Leave
him to the Dukedom; and let you and I stick to the Diamond.
The Diamond takes us back to Mr. Franklin, who was the
innocent means of bringing that unlucky jewel into the
house.
Our nice boy didn't forget us after he went abroad. He
wrote every now and then; sometimes to my lady, sometimes to Miss Rachel, and sometimes to me. We had had a
transaction together before he left, which consisted of his
borrowing of me a ball of string, a four-bladed knife, and
seven-and-sixpence in money-the color of which last I have
not seen, and never expect to see, again. His letters to me
chiefly related to borrowing more. I heard, however, from
my lady, how he got on abroad, as he grew in years and
stature. After he had learned what the institutions of Germany could teach him, he gave the French a turn next, and
the Italians a turn after that. They made him among them
a sort of universal genius, as well as I could understand it.
He wrote a little; he painted a little; he sang and played
and composed a little-borrowing, as I suspect, in all these
cases, just as he had borrowed from me. His mother's fortune (seven hundred a year) fell to him when he came of
age, and ran through him as it might be through a sieve.
The more money he had, the more he wanted; there was a
hole in Mr. Franklin's pocket that nothing would sew up.
Wherever he went the lively, easy way of him made him
welcome.  He lived here, there, and everywhere; his address (as he used to put it himself) being "Post-office, Europe-to be left till called for." Twice over he made up his
mind to come back to England and see us; and twice over
(saving your presence) some unmentionable woman stood in
the way and stopped him. His third attempt succeeded, as
you know already from what my lady told me. On Thursday, the twenty-fifth of May, we were to see for the first
time what our nice boy had grown to be as a man. He
came of good blood; he had a high courage; and he was
five-and-twenty years of age, by our reckoning. Now vou
know as much of Mr. Franklin Blake as I did-before Mr.
Franklin Blake came down to our house.
The Thursday was as fine a summer's day as ever you
saw; and my lady and Miss Rachel (not expecting Mr.




26                 THE MOONSTONE.
Franklin till dinner-time) drove out to lunch with some
friends in the neighborhood.
When they were gone I went and had a look at the bedroom which had been got ready for our guest, and saw that
all was straight. Then, being butler in my lady's establishment, as well as steward (at my own particular request,
mind, and because it vexed me to see any body but myself
in possession of the key of the late Sir John's cellar)-then,
I say, I fetched up some of our famous Latour claret, and
set it in the warm summer air to take off the chill before
dinner. Concluding to set myself in the warm summer air
next-seeing that what is good for old claret is equally good
for old age-I took up my bee-hive chair to go out into the
back court, when I was stopped by hearing a sound like the
soft beating of a drum on the terrace in front of my lady's
residence.
Going round to the terrace, I found three mahogany-colored Indians, in white linen frocks and trowsers, looking up
at the house.
The Indians, as I saw on looking closer, had small handdrums slung in front of them. Behind them stood a little,
delicate-looking, light-haired, English boy carrying a bag.
I judged the fellows to be strolling conjurers, and the boy
with the bag to be carrying the tools of their trade. One
of the three, who spoke English, and who exhibited, I must
own, the most elegant manners, presently informed me that
my judgment was right. He requested permission to show
his tricks in the presence of the lady of the house.
Now I am not a sour old man. I am generally all for
amusement, and the last person in the world to distrust another person because he happens to be a few shades darker
than myself. But the best of us have our weaknesses-and
my weakness, when I know a family plate-basket to be out
on a pantry-table, is to be instantly reminded of that basket
by the sight of a strolling stranger whose manners are superior to my own. I accordingly informed the Indian that the
lady of the house was out; and I warned him and his party
off the premises. He made me a beautiful bow in return;
and he and his party went off the premises. On my side, I
returned to my bee-hive chair, and set myself down on the
sunny side of the court, and fell (if the truth must be owned)
not exactly into a sleep, but into the next best thing to it.
I was roused up by my daughter Penelope running out
at me as if the house was on fire. What do you think she
wanted? She wanted to have the three Indian jugglers instantly taken up; for this reason, namely, that they knew




THE BOY BECAME QUITE STIFF, AND STOOD LIKE A STATUE, LOOKING
INTO THE INK IN THE HOLLOW OF HIS HAND.








THE MOONSTONE.                 29
who was coming from London to visit us, and that they
meant some mischief to Mr. Franklin Blake.
Mr. Franklin's name roused me. I opened my eyes, and
made my girl explain herslf.
It appeared that Penelope had just come from our lodge,
where she had been having a gossip with the lodge-keeper's
daughter. The two girls had seen the Indians pass out,
after I had warned them off, followed by their little boy.
Taking it into their heads that the boy was ill used by the
foreigners-for no reason that I could discover, except that
he was pretty and delicate-looking -the girls had stolen
along the inner side of the hedge between us and the road,
and had watched the proceedings of the foreigners on the
outer side. These proceedings resulted in the performance
of the following extraordinary tricks:
They first looked up the road and down the road, and
made sure that they were alone. Then they all three faced
about, and stared hard in the direction of our house. Then
they jabbered and disputed in their own language, and looked at each other like men in doubt. Then they all turned
to their little English boy, as if they expected him to help
them. And then the chief Indian, who spoke English, said
to the boy, " Hold out your hand."
On hearing those dreadful words, my daughter Penelope
said she didn't know what prevented her heart from flying
straight out of her. I thought privately that it might have
been her stays. All I said, however, was, "You make my
flesh creep." (Nota bene: women like these little compliments.)
Well, when the Indian said, "Hold out your hand," the
boy shrank back, and shook his head, and said he didn't like
it. The Indian thereupon asked him (not at all unkindly)
whether he would like to be sent back to London, and left
where they had found him, sleeping in an empty basket in a
market-a hungry, ragged, and forsaken little boy. This, it
seems, ended the difficulty. The little chap unwillingly held
out his hand. Upon that the Indian took a bottle from his
bosom, and poured out of it some black stuff, like ink, into
the palm of the boy's hand. The Indian-first touching the
boy's head, and making signs over it in the air-then said,
"Look." The boy became quite stiff, and stood like a statue, looking into the ink in the hollow of his hand.
(So far, it seemed to me to be juggling, accompanied by a
foolish waste of ink. I was beginning to feel sleepy again,
when Penelope's next words stirred me up.)
The Indians looked up the road and down the road once




30                 THE IMOONSTONE.
more-and then the chief Indian said these words to the
boy: "See the English gentleman from foreign parts."
The boy said, "I see him."
The Indian said, "Is it on the road to this house, and on
no other, that the English gentleman will pass by us today?"
The boy said, "It is on the road to this house, and on no
other, that the English gentleman will pass by you to-day."
The Indian put a second question-after waiting a little
first. He said: "Has the English gentleman got It about
him?"
The boy answered-also, after waiting a little first" Yes."
The Indian put a third and last question  "Will the English gentleman come here, as he has promised to come, at
the close of day?"
The boy said, "I can't tell."
The Indian asked why.
The boy said, "I am tired. The mist rises in my head,
and puzzles me. I can see no more to-day."
With that the catechism ended. The chief Indian said
something in his own language to the other two, pointing
to the boy, and pointing toward the town, in which (as we
afterward discovered) they were lodged. He then, after
making more signs on the boy's head, blew on his forehead,
and so woke him up with a start. After that they all went
on their way toward the town, and the girls saw them no
more.
Most things, they say, have a moral, if you only look for
it. What was the moral of this?
The moral was, as I thought: First, that the chief juggler
had heard Mr. Franklin's arrival talked of among the servants out-of-doors, and saw his way to making a little money
by it. Second, that he and his men and boy (with a view to
making the said money) meant to hang about till they saw
my lady drive home, and then to come back, and foretell
Mr. Franklin's arrival by magic. Third, that Penelope had
heard them rehearsing their hocus-pocus, like actors rehearsing a play. Fourth, that I should do well to have an eye,
that evening, on the plate-basket. Fifth, that Penelope
would do well to cool down, and leave me, her father, to
doze off again in the sun.
That appeared to me to be the sensible view. If you
know any thing of the ways of young women, you won't be
surprised to hear that Penelope wouldn't take it. The moral of the thing was serious, according to my daughter. She




THE MOONSTONE.                  31
particularly reminded me of the Indian's third question.
Has the English gentleman got It about him? "Oh, Father!" says Penelope, clasping her hands, "don't joke about
this! What does'It' mean?"
" We'll ask Mr. Franklin, my dear," I said, " if you can wait
till Mr. Franklin comes." I winked to show I meant that in
joke. Penelope took it quite seriously. My girl's earnestness tickled me. " What on earth should Mr. Franklin know
about it?" I inquired. "Ask him," says Penelope. "And
see whether he thinks it a laughing matter, too.. With that
parting shot my daughter left me.
I settled it with myself, when she was gone, that I really
would ask Mr. Franklin-mainly to set Penelope's mind at
rest. What was said between us, when I did ask him, later
on that same day, you will find set out fully in its proper
place. But as I don't wish to raise your expectations and
then disappoint them, I will take leave to warn you herebefore we go any further-that you won't find the ghost of a
joke in our conversation on the subject of the jugglers. To
my great surprise, Mr. Franklin, like Penelope, took the thing
seriously. How seriously, you will understand, when I tell
you that, in his opinion, "It" meant the Moonstone.
CHAPTER IV.
1 AM truly sorry to detain you over me and my bee-hive
chair. A sleepy old man, in a sunny back-yard, is not an
interesting object, I am well aware. But things must be
put down in their places, as things actually happened-and
you must please to jog on a little while longer with me, in
expectation of Mr. Franklin Blake's arrival later in the day.
Before I had time to doze off again, after my daughter
Penelope had left me, I was disturbed by a rattling of plates
and dishes in the servants' hall, which meant that dinner
was ready. Taking my own meals in my own sitting-room,
I had nothing to do with the servants' dinner, except to
wish them a good stomach to it all round, previous to composing myself once more in my chair. I was just stretching
my legs, when out bounced another woman on me. Not
my daughter again; only Nancy, the kitchen-maid, this
time. I was straight in her way out; and I observed, as
she asked me to let her by, that she had a sulky face-a
thing which, as head of the servants, I never allow, on principle, to pass me without inquiry.




32                  THE MOONSTONE.
" What are you turning your back on your dinner for?" I
asked. "What's wrong now, Nancy?"
Nancy tried to push by without answering; upon which
I rose up, and took her by the ear. She is a nice, plump
young lass, and it is customary with me to adopt that manner of showing that I personally approve of a girl.
" What's wrong now?" I said, once more.
"Rosanna's late again for dinner," says Nancy. "And
I'm sent to fetch her in. All the hard work falls on my
shoulders in this house. Let me alone, Mr. Betteredge!"
The person here mentioned as Rosanna was our second
house-maid. Having a kind of pity for our second housemaid (why, you shall presently know), and seeing in Nancy's
face that she would fetch her fellow-servant in with more
hard words than might be needful under the circumstances,
it struck me that I had nothing particular to do, and that I
might as well fetch Rosanna myself; giving her a hint to
be punctual in future, which I knew she would take kindly
fromn me.
" Where is Rosanna?" I inquired.
"At the sands, of course," says Nancy, with a toss of her
head. "She had another of her fainting fits this morning,
and she asked to go out and get a breath of fresh air. I
have no patience with her."
"Go back to your dinner, my girl," I said. "I have patience with her, and I'll fetch her in."
Nancy (who has a fine appetite) looked pleased. When
she looks pleased she looks nice. When she looks nice, I
ihuck her under the chin. It isn't immorality-it's only
habit.
Well, I took my stick, and set off for the sands.
No! it won't do to set off yet. I am sorry again to detain
you; but you really must hear the story of the sands, and
the story of Rosanna-for this reason, that the matter of the
Diamond touches them both nearly.4 How hard I try to get
on with my statement without stopping by the way, and
how badly I succeed! But, there!-Persons and Things do
turn up so vexatiously in this life, and will in a manner insist on being noticed. Let us take it easy, and let us take
it short; we shall be in the thick of the mystery soon, I
promise you!
Rosanna (to put the Person before the Thing, which is but
common politeness) was the only new servant in our house.
About four months before the time I am writing of my lady
had been in London, and had gone over a Reformatory, intended to save forlorn women from drifting back into bad




THE MOONSTONE.                  33
ways, after they had got released from prison. The matron,
seeing my lady took an interest in the place, pointed out a
girl to her, named Rosanna Spearman, and told her a most
miserable story, Which I haven't the heart to repeat here;
for I don't like to be made wretched without any use, and
ro more do you. The upshot of it was, that Rosanna Spearman had been a thief, and not being of the sort that get up
Companies in the City, and rob fiom thousands, instead of
only robbing from one, the law laid hold of her, and the prison and the reformatory followed the lead of the law. The
matron's opinion of Rosanna was (in spite of what she had
done) that the girl was one in a thousand, and that she only
wanted a chance to prove herself worthy of any Christian
woman's interest in her. My lady (being a Christian woman, if ever there was one yet) said to the matron upon that,
"Rosanna Spearman shall have her chance in my service."
In a week afterward Rosanna Spearman entered this establishment as our second house-maid.
Not a soul was told the girl's story excepting Miss Rachel
and me. My lady, doing me the honor to consult me about
most things, consulted me about Rosanna. Having fallen a
good deal latterly into the late Sir John's way of always
agreeing with my lady, I agreed with her heartily about
Rosanna Spearman.
A fairer chance no girl could have had than was given to
this poor girl of ours. None of the servants could cast her
past life in her teeth, for none of the servants knew what it
had been. She had her wages and her privileges, like the
rest of them; and every now and then a friendly word from
my lady, in private, to encourage her. In return she showed
herself, I am bound to say, well worthy of the kind treatment bestowed upon her. Though far from  strong, and
troubled occasionally with those fainting fits already mentioned, she went about her work modestly and uncomplainingly, doing it carefully and doing it well. But somehow
she failed to make friends among the other women-servants,
excepting my daughter Penelope, who was always kind to
Rosanna, though never intimate with her.
I hardly know what the girl did to offend them. There
was certainly no beauty about her to make the others envious; she was the plainest woman in the house, with the additional misfortune of having one shoulder bigger than the
other. What the servants chiefly resented, I think, was her
silent tongue and her solitary ways. She read or worked in
leisure hours when the rest gossiped. And when it came to
her turn to go out. nine times out of ten she quietly put on




34                  THE MOONSTONE.
her bonnet, and had her turn by herself. She never quarreled, she never took offense; she only kept a certain distance, obstinately and civilly, between the rest of them and
herself. Add to this that, plain as she was, there was just
a dash of something that wasn't like a house-maid, and that
was like a lady, about her. It might have been in her voice,
or it might have been in her face. All I can say is that the
other women pounced on it like lightning the first day she
came into the house, and said (which was most unjust) that
Rosanna Spearman gave herself airs.
Having now told the story of Rosanna, I have only to notice one out of the many queer ways of this strange girl to
get on next to the story of the sands.
Our house is high up on the Yorkshire coast, and close by
the sea. We have got beautiful walks all round us, in every
direction but one. That one I acknowledge to be a horrid
walk. It leads, for a quarter of a mile, through a melancholy
plantation of firs, and brings you out between low cliffs on
the loneliest and ugliest little bay on all our coast.
The sand-hills here run down to the sea, and end in two
spits of rock jutting out opposite each other, till you lose
sight of them in the water. One is called the North Spit,
and one the South.  Between the two, shifting backward
and forward at certain seasons of the year, lies the most
horrible quicksand on the shores of Yorkshire. At the turn
of the tide something goes on in the unknown deeps below,
which sets the whole face of the quicksand quivering and
trembling in a manner most remarkable to see, and which
has given to it, among the people in our parts, the name of
The Shivering Sand. A great bank, half a mile out, nigh the
mouth of the bay, breaks the force of the main ocean coming
in from the offing. Winter and summer, when the tide flows
over the quicksand, the sea seems to leave the waves behind
it on the bank, and rolls its waters in smoothly with a heave,
and covers the sand in silence. A lonesome and a horrid retreat I can tell you! No boat ever ventures into this bay.
No children from our fishing-village, called Cobb's Hole, ever
come here to play. The very birds of the air, as it seems to
me, give the Shivering Sand a wide berth. That a young
woman, with dozens of nice walks to choose from, and company to go with her, if she only said " Come!" should prefer
this place, and should sit and work or read in it, all alone,
when it's her turn out, I grant you, passes belief.  It's true,
nevertheless, account for it as you may, that this was Rosanna Spearman's favorite walk, except when she went once
or twice to Cobb's Hole, to see the only friend she had in our




-— ~ t
THERE SHE WAS ALL ALONE, LOOKING OUT ON THE QUICKSAND AND
THE SEA.








THE MOONSTONE.                  3 
neighborhood-of whom more anon.  It's also true that I
was now setting out for this same place, to fetch the girl in
to dinner, which brings us round happily to our former point,
and starts us fair again on our way to the sands.
I saw no sign of the girl in the plantation. When I got
out, through the sand-hills, on to the beach, there she was, in
her little straw bonnet, and her plain gray cloak that she always wore to hide her deformed shoulder as much as might
be-there she was, all alone, looking out on the quicksand
and the sea.
She started when I came up with her, and turned her head
away from me.  Not looking me in the face being another
of the proceedings which, as head of the servants, I never allow, on principle, to pass without inquiry-I turned her round
my way, and saw that she was crying. My bandana handkerchief-one of six beauties given to me by my lady-was
handy in my pocket. I took it out, and I said to Rosanna,
"Come and sit down, my dear, on the slope of the beach
along with me. I'll dry your eyes for you first, and then
I'll make so bold as to ask what you have been crying
about."
When you come to my age you will find sitting down on
the slope of a beach a much longer job than you think it now.
By the time I was settled, Rosanna had dried her own eyes
with a very inferior handkerchief to mine-a cheap cambric.
She looked very quiet, and very wretched; but she sat down
by me like a good girl, when I told her. When you want to
comfort a woman by the shortest way take her on your knee.
I thought of the golden rule. But there! Rosanna wasn't
Nancy, and that's the truth of it!
"Now tell me, my dear," I said, " what are you crying
about?"
"About the years that are gone, Mr. Betteredge," says
Rosanna, quietly. "My past life still comes back to me
sometimes."
" Come, come, my girl," I said," your past life is all sponged
out. Why can't you forget it?"
She took me by one of the lappets of my coat. I am a
slovenly old man, and a good deal of my meat and drink
gets splashed about on my clothes. Sometimes one of the
women, and sometimes another, cleans me of my grease. The
day before Rosanna had taken out a spot for me on the lappet of my coat with a new composition warranted to remove
any thing. The grease was gone, but there was a little dull
place left on the nap of the cloth where the grease had beenThe girl pointed to that place and shook her head.




38                  THE MOONSTONE.
"The stain is taken off," she said. "But the place shows,
Mr. Betteredge-the place shows!"
A remark which takes a man unawares by means of his
own coat is not an easy remark to answer. Something in
the girl herself; too, made me particularly sorry for her just
then. She had nice brown eyes, plain as she was in other
ways-and she looked at me with a sort of respect for my
happy old age and my good character, as things forever out
of her own reach, which made my heart heavy for our second
house-maid.  Not feeling myself able to comfort her, there
was only one thing to do. That thing was-to take ler in to
dinner.
"Help me up," I said. " You're late for dinner, Rosannaand I have come to fetch you in."
"You, Ir. Betteredge!" says she.
"They told Nancy to fetch you," I said. "But I thought
you might like your scolding better, my dear, if it came fiom
me."
Instead of helping me up, the poor thing stole her hand
into mine, and gave it a little squeeze. She tried hard to
keep from crying again, and succeeded-for which I respected her. "You're very kind, Mr. Betteredge," she said.  "I
don't want any dinner to-day-let me bide a little longer
here."
" What makes you like to be here?" I asked.  "What is
it that brings you everlastingly to this miserable place?"
"Something draws me to it," says the girl, making images
with her finger in the sand. "I try to keep away from it,
and I can't. Sometimes," says she, in a low voice, as if she
was frightened at her own fancy, "sometimes, Mr. Betteredge, I think that my grave is waiting for me here."
"There's roast mutton and suet pudding waiting for you I"
says I. "Go in to dinner directly. This is what comes,
Rosanna, of thinking on an empty stomach!" I spoke severely, being naturally indignant (at my time of life) to hear
a young woman of five-and-twenty talking about her latter
end!
She didn't seem to hear me: she put her hand on my
shoulder, and kept me where I was, sitting by her side.
"I think the place has laid a spell on me," she said. "I
dream of it night after night; I think of it when I sit stitching at my work. You know I am grateful, Mr. Betteredge
-you know I try to deserve your kindness, and my lady's
confidence in me. But I wonder sometimes whether the life
here-is too quiet and too good for such a woman as I am, at
ter all I have gone through, Mr. Betteredge-after all I have




THE MOONSTONE.                    39
gone through. It's more lonely to me to be among the other servants, knowing I am not what they are, than it is to be
here. My lady doesn't know, the matron at the reformatory
doesn't know, what a dreadful reproach honest people are in
themselves to a woman like me. Don't scold me, there's a
dear good man. I do my work, don't I?  Please not to tell
my lady I am discontented-I am not. My mind's unquiet,
sometimes, that's all." She snatched her hand off my shoulder, and suddenly pointed down to the quicksand. "Look!'
she said. " Isn't it wonderful? isn't it terrible? I have seen
it dozens of times, and it's always as new to me as if I had
never seen it before!"
I looked where she pointed. The tide was on the turn,
and the horrid sand began to shiver. The broad brown face
of it heaved slowly, and then dimpled and quivered all over.
" Do you know what it looks like to me?" says Rosanna,
catching me by the shoulder again. "It looks as if it had
hundreds of suffocating people under it-all struggling to
get to the surface, and all sinking lower and lower in the
dreadful deeps! Throw a stone in, Mr. Betteredge! throw
a stone in, and let's see the sand suck it down!"
Here was unwholesome talk! Here was an empty stomach feeding on an unquiet mind! My answer-a pretty
sharp one, in the poor girl's own interests, I promise you!was at my tongue's end, when it was snapped short off on a
sudden by a voice among the sand-hills shouting for me by
my name. "Betteredge!" cries the voice," where are you?"
"Here!" I shouted out in return, without a notion in my
head who it was. Rosanna started to her feet, and stood
looking toward the voice. I was just thinking of getting on
my own legs next, when I was staggered by a sudden change
in the girl's face.
Her complexion turned of a beautiful red, which I had
never seen in it before; she brightened all over with a kind
of speechless and breathless surprise. "Who is it?" I asked.
Rosanna gave me back my own question. "Oh! who is it?"
she said, softly, more to herself than to me. I twisted round
on the sand, and looked behind me. There, coming out on
us from among the hills, was a bright-eyed young gentleman,
dressed in a beautiful fawn-colored suit, with gloves and hat
to match, with a rose in his button-hole, and a smile on his
tfce that might have set the Shivering Sand itself smiling at
him in return. Before I could get on my legs he plumped
down on the sand by the side of me, put his arm round my
neck, foreign fashion, and gave me a hug that fairly squeezed
the breath out of my body. "Dear old Betteredge!" says




40                  THE MOONSTONE.
he. "I owe you seven and sixpence. Now do you know
who I am?"
Lord bless us and save us! Here-four good hours before
we expected him-was Mr. Franklin Blake!
Before I could say a word I saw Mr. Franklin, a little surprised, to all appearance, look up from me to Rosanna. Following his lead, I looked at the girl too. She was blushing
of a deeper red than ever: seemingly at having caught Mr.
Franklin's eye, and she turned and left us suddenly, in a
confusion quite unaccountable to my mind, without either
making her courtesy to the gentleman or saying a word to
me-very unlike her usual self: a civiler and better-behaved
servant, in general, you never met with.
"That's an odd girl," says Mr. Franklin. "I wonder what
she sees in me to surprise her?"
"I suppose, sir," I answered, drolling on our young gentleman's Continental education, "it's the varnish from foreign parts."
I set down here Mr. Franklin's careless question, and my
foolish answer, as a consolation and encouragement to all
stupid people-it being, as I have remarked, a great satisfaction to our inferior fellow-creatures to find that their betters
are, on occasions, no brighter than they are. Neither Mr.
Franklin, with his wonderful foreign training, nor I, with my
age, experience, and natural mother-wit, had the ghost of an
idea of what Rosanna Spearman's unaccountable behavior
really meant. She was out of our thoughts, poor soul, before
we had seen the last flutter of her little gray cloak among
the sand-hills. And what of that? you will ask naturally
enough. Read on, good friend, as patiently as you can, and
perhaps you will be as sorry for Rosanna Spearman as I was,
when I found out the truth.
CHAPTER V.
THE first thing I did, after we were left together alone,
was to make a third attempt to get up from my seat on the
sand. Mr. Franklin stopped me.
"There is one advantage about this horrid place," he said;
" we have got it all to ourselves. Stay where you are, Betteredge; I have something to say to you."
While he was speaking, I was looking at him, and trying
to see something of the boy I remembered in the man before me. The man put me out. Look as I might I could




THE MOONSTONE.                   41
see no more of his boy's rosy cheeks than his boy's trim little jacket. His complexion had got pale: his face, at the
lower part, was covered, to my great surprise and disappointment, with a curly brown beard and mustache. He had a
lively touch-and-go-way with him, very pleasant and engaging, I admit; but nothing to compare with his free-and-easy
manners of other times. To make matters worse, he had
promised to be tall, and had not kept his promise. He was
neat, and slim, and well made; but he wasn't by an inch or
two up to the middle height. In short, he baffled me altogether. The years that had passed had left nothing of his
old self, except the bright, straightforward look in his eyes.
There I found our nice boy again, and there I concluded to
stop IL my investigation.
"Welcome back to the old place, Mr. Franklin," I said.
"All the more welcome, sir, that you have come some hours
before we expected you."
"I have a reason for coming before you expected me," an,
swered Mr. Franklin. "I suspect, Betteredge, that I have
been followed and watched in London for the last three or
four days; and I have traveled by the morning instead of
the afternoon train because I wanted to give a certain dark,
looking stranger the slip."
Those words did more than surprise me. They brought
back to my mind, in a flash, the three jugglers, and Penelope's notion that they meant some mischief to Mr. Franklin
Blake.
" Who's watching you, sir-and why?" I inquired.
"Tell me about the three Indians you have had at the
house to-day," says Mr. Franklin, without noticing my question. "It's just possible, Betteredge, that my stranger and
your three jugglers may turn out to be pieces of the same
puzzle."
"How do you come to know about the jugglers, sir?" I
asked, putting one question on the top of another, which was
bad manners, I own. But you don't expect much from poor
human nature-so don't expect much from me.
" I saw Penelope at the house," says Mr. Franklin; "and
Penelope told me. Your daughter promised to be a pretty
girl, Betteredge, and she has kept her promise. Penelope
has got a small ear and a small foot. Did the late Mrs. Betteredge possess those inestimable advantages?"
"The late Mrs. Betteredge possessed a good many defects,
sir," says I. "One of them (if you will pardon my mentioning
it) was never keeping to the matter in hand. She was more
like a fly than a woman: she couldn't settle on any thing."




42                  THE MOONSTONE.
"She would just have suited me," says Mr. Franklin. "I
never settle on any thing either. Betteredge, your edge is
better than eve4. Your daughter said as much, when I asked for particulars about the jugglers.' Father will tell you,
sir. He's a wonderftil man for his age; and he expresses
himself beautifully.' Penelope's own words-blushing divinely. Not even my respect for you prevented me fromnever mind; I knew her when she was a child, and she's
none the worse for it. Let's be serious. What did the jugglers do?"
I was something dissatisfied with my daughter-not for
letting Mr. Franklin kiss her; Mr. Franklin was welcome to
that-but for forcing me to tell her foolish story at secondhand. However, there was no help for it now but to mention the circumstances. Mr. Franklin's merriment all died
away as I went on. He sat knitting his eyebrows and twisting his beard. When I had done, he repeated after me two
of the questions which the chief juggler had put to the boy
-seemingly for the purpose of fixing them well in his mind.
"' Is it on the road to this house, and on no other, that the
English gentleman will pass by us to-day?''Has the English gentlenan got it about him?' I suspect," says Mr.
Franklin, pulling a little sealed paper parcel out of his pocket, "that'It' means this. And'this,' Betteredge, means
my uncle Herncastle's famous Diamond."
"Good Lord, sir!" I broke out, "how do you come to be
in charge of the wicked Colonel's Diamond?"
"The wicked Colonel's will has left his Diamond as a
birthday present to my cousin Rachel," says Mr. Frank-lin.
"And my father, as the wicked Colonel's executor, has given
it in charge to me to bring down here."
If the sea, then oozing in smoothly over the Shivering
Sand, had been changed into dry land before my own eyes,
I doubt if I could have been more surprised than I was when
Mr. Franklin spoke those words.
"The Colonel's Diamond left to Miss Rachel!" says I.
"And your father, sir, the Colonel's executor! Why, I
would have laid any bet you like, Mr. Franklin, that your
father wouldn't have touched the Colonel with a pair of
tongs!"
"Strong language, Betteredge! What was there against
the Colonel? He belonged to your time, not to mine. Tell
me what you know about him, and I'll tell you how my father came to be his executor, and more besides. I have
made some discoveries in London about my uncle Herncastle
and his Diamond, which have rather an ugly look to my




THE MOONSTONIE.                  43
eyes; and I want you to confirm them. You called him the' wicked Colonel' just now. Search your memory, my old
friend, and tell me why."
I saw he was in earnest, and I told him.
Here follows the substance of what I said, written out entirely for your benefit. Pay attention to it, or you will be
all abroad, when we get deeper into the story. Clear your
mind of the children, or the dinner, or the new bonnet, or
what not. Try if you can't forget politics, horses, prices in
the City, and grievances at the club. I hope you won't take
this freedom on my part amiss; it's only a way I have of
appealing to the gentle reader. Lord! haven't I seen you
with the greatest authors in your hands, and don't I know
how ready your attention is to wander when it's a book that
asks for it, instead of a person?
I spoke, a little way back, of my lady's father,'the old lord
with the short temper and the long tongue. He had five
children in all. Two sons to begin with; then, after a long
time, his wife broke out breeding again, and the three young
ladies came briskly one after the other, as fast as the nature
of things would permit; my mistress, as before mentioned,
being the youngest and best of the three. Of the two sons,
the eldest, Arthur, inherited the title and estates. The second, the Honorable John, got a fine fortune left him by v
relative, and went into the army.
It's an ill bird, they say, that fouls its own nest. I look
on the noble family of the Herncastles as being my nest;
and I shall take it as a favor if I am not expected to enter
into particulars on the subject of the Honorable John. He
was, I honestly believe, one of the greatest blackguards that
ever lived. I can hardly say more or less for him than that.
He went into the army, beginning in the Guards. He had
to leave the Guards before he was two-and-twenty-never
mind why. They are very strict in the army, and they were
too strict for the honorable John. He went out to India to
see whether they were equally strict there, and to try a little
active service. In the matter of bravery (to give him his
due) he was a mixture of bull-dog and game-cock, with a
dash of the savage. He was at the taking of Seringapatam.
Soon afterward he changed into another regiment, and, in
course of time, changed again into a third. In the third he
got his last step as lieutenant-colonel, and, getting that, got
also a sun-stroke, and came home to England.
He came back with a character that closed the doors of
all his family against him, my lady (then just married) tak



44                  THE MOONSTONE.
ing the lead, and declaring (with Sir John's approval, of
course) that her brother should never enter any house of
hers. There was more than one slur on the Colonel that
made people shy of him; but the blot of the Diamond is all
I need mention here.
It was said he had got possession of his Indian jewel by
means which, bold as he was, he didn't dare acknowledge.
He never attempted to sell it-not being in need of money, and not (to give him his due again) making money an
object. He never gave it away; he never even showed it
to any living soul. Some said he was afraid of its getting
him into a difficulty with the military authorities; others
(very ignorant indeed of the real nature of the man) said he
was afraid, if he showed it, of its costing him his life.
There was perhaps a grain of truth mixed up with this
last report. It was false to say that he was afraid; but it
was a fact that his life had been twice threatened in India;
and it was firmly believed that the Diamond was at the bottom of it. When he came back to England, and found himself avoided by every body, the Diamond was thought to be
at the bottom of it again. The mystery of the Colonel's
life got in the Colonel's way, and outlawed him, as you may
say, among his own people. The men wouldn't let him into
their clubs; the women-more than one-whom he wanted
to marry, refused him; friends and relations got too nearsighted to see him in the street.
Some men in this mess would have tried to set themselves
right with the world. But to give in, even when he was
wrong, and had all society against him, was not the way of
the Honorable John. He had kept the Diamond, in flat defiance of assassination, in India. He kept the Diamond, in
flat defiance of public opinion, in England. There you have
the portrait of the man before you, as in a picture: a character that braved every thing; and a face, handsome as it
was, that looked possessed by the devil.
We heard different rumors about him from time to time.
Sometimes they said he was given up to smoking opium, and
collecting old books; sometimes he was reported to be trying strange things in chemistry; sometimes he was seen carousing and amusing himself among the lowest people in the
lowest slums of London. Anyhow, a solitary, vicious, under-ground life was the life the Colonel led. Once, and once
only, after his return to England, I myself saw him, face to
face.
About two years before the time of which I am now writing, and about a year and a half before the time of his death,




THE MOONSTONE.                   45
the Colonel came unexpectedly to my lady's house in Lon,
don. It was the night of Miss Rachel's birthday, the twentyfirst of June; and there was a party in honor of it, as usual.
I received a message from the footman to say that a gentleman wanted to see me.  Going up into the hall, there I
found the Colonel, wasted, and worn, and old, and shabby,
and as wild and as wicked as ever.
"Go up to my sister," says he; "and say that I have called to wish my niece many happy returns of the day."
He had made attempts by letter, more than once already,
to be reconciled with my lady, for no other purpose, I am
firmly persuaded, than to annoy her. But this was the first
time he had actually come to the house. I had it on the tip
of my tongue to say that my mistress had a party that night.
But the devilish look of him daunted me. I went up stairs
with his message, and left him, by his own desire, waiting in
the hall. The servants stood staring at him, at a distance,
as if he was a walking engine of destruction, loaded with
powder and shot, and likely to go off among them at a moment's notice.
My lady has a dash-no more-of the family temper.
"Tell Colonel Herncastle," she said, when I gave her her
brother's message," that Miss Verinder is engaged, and that
Idecline to see him." I tried to plead for a civiler answer
than that: knowing the Colonel's constitutional superiority
to the restraints which govern gentlemen in general. Quite
useless!  The family temper flashed out at me directly.
"When I want your advice," says my lady, "you know that
Lalways ask for it. I don't ask for it now."  I went down
stairs with the message, of which I took the liberty of presenting a new and amended edition of my own contriving,
as follows: "My lady and Miss Rachel regret that they are
engaged, Colonel; and beg to be excused having the honor
of seeing you."
I expected him to break out, even at that polite way of
putting it. To my surprise he did nothing of the sort; he
alarmed me by taking the thing with an unnatural quiet.
His eyes, of a glittering bright gray, just settled on me for a
moment; and he laughed, not out of himself, like other people, but into himself, in a soft, chuckling, horridly mischievous way. "Thank you, Betteredge," he said. "I shall remember my niece's birthday." With that, he turned on his
heel, and walked out of the house.
The next birthday came round, and we heard he was ill in
bed. Six months afterward-that is to say, six months before the time I am now writing of-there came a letter from




46                 THE MOONS'ltONE.
a highly respectable clergyman to my lady. It communi
cated two wonderful things in the way of family news.
First, that the Colonel had forgiven his sister on his deathbed. Second, that he had forgiven every body else, and had
made a most edifying end. I have myself (in spite of the
bishops and the clergy) an unfeigned respect for the Church;
but I am firmly persuaded, at the same time, that the devil
remained in undisturbed possession of the Honorable John,
and that the last abominable act in the life of that abominable man was (saving your presence) to take the clergyman in!
This was the sum total of what I had to tell Mr. Franklin.
I remarked that he listened more and more eagerly the longer I went on. Also, that the story of the Colonel being sent
away from his sister's door, on the occasion of his niece's
birthday, seemed to strike Mr. Franklin like a shot that had
hit the mark. Though he didn't acknowledge it, I saw that
I had made him uneasy, plainly enough, in his face.
"You have said your say, Betteredge," he remarked.
"It's my turn now. Before, however, I tell you what discoveries I have made in London, and how I came to be
mixed up in this matter of the Diamond, I want to know one
thing. You look, my old friend, as if you didn't quite understand the object to be answered by this consultation of
ours. Do your looks belie you?"
"No, sir," I said.  "My looks, on this occasion at any
rate, tell the truth."
" In that case," says Mr. Franklin, " suppose I put you up
to my point of view before we go any further. I see three
very serious questions involved in the Colonel's birthdaygift to my cousin Rachel. Follow me carefully, Betteredge;
and count me off on your fingers, if it will help you," says
Mr. Franklin, with a certain pleasure in showing how clearheaded he could be, which reminded me wonderfully of old
times when he was a boy. "Question the first: Was the
Colonel's Diamond the object of a conspiracy in India?
Question the second: Has the conspiracy followed the Colonel's Diamond to England? Question the third: Did the
Colonel know the conspiracy followed the Diamond; and
has he purposely left a legacy of trouble and danger to his
sister, through the innocent medium of his sister's child?
That is what I am driving at, Betteredge. Don't let me
frighten you."
It was all very well to say that, but he had frightened me.
If he was right, here was our quiet English house suddenly invaded by a devilish Indian diamond-bringing after it




THE MOONSTONE.                   47
a conspiracy of living rogues, set loose on us by the vengeance of a dead man. There was our situation, as revealed
to me in Mr. Franklin's last words! Who ever heard the
like of it-in the nineteenth century, mind; in an age of
progress, and in a country which rejoices in the blessings of
the British constitution? Nobody ever heard the like of it,
and, consequently, nobody can be expected to believe it. I
shall go on with my story, however, in spite of that.
When you get a sudden alarm, of the sort that I had got
now, nine times out of ten the place you feel it in is your
stomach. When you feel it in your stomach your attention
wanders, and you begin to fidget. I fidgeted silently in my
place on the sand. Mr. Franklin noticed me, contending
with a perturbed stomach, or mind, which you please-they
mean the same thing-and, checking himself just as he was
starting with his part of the story, said to me, sharply,
"What do you want?"
What did I want? I didn't tell him; but I'll tell you, in
confidence. I wanted a whiff of my pipe, and a turn at Robinson Crusoe.
CHAPTER VL
KEEPING my private sentiments to myself, I respectfully
requested Mr. Franklin to go on. Mr. Franklin replied,
"Don't fidget, Betteredge," and went on.
Our young gentleman's first words informed me that his
discoveries, concerning the wicked Colonel and the Diamond,
had begun with a visit which he had paid (before he came
to us) to his father's lawyer at Hampstead. A chance word
dropped by Mr. Franklin, when the two were alone, one day,
after dinner, revealed that he had been charged by his f:ather with a birthday present to be taken to Miss Rachel.
One thing led to another; and it ended in the lawyer mentioning what the present really was, and how the friendly
connection between the late Colonel and Mr. Blake, Senior,
had taken its rise. The facts here are really so extraordinary that I doubt if I can trust my own language to do justice to them. I prefer trying to report Mr. Franklin's discoveries, as nearly as may be, in Mr. Franklin's own words.
"You remember the time, Betteredge," he said, "when
my father was trying to prove his title to that unlucky
Dukedom? Well! that was also the time when my uncle
Herncastle returned from India. My father discovered that




48                  THE MOONSTONE.
his brother-in-law was in possession of certain papers which
were likely to be of service to him in his lawsuit. He called
on the Colonel, on pretense of welcoming him;ic' to England. The Colonel was not to be deluded in that way.'You want something,' he said,'or you would never have
compromised your reputation by calling on me.' My father
saw the one chance for him was to show his hand: he admitted at once that he wanted the papers. The Colonel
asked for a day to consider his answer. His answer came
in the shape of a most extraordinary letter, which my fiiend
the lawyer showed me. The Colonel began by saying that
he wanted something of my father, and that he begged to
propose an exchange of friendly services between them.
The fortune of war (that was the expression he used) had
placed him in possession of one of the largest Diamonds in
the world; and he had reason to believe that neither he nor
his precious jewel was safe in any house, in any quarter of
the globe, which they occupied together. Under these alarming circumstances he had determined to place his Diamond
in the keeping of another person. That person was not expected to run any risk. He might deposit the precious stone
in any place especially guarded and set apart-like a banker's or jeweler's strong-room-for the safe custody of valuables of high price. His main personal responsibility in the
matter was to be of the passive kind. He was to undertake
-either by himself, or by a trustworthy representative-to
receive at a pre-arranged address, on certain pre-arranged
days in every year, a note fiom the Colonel, simply stating
the fact that he was a living man at that date. In the event
of the date passing over without the note being received,
the Colonel's silence might be taken as a sure token of the
Colonel's death by murder. In that case, and in no other,
certain sealed instructions relating to the disposal of the
Diamond, and deposited with it, were to be opened, and followed implicitly. If my father chose to accept this strange
charge, the Colonel's papers were at his disposal in return.
That was the letter."
"What did your father do, sir?" I asked.
"Do?" says Mr. Franklin. "I'll tell you what he did.
He brought the invaluable faculty called common sense to
bear on the Colonel's letter. The whole thing, he declared,
was simply absurd. Somewhere in his Indian wanderings
the Colonel had picked up with some wretched crystal
which he took for a diamond. As for the danger of his being murdered, and the precautions devised to preserve his
life and his piece of crystal, this was the nineteenth century,




THE MOONSTONE.                     49
and any man in his senses had only to apply to the police.
The Colonel had been a notorious opium-eater for years
past; and, if the only way of getting at the valuable papers
he possessed was by accepting a matter of opium as a mat.
ter of fact, my father was quite willing to take the ridiculous responsibility imposed upon him-all the more readily
that it involved no trouble to himself. The Diamond and
the sealed instructions went into his banker's strong-room,
and the Colonel's letters, periodically reporting him a living
man, were received and opened by the lawyer, as my father's
representative.  No sensible person, in a similar position,
could have viewed the matter in any other way.  Nothing
in this world, Betteredge, is probable unless it appeals to
our own trumpery experience; and we only believe in a romance when we see it in a newspaper."
It was plain to me from this, that Mr. Franklin thought
his father's notion about the Colonel hasty and wrong.
" What is your own private opinion about the matter, sir?"
I asked.
"Let's finish the story of the Colonel first," says Mr.
Franklin.  " There is a curious want of system, Betteredge,
in the English mind; and your question, my old friend, is an
instance of it. When we are not occupied in making machinery, we are (mentally speaking) the most slovenly people in the universe."
"So much," I thouglt to myself, " for a foreign education!
He has learned that way of girding at us in France, I suppose."
Mr. Franklin took up the lost thread, and went on.
"My father," he said, "got the papers he wanted, and
never saw his brother-in-law again, from that time.  Year
after year, on the pre-arranged days, the pre-arranged letter
came from the Colonel, and was opened by the lawyer.  I
have seen the letters, in a heap, all of them written in the
same brief, business-like form  of words:'Sir, —This is to
certify that I am still a living man. Let the Diamond be.
John Herncastle.' That was all he ever wrote, and that
came regularly to the day; until some six or eight months
since, when the form of the letter varied for the first time.
It ran now:'Sir,-They tell me I am dying.  Come to me,
and help me to make my will.' The lawyer went, and found
him, in the little suburban villa, surrounded by its own
grounds, in which he had lived alone ever since he had left
India.  He had dogs, cats, and birds to keep him company;
but no human being near him, except the person who came
daily to do the housework, and the doctor at the bedside.




50                  THE MOONSTONE.
The will was a very simple matter. The Colonel had dissipated the greater part of his fortune in his chemical investigations. His will began and ended in three clauses, which
he dictated from his bed, in perfect possession of his faculties. The first clause provided for the safe-keeping and support of his animals. The second founded a professorship of
experimental chemistry at a northern university. The third
bequeathed the Moonstone as a birthday present to his niece,
on condition that my father would act as executor. My father at first refused to act. On second thoughts, however,
he gave way, partly because he was assured that the executorship would involve him in no trouble; partly because the
lawyer suggested, in Rachel's interest, that the Diamond
might be worth something, after all."
" Did the Colonel give any reason, sir," I inquired, " why
he left the Diamond to Miss Rachel?"
"He not only gave the reason-he had the reason written
in his will," said Mr. Franklin. "I have got an extract,
which you shall see presently.  Don't be slovenly-minded,
Betteredge! One thing at a time. You have heard about
the Colonel's Will; now you must hear what happened after
the Colonel's death. It was formally necessary to have the
Diamond valued, before the Will could be proved. All the
jewelers consulted, at once confirmed the Colonel's assertion
that he possessed one of the largest diamonds in the world.
The question of accurately valuing it presented some serious
difficulties. Its size made it a phenomenon in the diamondmarket; its color placed it in a category by itself; and, to
add to these elements of uncertainty, there was a defect, in
the shape of a flaw, in the very heart of the stone. Even
with this last serious drawback, however, the lowest of the
various estimates given was twenty thousand pounds..Conceive my father's astonishment! He had been within a
hair's-breadth of refusing to act as executor, and of allowing
this magnificent jewel to be lost to the family. The interest he took in the matter now induced him to open the sealed
instructions which had been deposited with the Diamond.
The lawyer showed this document to me, with the other
papers; and it suggests (to my mind) a clue to the nature
of the conspiracy which threatened the Colonel's life."
"Then you do believe, sir," I said, " that there was a conspiracy?"
" Not possessing my father's excellent common sense," answered Mr. Franklin, "I believe the Colonel's life was threatened, exactly as the Colonel said. The sealed instructions,
as I think, explain how it was that he died.,fter all, quietly




THE MOONSTONE.
in his bed. In the event of his death by violence (that is
say, in the absence of the regular letter from him at the al
pointed date), my father was then directed to send the Moonstone secretly to Amsterdam. It was to be deposited in
that city with a famous diamond-cutter, and it was to be
cut up into from four to six separate stones. The stones
were then to be sold for what they would fetch, and the proceeds were to be applied to the founding of that professorship of experimental chemistry which the Colonel has since
endowed by his Will. Now, Betteredge, exert those sharp
wits of yours, and observe the conclusion to which the Colonel's instructions point!"
I instantly exerted my wits. They were of the slovenly
English sort; and they consequently muddled it all until
Mr. Franklin took them in hand, and pointed out what they
ought to see.
"Remark," says Mr. Franklin, "that the integrity of the
Diamond, as a whole stone, is here artfully made dependent
on the preservation from violence of the Colonel's life. He
is not satisfied with saying to the enemies he dreads,' Kill
me-and you will be no nearer to the Diamond than you are
now; it is where you can't get at it-in the guarded strongroom of a bank.' He says instead,' Kill me-and the Diamond will be the Diamond no longer; its identity will be
destroyed.' What does that mean?"
Here I had (as I thought) a flash of the wonderful foreign
brightness.
"I know!" I said. " It means lowering the value of the
stone, and cheating the rogues in that way!"
"Nothing of the sort," says Mr. Franklin. "I have inquired about that. The flawed Diamond, cut up, would actually fetch more than the Diamond as it now is; for this
plain reason-that fiom foul to six perfect brilliants might
be cut from it, which would be, collectively, worth more
money than the large-but imperfect-single stone. If robbery for the purpose of gain was at the bottom of the conspiracy, the Colonel's instructions absolutely made the Diamond better worth stealing. More money could have been
got for it, and the disposal of it in the diamond-market would
have been infinitely easier, if it had passed through the hands
of the workmen of Amsterdam."
"Lord bless us, sir!" I burst out. "What was the plot
then?"
"A plot organized among the Indians who originally owned the jewel," says Mr. Franklin-" a plot with some old Hinsuperstition at the bottom of it. That is my opinion,




THE MOONSTONE..firmed by a family paper which I have about me at this
oment."
I saw now why the appearance of the three Indian jugglers
at our house had presented itself to Mr. Franklin in the light
of a circumstance worth noting.
" I don't want to force my opinion on you," Mr. Franklin
went on. "The idea of certain chosen servants of an old
Hindoo superstition devoting themselves, through all difficul
ties and dangers, to watching the opportunity of recovering
their sacred gem, appears to me to be perfectly consistent
with every thing that we know of the patience of Oriental
races, and the influence of Oriental religions. But then I
am an imaginative man; and the butcher, the baker, and the
tax-gatherer are not the only credible realities in. existence
to my mind. Let the guess I have made at the truth in this
matter go for what it is worth, and let us get on to the only
practical question that concerns us. Does the conspiracy
against the Moonstone survive the Colonel's death?  And
did the Colonel know it, when he left the birthday gift to
his niece?"
I began to see my lady and Miss Rachel at the end of it
all, now. Now a word he said escaped me.
"I was not very willing, when I discovered the story of
the Moonstone," said Mr. Franklin, "to be the means of
bringing it here. But my friend, the lawyer, reminded me
that somebody must put my cousin's legacy into my cousin's
hands-and that I might as well do it as any body else.
After taking the Diamond out of the bank, I fancied I was
followed in the streets by a shabby, dark-complexioned man.
I went to my father's house to pick up my luggage, and
Tound a letter there, which unexpectedly detained me in London. I went back to the bank with the'Diamond, and
thought I saw the shabby man again. Taking the Diamond
once more out of the bank this morning, I saw the man for
the third time, gave him the slip, and started (before he recovered the trace of me) by the morning instead of the afternoon train. Here I am, with the Diamond safe and soundand what is the first news that meets me? I find that three
strolling Indians have been at the house, and that my arrival
from London, and something which I am expected to have
about me, are two special objects of investigat'on to them
when they believe themselves to be alone. I don't waste
time and words on their pouring the ink into the boy's hand.
and telling him to look in it for a man at a distance, and fox
something in that man's pocket. The thing (which I havy
often seen done in the East) is'hocus-pocus' in my opi,




THE MOONSTONE.                    53
as it is in yours. The present question for us to decide is
whether I am wrongly attaching a meaning to a mere accident? or whether we really have evidence of the Indians being on the track of the Moonstone, the moment it is removed
fiom the safe-keeping of the bank?"
Neither he nor I seemed to fancy dealing with this part
of the inquiry. We looked at each other, and then we looked at the tide, oozing in smoothly, higher and higher, over
the Shivering Sand.
"What are you thinking of?" says Mr. Franklin, suddenly.
"I was thinking, sir," I answered, "that I should like to
shy the Diamond into the quicksand, and settle the question
in that way."
" If you have got the value of the stone in your pocket,"
answered Mr. Franklin, "say so, Betteredge, and in it goes!"
It's curious to note, when your mind's anxious, how very
far in the way of relief a very small joke will go. We found
a fund of merriment, at the time, in the notion of making
away with Miss Rachel's lawful property, and getting Mr.
Blake, as executor, into dreadful trouble-though where the
merriment was I am quite at a loss to discover now.
Mr. Franklin was the first to bring the talk back to the
talk's proper purpose. He took an envelope out of his pocket, opened it, and handed to me the paper inside.
" Betteredge," he said, " we must face the question of the
Colonel's motive in leaving this legacy to his niece for my
aunt's sake.  Bear in mind how Lady Verinder treated her
brother from the time when he returned to England, to the
time when he told you he should remember his niece's birthday. And read that."
He gave me the extract fiom the Colonel's Will. I have
got it by me while I write these words; and I copy it, as follows, for your benefit:
"Thirdly, and lastly, I give and bequeath to my niece,
Rachel Verinder, daughter and only child of my sister, Julia
Verinder, widow, the yellow Diamond belonging to me, and
known in the East by the name of The Moonstone-subject
to this condition, that her mother, the said Julia Verinder,
shall be living at the time. And I hereby desire my executor, in that event, to give my Diamond, either by his own
hands or by the hands of some trustworthy representative
whom he sWall appoint, into the personal possession of my
said niece Rachel, on her next birthday after my death, and
in the presence of my sister, the said Julia Verinder. And
furthermore, I desire also that my sister, as aforesaid, may be
informed, by means of a true copy of this, the third and last




54                  THE MOONSTONE.
clause of my Will, that I give the Diamond to her daughter
Rachel, in token of my free forgiveness of the injury which
her conduct toward me has been the means of inflicting on
my reputation in my lifetime; and especially in proof that I
pardon, as becomes a dying man, the insult offered to me as
an officer and a gentleman, when her servant, by her orders,
closed the door of her house against me, on the occasion of
her daughter's birthday."
More words followed these, providing, if my lady was
dead, or if Miss Rachel was dead, at the time of the testator's decease, for the Diamond being sent to Holland, in accordance with the sealed instructions originally deposited
with it. The proceeds of the sale were, in that case, to be
added to the money already left by the Will for the professorship of chemistry at the university in the north.
I handed the paper back to Mr. Franklin, sorely troubled
what to say to him. Up to that moment my own opinion
had been (as you know) that the Colonel had died as wickedly as he had lived. I don't say the copy from his Will
actually converted me from that opinion: I only say it staggered me.
"Well," says Mr. Franklin, "now you have read the Colonel's own statement, what do you say?  In bringing the
Moonstone to my aunt's house, am I serving his vengeance
blindfold, or am I vindicating him in the character of a penitent and Christian man?"
" It seems hard to say, sir," I answered, " that he died with
a horrid revenge in his heart, and a horrid lie on his lips.
God alone knows the truth. Don't ask me."
Mr. Franklin sat twisting and turning the extract from the
Will in his fingers, as if he expected to squeeze the truth out
of it in that manner. He altered quite remarkably at the
same time. From being brisk and bright, he now became,
most unaccountably, a slow, solemn, and pondering young
man.
"This question has two sides," he said. "An Objective
side, and a Subjective side. Which are we to take?"
He had had a German education as well as a French. One
of the two had been in undisturbed possession of him (as I
supposed) up to this time. And now (as well as I could
make out) the other was taking its place. It is one of my
rules in life never to notice what I don't understand. I
steered a middle course between the Objective side and the
Subjective side. In plain English, I stared hard and said
nothing.
" Let's extract the inner meaning of this," says Mr. Frank



THE MOONSTONE.                   55
lin. "Why did my uncle leave the Diamond to Rachel?
Why didn't he leave it to my aunt?"
"That's not beyond guessing, sir, at any rate," I said.
"Colonel Hernmastle knew my lady well enough to know
that she would refuse to accept any legacy that came to her
from him."
"  ow did he know that Rachel might not refuse to accept it, too?"
"Is there any young lady in existence, sir, who could resist the temptation of accepting such a birthday present as
The Moonstone?"
" That's the Subjective view," says Mr. Franklin. "It does
you great credit, Betteredge, to be able to take the Subjective view. But there's another mystery about the Colonel's
legacy which is not accounted for yet.  How are we to explain his only giving Rachel her birthday present conditionally on her mother being alive?"
"I don't want to slander a dead man, sir," I answered.
" But if he has purposely left a legacy of trouble and danger
to his sister, by the means of her child, it must be a legacy
made conditional on his sister's being alive to feel the vexation of it."
"Oh! That's your interpretation of his motive, is it? The
Subjective interpretation again!  Have you ever been in
Germany, Betteredge?"
"No, sir. What's your interpretation, if you please?"
" Ican see," says Mr. Franklin, "that the Colonel's object
may, quite possibly, have been —not to benefit his niece,
whom he had never even seen-but to prove to his sister
that he had died forgiving her, and to prove it very prettily
by means of a present made to her child. There is a totally
different explanation from yours, Betteredge, taking its rise
in a Subjective-Objective point of view. From all I can see,
one interpretation is just as likely to be right as the other."
Having brought matters to this pleasant and comforting
issue, Mr. Franklin appeared to think that he had completed
all that was required of him. He laid down flat on his back
on the sand, and asked what was to be done next.
He had been so clever and clear-headed (before he began
to talk the foreign gibberish), and had so completely taken
the lead in the business up to the present time, that I was
quite unprepared for such a sudden change as he now exhibited in this helpless leaning upon me. It was not till later
that I learned-by assistance of Miss Rachel, who was the
first to make the discovery-that these puzzling shifts and
transformations in Mr. Franklin were due to the effect on




56                  THE MOONSTONE.
him of his foreign training. At the age when we are all of
us most apt to take our coloring, in the form of a reflection
from the coloring of other people, he had been sent abroad,
and had been passed on, from one nation to another, befbre
there was time for any one coloring more than another to
settle itself on him firmly. As a consequence of this, he had
come back with so many different sides to his character, all
more or less unfinished, and all more or less jarring with each
other, that he seemed to pass his life in a state of perpetual
contradiction with himself. He could be a busy man, and a
lazy man; cloudy in the head, and clear in the head; a model
of determination, and a spectacle of helplessness, all together.
He had his French side, and his German side, and his Italian
side-the original English foundation showing through, every now and then, as much as to say,"Here I am, sorely
transmogrified, as you see, but there's something of me left
at the bottom of him still."  Miss Rachel used to remark
that the Italian side of him was uppermost on those occasions
when he unexpectedly gave in and asked you, in his nice,
sweet-tempered way, to take his own responsibilities on your
shoulders. You will do him no injustice, I think, if you conclude that the Italian side of him was uppermost now.
"Isn't it vour business, sir," I asked, "to know what to do
next? Surely it can't be mine!"
Mr. Franklin did not appear to see the force of my question-not being in a position at the time to see any thing
but the sky over his head.
" I don't want to alarm my aunt without reason," he said.
"And I don't want to leave her without what may be a
needful warning. If you were in my place, Betteredge, tell
me, in one word, what would you do?"
In one word I told him: "Wait."
" With all my heart," says Mr. Franklin.  "How long?"
I proceeded to explain myself.
"As I understand it, sir," I said, "somebody is bound to
put this plaguy Diamond into Miss Rachel's hands on her
birthday-and you may as well do it as another. Very
good. This is the twenty-fifth of May, and the birthday is
on the twenty-first of June.  We have.got close on four
weeks before us. Let's wait and see what happens in that
time; and let's warn my lady or not, as the circumstances
direct us."
"Perfect, Betteredge, as far as it goes!" says Mr. Franklin. "But, between this and the birthday, what's to be done
with the Diamond?"
" What your father did with it, to be sure, sir!" I answer



THE MOONSTONE.                   5s
ed. "Your father put it in the safe-keeping of a bank in
London. You put it in the safe-keeping of the bank at Frizinghall."  (Frizinghall was our nearest town, and the Bank
of England wasn't safer than the bank there.) "If I were
you, sir," I added, "I would ride straight away with it to
Frizinghall before the ladies come back."
The prospect of doing something-and, what is more, of
doing that something on a hors( -brought Mr. Franklin up
like lightning from the flat of his' ack. He sprang to his feet,
and pulled me up, without ceremony, on to mine. "Betteredge, you are worth your weight in gold," he said. "Come
along, and saddle the best horse in the stables directly!"
Here (God bless it!) was the original English foundation
of him showing through all the foreign varnish at last!
Here was the Master Franklin I remembered, coming out
again in the good old way at the prospect of a ride, and reminding me of the good old times! Saddle a horse for him!
I would have saddled a dozen horses if he could only have
ridden them all!
We went back to the house in a hurry; we had the fleetest horse in the stables saddled in a hurry; and Mr. Franklin
rattled off in a hurry, to lodge the cursed Diamond once
more in the strong-room of a bank. When I heard the last
of his horse's hoofs on the drive, and when I turned about in
the yard and found I was alone again, I felt half inclined to
ask myself if I hadn't woke up from a dream.
CHAPTER VII.
WHILE I was in this bewildered frame of mind, sorely
needing a little quiet time by myself to put me right again,
my daughter Penelope got in my way (just as her late
mother used to get in my way on the stairs), and instantly
summoned me to tell her all that had passed at the conferelce between Mr. Franklin and me. Under present circumstances, the one thing to be done was to clap the extinguisher upon Penelope's curiosity on the spot. I accordingly replied that Mr. Franklin and I had both talked of foreign politics till we could talk no longer, and had then mutually fallen asleep in the heat of the sun. Try that sort of answer
when your wife or your daughter next worries you with an
awkward question at an awkward time, and depend on the
natural sweetness of women for kissing and making it up
again at the next opportunity.




58                 THE MOONSTONE.
The afternoon wore on, and my lady and Miss Rache
came back.
Needless to say how astonished they were when they
heard that Mr. Franklin Blake had arrived, and had gone
off again on horseback. Needless also to say, that they asked
awkward questions directly, and that the "foreign politics"
and the "falling asleep in the sun" wouldn't serve a second
time over with them. Being at the end of my invention, I
said Mr. Franklin's arrival by the early train was entirely
attributable to one of Mr. Franklin's freaks. Being asked,
upon that, whether his galloping off again on horseback was
another of Mr. Franklin's freaks, I said, "Yes, it was;" and
slipped out of it-I think very cleverly-in that way.
Having got over my difficulties with the ladies, I found
more difficulties waiting for me when I went back to my
own room. In came Penelope-with the natural sweetness
of women-to kiss and make it up again; and-with the
natural curiosity of women-to ask another question. This
time, she only wanted me to tell her what was the matter
with our second house-maid, Rosanna Spearman.
After leaving Mr. Franklin and me at the Shivering Sand,
Rosanna, it appeared, had returned to the house in a very
unaccountable state of mind. She had turned (if Penelope
was to be believed) all the colors of the rainbow. She had
been merry without reason, and sad without reason. In one
breath she had asked hundreds of questions about Mr.
Franklin Blake, and in another breath she had been angry
with Penelope for presuming to suppose that a strange gentleman could possess any interest for her. She had been
surprised smiling, and scribbling Mr. Franklin's name inside
her work-box. She had been surprised again crying, and
looking at her deformed shoulder in the glass. Had she and
Mr. Franklin known any thing of each other before to-day?
Quite impossible! Had they heard any thing of each other?
Impossible again! I could speak to Mr. Franklin's astonishment as genuine, when he saw how the girl stared at him.
Penelope could speak to the girl's inquisitiveness as genuine,
when she asked the questions about Mr. Franklin. The conference between us, conducted in this way, was tiresome
enough, until my daughter suddenly ended it by bursting
out with what I thought the most monstrous supposition I
had ever heard in my life.
"Father!" says Penelope, quite seriously, "there's only
one explanation of it. Rosanna had fallen in love with Mr.
Franklin Blake at first sight!"
You have heard of beautiful young ladies falling in love




THE MOONSTONE.                   59
sight, and have thought it natural enough. But a
iaid out of a Reformatory, with a plain face and a
led shoulder, falling in love, at first sight, with a genan who comes on a visit to her mistress's house, match
that, in the way of an absurdity, out of any story-book
in Christendom, if you can! I laughed till the tears rolled
down my cheeks. Penelope resented my merriment in rather a strange way. "I never knew you cruel before, father,"
she said, very gently, and went out.
My girl's words fell on me like a splash of cold water. 1
was savage with myself, for feeling uneasy in myself the moment she had spoken them-but so it was. We will change
the subject,'if you please. I am sorry I drifted into writing
about it, and not without reason, as you will see when we
have gone on together a little longer.
The evening came, and the dressing-bell for dinner rang,
before Mr. Franklin returned from Frizinghall. I took his
hot water up to his room myself, expecting to hear, after this
extraordinary delay, that something had happened. To my
great disappointment (and no doubt to yours also), nothing
had happened. He had not met with the Indians, either going or returning. He had deposited the Moonstone in the
bank-describing it merely as a valuable of great price-and
he had got the receipt for it safe in his pocket. I went down
stairs, feeling that this was rather a flat ending, after all our
excitement about the Diamond earlier in the day.
How the meeting between Mr. Franklin and his aunt and
cousin went off is more than I can tell you.
I would have given something to have waited at table
that day. But in my position in the household, waiting at
dinner (except on high family festivals) was letting down my
dignity in the eyes of the other servants-a thing which my
lady considered me quite prone enough to do already without seeking occasions for it. The news brought to me from
the upper regions that evening came from Penelope and the
footman. Penelope mentioned that she had never known
Miss Rachel so particular about the dressing of her hair, and
had never seen her look so bright and pretty as she did when
she went down to meet Mr. Franklin in the drawing-room.
The footman's report was, that the preservation of a respectful composure in the presence of his betters, and the waiting
on Mr. Franklin Blake at dinner, were two of the hardest
things to reconcile with each other that had ever tried his
training in service. Later in the evening we heard them
singing and playing duets, Mr. Franklin piping high, Miss




60                  THE MOONSTONE.
Rachel piping higher, and my lady, on the piano, fo
them, as it were, over hedge and ditch, and seeing th
through in a manner most wonderful and pleasant
through the open windows, on the terrace at nigbt.
still, f went to Mr. Franklin in the smoking-roor4, wito
soda-water and brandy, and found that Miss Rachel had pu
the Diamond clean out of his head. "She's the most charming girl I have seen since I came back to England!" was all
I could extract from him, when I endeavored to lead the
conversation to more serious things.
Toward midnight I went round the house to lock up, accompanied by my second in command (Samuel, the footman),
as usual. When all doors were made fast, except the sidedoor that opened on the terrace, I sent Samuel to bed, and
stepped out for a breath of fresh air before I too went to bed
in my turn.
The night was still and close, and the moon was at the full
in the heavens. It was so silent out-of-doors, that I heard
from time to time, very faint and low, the fall of the sea, as
the ground-swell heaved it in on the sand-bank near the
mouth of our little bay. As the house stood, the terrace
side was the dark side; but the broad moonlight showed
fair on the gravel-walk that ran along the next side to the
terrace. Looking this way, after looking up at the sky, I
saw the shadow of a person in the moonlight thrown forward
from behind the corner of the house.
Being old and sly, I forbore to call out; but being also,
unfortunately, old and heavy, my feet betrayed me on the
gravel. Before I could steal suddenly round the corner, as I
had proposed, I heard lighter feet than mine-and more than
one pair of them, as I thought-retreating in a hurry. By
the time I had got to the corner, the trespassers, whoever
they were, had run into the shrubbery at the off-side of the
walk, and were hidden fiom sight among the thick trees and
bushes in that part of the grounds. From the shrubbery
they could easily make their way over our fence into the
road. If I had been forty years younger I might have bad
a chance of catching them before they got clear of our premises. As it was, I went back to set agoing a younger pair
of legs than mine. Without disturbing any body, Samuel
and I got a couple of guns and went all round the house and
through the shrubbery. Having made sure that no persons
were lurking about anywhere in our grounds, we turned
back. Passing over the walk where I had seen the shadow,
I now noticed, for the first time, a little bright object, lying
on the clean gravel, under the light of the moon. Picking




THE MOONSTONE1.                  61
the object up, I discovered that it was a small bottle, containing a tlick, sweet-smeling liquor, as black as ink.
I said nothing to Sanmuel. But, remembering what Penelope had told me about the jugglers, and the pouring of the
little pool of ink into the palm of the boy's hand, I instantly suspected that I had disturbed the three Indians, lurking
about the house, and bent, in their heathenish way, on discovering the whereabouts of the Diamond that night.
CHAPTER VIIL
HERE, for one moment, I find it necessary to call a halt.
On summoning up my own recollections-and on getting
Penelope to help me, by consulting her journal-I find that
we may pass pretty rapidly over the interval between Mr.
Franklin Blake's arrival and Miss Rachel's birthday. For
the greater part of that time the days passed, and brought
nothing with them worth recording. With your good leave
then, and with Penelope's help, I shall notice certain dates
only in this place, reserving to myself to tell the story day
by day, once more, as soon as we get to the time when the
business of the Moonstone became the chief business of every
body in our house.
This said, we may now go on again-beginning, of course,
with the bottle of sweet-smelling ink which I found on the
gravel-walk at night.
On the next morning (the morning of the twenty-sixth) I
showed Mr. Franklin this article of jugglery, and told him
what I have already told you. His opinion was, not only
that the Indians had been lurking about after the Diamond,
but also that they were actually foolish enough to believe
in their own magic-meaning thereby the making of signs
on a boy's head, and the pouring of ink into a boy's hand,
and then expecting him to see persons and things beyond
the reach of human vision.  In our country, as well as in
the East, Mr. Franklin informed me, there are people who
practice this curious hocus-pocus (without the ink, however);
and who call it by a French name, signifying something like
brightness of sight. "Depend upon it," says Mr. Franklin,
"the Indians took it for granted that we should keep the
Diamond here; and they brought their clairvoyant boy to
show them the way to it, if they succeeded in getting into
the house-last night."
"Do you think they'll try again, sir?" I asked.




62                  THE MOONSTONE.
"It depends," says Mr. Franklin, "on what the boy can
really do. If he can see the Diamond through the iron safe
of the bank at Frizinghall, we shall be troubled with no
more visits from the Indians for the present. If he can't,
we shall have another chance of catching them in the shrubbery before many more nights are over our heads."
I waited pretty confidently for that latter chance; but,
strange to relate, it never came.
Whether the jugglers heard, in the town, of Mr. Franklin
having been seen at the bank, and drew their conclusions
accordingly; or whether the boy really did see the Diamond
where the Diamond was now lodged (which I, for one, flatly
disbelieve); or whether, after all, it was a mere effect of
chance, this, at any rate, is the plain truth-not the ghost
of an Indian came near the house again, through the weeks
that passed before Miss Rachel's birthday. The jugglers remained in and about the town plying their trade; and Mr.
Franklin and I remained waiting to see what might happen,
and resolute not to put the rogues on their guard by showing our suspicions of them too soon. With this report of the
proceedings on either side, ends all that I have to say about
the Indians for the present.
On the twenty-ninth of the month, Miss Rachel and Mr.
Franklin hit on a new method of working their way together
through the time which might otherwise have hung heavy
on their hands. There are reasons for taking particular notice here of the occupation that amused them.  You will
find it has a bearing on something that is still to come.
Gentlefolks in general have a very awkward rock ahead
in life-the rock ahead of their own idleness. Their lives
being, for the most part, passed in looking about them for
something to do, it is curious to see-especially when their
tastes are of what is called the intellectual sort-how often
they drift blindfold into some nasty pursuit. Nine times
out of ten they take to torturing something, or to spoiling
something; and they firmly believe they are improving
their minds, when the plain truth is, they are only making
a mess in the house. I have seen them (ladies, I am sorry
to say, as well as gentlemen) go out, day after day, for example, with empty pill-boxes, and catch newts, and beetles,
and spiders, and frogs, and come home and stick pins through
the miserable wretches, or cut them up, without a pang of
remorse, into little pieces. You see my young master, or
my young mistress, poring over one of their spiders' insides
with a magnifying-glass; or you meet one of their frogs




THE MOONSTONE.                  63
walking down stairs without his head; and when you wonder what this cruel nastiness means, you are told that it
means a taste in my young master or my young mistress for
natural history. Sometimes, again, you see them occupied
for hours together in spoiling a pretty flower with pointed
instruments, out of a stupid curiosity to know what the
flower is made of. Is its color any prettier, or its scent any
sweeter, when you do know?  But there! the poor souls
must get through the time, you see-they must get through
the time. You dabbled in nasty mud, and made pies, when
you were a child; and you dabble in nasty science, and dissect spiders, and spoil flowers, when you grow up. In the
one case and in the other the secret of it is that you have
got nothing to think of in your poor empty head, and nothing to do with your poor idle hands. And so it ends in
your spoiling canvas with paints, and making a smell in the
house; or in keeping tadpoles in a glass box full of dirty
water, and turning every body's stomach in the house; or in
chipping off bits of stone here, there, and everywhere, and
dropping grit into all the victuals in the house; or in staining your fingers in the pursuit of photography, and doing
justice without mercy on every body's face in the house.
It often falls heavy enough, no doubt, on people who are
really obliged to get their living, to be forced to work for
the clothes that cover them, the roof that shelters them, and
the food that keeps them going. But compare the hardest
day's work you ever did with the idleness that splits flowers
and pokes its way into spiders' stomachs, and thank your
stars that your head has got something it must think of, and
your hands something that they must do.
As for Mr. Franklin and Miss Rachel, they tortured nothing, I am glad to say. They simply confined themselves to
making a mess; and all they spoiled, to do them justice, was
the paneling of a door.
" Mr. Franklin's universal genius, dabbling in every thing,
dabbled in what he called "decorative painting."  He had
invented, he informed us, a new mixture to moisten paint
with, which he described as a " vehicle." What it was made
of I don't know. What it did I can tell you in two words
-it stank. Miss Rachel being wild to try her hand at the
new process, Mr. Franklin sent to London for the materials;
mixed them up, with accompaniment of a smell which made
the very dogs sneeze when they came into the room; put
an apron and a bib over Miss Rachel's gown, and set her to
work decorating her own little sitting-room-called, for want
of English to name it in, her "boudoir." They began with




64                  THE MOONSTONE.
the inside of the door. Mr. Franklin scraped off all the nice
varnish with pumice-stone, and made what he described as a
surface to work on. Miss Rachel then covered the surface,
under his directions and with his help, with patterns and
devices-griflins, birds, flowers, cupids, and such like-copied
fiom designs made by a famois Italian painter, whose name
escapes me-the one, I mean, who stocked the world with
Virgin Marys and had a sweetheart at the baker's.  Viewed
-s work, this decoration was slow to do and dirty to deal
with.  But our young lady and gentleman never seemed to
tire of it. When they were not riding, or seeing company,
or taking their meals, or piping their songs, there they were
with their heads together as busy as bees, spoiling the door.
Who was the poet who said that Satan finds some mischief
still for idle hands to do? If he had occupied my place in
the family, and had seen Miss Rachel with her brush, and
Mr. Franklin with his vehicle, he could have written nothing
trueer of either of them than that.
The next date worthy of notice is Sunday, the fourth of
June.
On that evening we, in the servants' hall, debated a domestic question for the first time, which, like the decoration
of the door, has its bearing on something that is still to
come.
Seeing the pleasure which Mr. Franklin and Miss Rachel
took in each other's society, and noting what a pretty match
they were in all personal respects, we naturally speculated
on the chance of their putting their heads together with
other objects in view besides the ornamenting of a door.
Some of us said there would be a wedding in the house before the summer was over. Others (led by me) admitted it
was likely enough Miss Rachel might be married; but we
doubted (for reasons which will presently appear) whether
her bridegroom would be Mr. Franklin Blake.
That Mr. Franklin was in love, on his side, nobody who
saw and heard him could doubt. The difficulty was to fathom Miss Rachel. Let me do myself the honor of making
you acquainted with her; after which I will leave you to
fathom her yourself-if you can.
My young lady's eighteenth birthday was the birthday
now coming, on the twenty-first of June. If you happen to
like dark women (who, I am  informed, have gone out of
fashion latterly in the gay world), and if you have no particular prejudice in favor of size, I answer for Miss Rachel as
one of the prettiest girls your eyes ever looked on. She was
small and slim, but all in fine proportion from top to toe.




~ti~!
MISS RACHEL THEN COVERED THE SURFACE, UNDER HIS DIRECTIONS AND
WITH HIS HELP, WITH PATTERNS AND DEVICES.








THE MOONSTONE.                   67
To see her sit down, to see her get up, and especially to see
her walk, was enough to satisfy any man in his senses that
the graces of her figure (if you will pardon me the expression) were in her flesh, and not in her clothes. Her hair was
the blackest I ever saw. Her eyes matched her hair. Her
nose was not quite large enough, I admit. Her mouth and
chin were (to quote Mr. Franklin) morsels for the gods; and
her complexion (on the same undeniable authority) was as
warm as the sun itself, with this great advantage over the
sun, that it was always in nice order to look at. Add to the
foregoing that she carried her head as upright as a dart, in a
dashing, spirited, thorough-bred way -that she had a clear
voice, with a ring of the right metal in it, and a smile that
began very prettily in her eyes before it got to her lips-and
there behold the portrait of her, to the best of my painting,
as large as life!
And what about her disposition next?  Had this charming creature no faults? She had just as many faults as you
have, ma'am-neither more nor less.
To put it seriously, my dear pretty Miss Rachel, possessing a host of graces and attractions, had one defect, which
strict impartiality compels me to acknowledge. She was
unlike most other girls of her age, in this-that she had ideas
of her own, and was stiff-necked enough to set the fashions
themselves at defiance, if the fashions didn't suit her views.
In trifles, this independence of hers was all well enough;
but in matters of importance it carried her (as my lady
thought, and as I thought) too far. She judged for herself,
as few women of twice her age judge in general; never
asked your advice; never told you beforehand what she
was going to do; never came with secrets and confidences
to any body, from her mother downward. In little things
and great, with people she loved, and people she hated (and
she did both with equal heartiness), Miss Rachel always
went on a way of her own, sufficient for herself in the joys
and the sorrows of her life. Over and over again I have
heard my lady say, "Rachel's best friend and Rachel's worst
enemy are, one and the other-Rachel herself."
Add one thing more to this, and I have done.
With all her secrecy, and all her self-will, there was not
so much as the shadow of any thing false in her. I never
remember her breaking her word; I never remember her
saying No, and meaning Yes. I can call to mind, in her
childhood, more than one occasion when the good little soul
took the blame, and suffered the punishment, for some fault
committed by a playfellow whom she loved. Nobody ever




68                  THE MOONSTONE.
knew her to confess to it when the thing was found out, and
she was charged with it afterward. But nobody ever knew
her to lie about it, either. She looked you straight in the
face and shook her little saucy head, and said, plainly, "I
wol't tell you!" Punished again for this, she would own to
being sorry for saying "won't;" but, bread-and-water notwithstanding, she never told you. Self-willed-devilish self
willed sometimes-I grant; but the finest creature, never
theless, that ever walked the ways of this lower world.
Perhaps you think you see a certain contradiction here? In
that case, a word in your ear. Study your wife closely for
the next four-and-twenty hours. If your good lady doesn't
exhibit something in the shape of a contradiction in that
time, Heaven help you?-you have married a monster.
I have now brought you acquainted with Miss Rachel,
which you will find puts us face to face, next, with the question of that young lady's matrimonial views.
On June the twelfth, an invitation from my mistress was
sent to a gentleman in London, to come and help to keep
Miss Rachel's birthday.  This was the fortunate individual
on whoei I believed her heart to be privately set! Like Mr.
Franklin, he was a cousin of hers. His name was Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.
My lady's second sister (don't be alarmed; we are not
going very deep into family matters this time)-my lady's
second sister, I say, had a disappointment in love; and taking a husband afterward, on the neck or nothing principle,
made what they call a misalliance. There was terrible work
in the ftmily when the honorable Caroline insisted on marrying plain Mr. Ablewhite, the banker at Frizinghall. He
was very rich and very good-tempered, and he begot a prodigious large family-al' in his favor, so far. But he had
presumed to raise himself from a low station in the worldand that was against him. However, Time and the progress
of modern enlightenment put things right; and the misalliance passed muster very well.  We are all getting liberal
now; and (provided you can scratch me, if I scratch you)
what do I care, in or out of Parliament, whether you are a
Dustman or a Duke? That's the modern way of looking at
it-and I keep up with the modern way. The Ablewhites
lived in a fine house and grounds, a little out of Frizinghall.
Very worthy people, and greatly respected in the neighborhood. We shall not be much troubled with them in these
pages —excepting Mr. Godfiey, who was Mr. Ablewhite's
second son, and who must take his proper place here, if you
please. for Miss Rachel's sake.




THE MOONSTONE.                   69
With all his brightness and cleverness and general good
qualities, Mr. Franklin's chance of topping Mr. Godfrey in
our young lady's estimation was, in my opinion, a very poor
chance indeed.
In the first place, Mr. Godfrey was, in point of size, the
finest man by far of the two. He stood over six feet high;
he had a beautiful red and white color; a smooth round
face, shaved as bare as your hand; and a head of lovely long
flaxen hair, falling negligently over the poll of his neck.
But why do I try to give you this personal description of
him? If you ever subscribed to a Ladies' Charity in London,
you know Mr. Godfiey Ablewhite as well as I do. He was
a barrister by profession; a ladies' man by temperament;
and a good Samaritan by choice. Female benevolence and
female destitution could do nothing without him. Maternal
societies for confining poor women; Magdalen societies for
rescuing poor women; strong-minded societies for putting
poor women into poor men's places, and leaving the men to
shift for themselves-he was vice-president, manager, referee
to them all. Wherever there was a table with a committee
of ladies sitting round it in council, there was Mr. Godfrey
at the bottom of the board, keeping the temper of the committee, and leading the dear creatures along the thorny ways
of business, hat in hand. I do suppose this was the most
accomplished philanthropist (on a small independence) that
England ever produced. As a speaker at charitable meetings the like of him for drawing your tears and your money
was not easy to find. He was quite a public character.
The last time I was in London my mistress gave me two
treats. She sent me to the theatre to see a dancing woman
who was all the rage; and she sent me to Exeter Hall to
hear Mr. Godfrey. The lady did it with a band of music.
The gentleman did it with a handkerchief and a glass of
water. Crowds at the performance with the legs. Ditto
at the performance with the tongue. And with all this the
sweetest-tempered person (I allude to Mr. Godfrey) -the
simplest and pleasantest and easiest to please-you ever met
with. He loved every body. And every body loved him.
What chance had Mr. Franklin —what chance had any body
of average reputation and capacities-against such a man as
this?
On the fourteenth came Mr. Godfrey's answer.
He accepted my mistress's invitation, from the Wednesday of the birthday to the evening of Friday-when his diities to the Ladies' Charities would oblige him to: retrn to




70                 THE MOONSTONE.
town. He also inclosed a copy of verses on what he elegantly called his cousin's " natal day." Miss Rachel, I was
informed, joined Mr. Franklin in making fun of the verses at
dinner: and Penelope, who was all on Mr. Franklin's side,
asked me, in great triumph, what I thought of that. " Miss
Rachel has led you off on a false scent, my dear," I replied;
" but my nose is not so easily mystified. Wait till Mr. Able-vhite's verses are followed by Mr. Ablewhite himself."
My daughter replied, that Mr. Franklin might strike in
and try his luck, before the verses were followed by the
poet. In favor of this view, I must acknowledge that Mr.
Franklin left no chance untried of winning Miss Rachel's
good graces.
Though one of the most inveterate smokers I ever met
with, he gave up his cigar because she said, one day, she
hated the stale smell of it in his clothes. He slept so badly.
after this effort of self-denial, for want of the composing effect of the tobacco to which he was used, and came down
morning after morning looking so haggard and worn, that
Miss Rachel herself begged him to take to his cigars again.
No! he would take to nothing again that would cause her a
moment's annoyance; he would fight it out resolutely, and
get back his sleep, sooner or later, by main force of patience
in waiting for it. Such devotion as this, you may say (as
some of them said down stairs), could never fail of producing
the right effect on Miss Rachel-backed up, too, as it was,
by the decorating work every day on the door. All very
well-but she had a photograph of Mr. Godfrey in her bedroom; represented speaking at a public meeting, with all
his hair blown out by the breath of his own eloquence, and
his eves, most lovely, charming the money out of your pockets! What do you say to that?  Every mcening-as Penelope herself owned to me-there was the man whom women
couldn't do without, looking on, in effigy, while Miss Rachel
was having her hair combed. He would be looking on, in
reality, before long-that was my opinion of it.
June the sixteenth brought an event which made Mr.
Franklin's chance look, to my mind, a worse chance than
ever.
A strange gentleman, speaking English with a foreign accent, came that morning to the house, and asked to see Mr.
Franklin Blake on business. The business could not possibly have been connected with the Diamond, for these two
reasons-first, that Mr. Franklin told me nothing about it;
secondly, that he communicated it (after the strange gentle



THE MOONSTONE.                  71
man had gone away again) to my lady. She probably hinted
something about it next to her daughter. At any rate, Miss
Rachel was reported to have said some severe things to Mr.
Franklin, at the piano that evening, about the people he had
lived among, and the principles he had adopted in foreign
parts. The next day, for the first time, nothing was done
toward the decoration of the door. I suspect some imprudence of Mr. Franklin's on the Continent-with a woman or
a debt at the bottom of it-had followed him to England.
But that is all guess-work. In this case, not only Mr. Franklin, but my lady too, for a wonder, left me in the dark.
On the seventeenth, to all appearance, the cloud passed
away again. They returned to their decorating work on the
door, and seemed to be as good friends as ever. If Penelope
was to be believed, Mr. Franklin had seized the opportunity
of the reconciliation to make an offer to Miss Rachel, and had
neither been accepted nor refused. My girl was sure (from
signs and tokens which I need not trouble you with) that
her young mistress had fought Mr. Franklin off by declining
to believe that he was in earnest, and had then secretly regretted treating him in that way afterward. Though Penel.
ope was admitted to more familiarity with her young mistress than maids generally are-for the two had been almost
brought up together as children-still I knew Miss Rachel's
reserved character too well to believe that she would show
her mind to any body in this way. What my daughter told
me on the present occasion was, as I suspected, more what
she wished than what she really knew.
On the nineteenth another event happened. We had the
doctor in the house professionally. He was summoned to
prescribe for a person whom I have had occasion to present
to you in these pages -our second house-maid, Rosanna
Spearman.
This poor girl-who had puzzled me, as you know already,
at the Shivering Sand-puzzled me more than once again in
the interval time of which I am now writing. Penelope's
notion that her fellow-servant was in love with Mr. Franklin
(which my daughter, by my orders, kept strictly secret)
seemed to me just as absurd as ever. But I must own that
what I myself saw, and what my daughter saw also, of our
second house-maid's conduct began to look mysterious, to
say the least of it.
For example, the girl constantly put herself in M
iin's way-very slyly and quietly, but she did it.




72                  THE MOONSTONE.
about as much notice of her as he took of the cat: it never
seemed to occur to him to waste a look on Rosanna's plain
face. The poor thing's appetite, never much, fell away dreadfully; and her eyes in the morning showed plain signs of
waking and crying at' night. One day Penelope made an
awkward discovery, which we hushed up on the spot.  She
caught Rosanna at Mr. Franklin's dressing-table, secretly removing a rose which Miss Rachel had given him to wear in
his button-hole, and putting another rose like it, of her own
picking, in its place. She was, after that, once or twice impudent to me, when I gave her a well-meant general hint to
be careful in her conduct; and, worse still, she was not overrespectful now on the few occasions when Miss Rachel accidentally spoke to her.
My lady noticed the change, and asked me what I thought
about it.  I tried to screen the girl by answering that I
thought she was out of health; and it ended in the doctor
being sent f)r, as already mentioned, on the nineteenth.  He
said it was her nerves, and doubted if she was fit for service.
My lady offered to remove her for change of air to one of
our farms inland.  She begged and prayed, with the tears in
her eyes, to be let to stop; and in an evil hour I advised my
lady to try her for a little longer. As the event' proved, and
as you will soon see, this was the worst advice I could have
given. If I could onlyfhave looked a little way into the future, I would have taken Rosanna Spearman out of the house,
then and there, with my own hand.
On the twentieth, there came a note from Mr. Godfiey.
He had arranged to stop at.Frizinghall that night, having
occasion to consult his father on business. On the afternoon
of the next day he and his two eldest sisters would ride over
to us on horseback, in good time before dinner. An elegant
little casket in china accompanied the note, presented to Miss
Rachel, with her cousin's love and best wishes. Mr. Franklin had only given her a plain locket not worth half the
money. My daulghter Penelope, nevertheless-such is the
obstinacy of women -still backed him to win.
Thanks be to Heaven, we have arrived at the eve of the
birthday at last! You will own, I think, that I have got
you over the ground, this time, without much loitering by
the way.  Cheer up! I'll ease you with another new chapter here-and, what is more, that chapter shall take you
straight into the thick of the story.




THE MOONSTONE.                    73
CHAPTER IX.
JUNE twenty-first, the day of the birthday, was cloudy
and unsettled at sunrise, but toward noon it cleared up
bravely.
We, in the servants' hall, began this happy anniversary,
as usual, by offering our little presents to Miss Rachel, with
the regular speech delivered annually by me as the chief. I
follow the plan adopted By the Queen in opening Parliament
-namely, the plan of saying much the same thing regularly every year. Before it is delivered, my speech (like the
Queen's) is looked for as eagerly as if nothing of the kind
had ever been heard before. When it is delivered, and turns
out not to be the novelty anticipated, though they grumble
a little, they look forward hopefully to something newer
next year. An easy people to govern, in the Parliament and
in the Kitchen-that's the moral of it.
After breakfast, Mr. Franklin and I had a private conference on the subject of the Moonstone-the time having
now come for removing it from the bank at Frizinghall, and
placing it in Miss Rachel's own hands.
Whether he had been trying to make love to his cousin
again, and had got a rebuff- or whether his broken rest,
night after night, was aggravating the queer contradictions
and uncertainties in his character-I don't know. But certain it is, that Mr. Franklin failed to show himself at his best
on the morning of the birthday. He was in twenty different
minds about the Diamond in as many minutes. For my part,
I stuck fast by the plain facts as we knew them.  Nothing
had happened to justify us in alarming my lady on the subject of the jewel; and nothing could alter the legal obligation that now lay on Mr. Franklin to put it in his cousin's
possession.  That was my view of the matter; and, twist
and turn it as he might, he was forced in the end to make it
his view too. We arranged that he was to ride over, after
lunch, to Fritzinghall, and bring the Diamond back, with Mr.
Godfrey and the two young ladies, in all probability, to keep
him company on the way home again.
This settled, our young gentleman went back to Miss
Rachel.
They consumed the whale morning, and part of the afternoon, in the everlasting business of decorating the door, Pe



14                 THE MOOSTONE.
nelope standing by to mix the colors, as directed; and'my
lady, as luncheon-time drew near, going in and out of the
room, with her handkerchief to her nose (for they used a
deal of Mr. Franklin's vehicle that day), and trying vainly
to get the two artists away from their work. It was three
o'clock before they took off their aprons, and released Penelope (much worse for the vehicle), and cleaned themselves
of their mess. But they had done what they wanted-they
had finished the door on the birthday, and proud enough
they were of it. The griffins, cupids, and so on, were, I must
own, most beautiful to behold; though so many in number,
so entangled in flowers and devices, and so topsy-turvy in
their actions and attitudes, that you felt them unpleasantly
in your head for hours after you had done with the pleasure
of looking at them. If I add that Penelope ended her part
of the morning's work by being sick in the back kitchen, it
is in no unfriendly spirit toward the vehicle. No! no! It
left off stinking when it dried; and if Art requires this sort
of sacrifice-though the girl is my own daughter-I say, let
Art have them!
Mr. Franklin snatched a morsel from the luncheon-table,
and rode off to Frizinghall-to escort his cousins, as he told
my lady. To fetch the Moonstone, as was privately known
to himself and to me.
This being one of the high festivals on which I took my
place at the sideboard, in command of the attendance at table, I had plenty to occupy my mind while Mr. Franklin was
away. Having seen tc the wine, and reviewed my men and
women who were to wait at dinner, I retired to collect myself before the company came. A whiff of-you know what,
and a turn at a certain book which I have had occasion to
mention in these pages, composed me, body and mind. I
was aroused from what I am inclined to think must have
been, not a nap, but a reverie, by the clatter of horses' hoofs
outside; and going to the door, received a cavalcade comprising Mr. Franklin and his three cousins, escorted by one
of old Mr. Ablewhite's grooms.
Mr. Godfrey struck me, strangely enough, as being like
Mr. Franklin in this respect-that he did not seem to be in
his customary spirits. He kindly shook hands with me as
usual, and was most politely glad to see his old friend Betteredge wearing so well. But there was a sort of cloud over
him, which I couldn't at all account for; and when I asked
how he had found his father in health, he answered rather
shortly, "Much as usual."  However, the two Miss Ablewhites were cheerful enough for twenty, which more than




THE MOONSTONE.                    75
restored the balance. They were nearly as big as their brother; spanking, yellow-haired, rosy lasses, overlowing with superabundant flesh and blood; bursting from head to foot
with health and spirits. The legs of the poor horses trembled with carrying them; and when they jumped from their
saddles (without waiting to be helped),I declare they bounced
on the ground as if they were made of India rubber. Every
thing the Miss Ablewhites said began with a large 0; every'thing they did was done with a bang; and they giggled and
screamed, in season and out of season, on the smallest provocation. Bouncers-that's what I call them.
Under cover of the noise made by the young ladies, I had
an opportunity of saying a private word to Mr. Franklin in
the hall.
"Have you got the Diamond safe, sir?"
He nodded, and tapped the breast-pocket of his coat.
" Have you seen any thing of the Indians?"
"Not a glimpse."  With that answer, he asked for my
lady, and, hearing she was in the small drawing-room, went
there straight.  The bell rang, before he had been a minute
in the room, and Penelope was sent to tell Miss Rachel that
Mr. Franklin Blake wanted to speak to her.
Crossing the hall about half an hour afterward I was
brought to a sudden stand-still by an outbreak of screams
fiom  the small drawing-room.  I can't say I was at all
alarmed; for I recognized in the screams the favorite large
O of the Miss Ablewhites.  However, I went in (on pretense
of asking for instructions about the dinner) to discover whether any thing serious had really happened.
There stood Miss Rachel at the table, like a person fascinated, with the Colonel's unlucky Diamond in her hand.
There, on either side of her, knelt the two Bouncers, devouring the jewel with their eyes, and screaming with ecstasy every time it flashed on them in a new light. There, at the opposite side of the table, stood Mr. Godfiey, clapping his hands
like a large child, and singing out, softly, "Exquisite! exquisite!"  There sat Mr. Franklin, in a chair by the book-case,
tugging at his beard, and looking anxiously toward the window. And there, at the window, stood the object he was
contemplating-my lady, having the extract from the Colonel's Will in her hand, and keeping her back turned on the
whole of the company.
She faced me when I asked for my instructions, and I saw
the family fiown gathering over her eyes, and the family
temper twitching at the corners of her mouth.




t7                  THE MOONSTONE.
" Come to my room in half an hour," she answered.  "I
shall have something to say to you then."
With those words she went out. It was plain enough
that she was posed by the same difficulty which had posed
Mr. Franklin and me in our conference at the Shivering
Sand.  Was the legacy of the Moonstone a proof that she
had treated her brother with cruel injustice? or was it a
proof that he was worse than the worst she had ever thought
of him? Serious questions those for my lady to determine;
while her daughter, innocent of all knowledge of the Colonel's character, stood there with the Colonel's birthday gift
in her hand.
Before I could leave the room, in my turn, Miss Rachel,
always considerate to the old servant who had been in the
house when she was born, stopped me. "Look, Gabriel!"
she said, and flashed the jewel before my eyes in a ray of
sunlight that poured through the window.
Lord bless us! it was a Diamond! As large, or nearly,
as a plover's egg! The light that streamed from it was like
the light of the harvest-moon. When you looked down into
the stone, you looked into a yellow deep that drew  your
eyes into it so that they saw nothing else. It seemed unfathomable; this jewel, that you could hold between your
finger and thumb, seemed unfathomable as the heavens
themselves.  We set it in the sun, and then shut the light
out of the room, and it shone awfully out of the depths of its
own brightness, with a moony gleam, in the dark. No wonder Miss Rachel was fascinated; no wonder her cousins
screamed. The Diamond laid such a hold on me that I burst
out with as large an " 0!" as the Bouncers themselves. The
only one of us who kept his senses was Mlr. Godfrey.  He
put an arm round each of his sisters' waists, and, looking
compassionately backward and forward between the Diamond and me, said, "Carbon, Betteredge; mere carbon, my
good friend, after all!"
His object, I suppose, was to instruct me. All he did,
however, was to remind me of the dinner. I hobbled off to
my army of waiters down stairs. As I went out Mr. Godfiey said, "Dear old Betteredge, I have the truest regard
for him!"  He was embracing his sisters and ogling Miss
Rachel while he holored me with that testimony of affection. Something like a stock of love to draw on there! Mr.
Franklin was a perfect savage by comparison with him.
At the end of half an hour I presented myself, as directed,
in my lady's room.
What passed between my mistress and me on this occa



THE MOONSTONE.                   77
sion was, in the main, a repetition of what had passed between Mr. Franklin and me at the Shivering Sand-with
this difference, that I took care to keep my own counsel
about the jugglers, seeing that nothing had happened to
justify me in alarming my lady on this head. When I received my dismissal I could see that she took the blackest
view possible of the Colonel's motives, and that she was bent
on getting the Moonstone out of her daughter's possession
at the first opportunity.
On my way back to my own part of the house I was encountered by Mr. Franklin. He wanted to know if I had
seen any thing of his cousin Rachel. I had seen nothing of
her. Could I tell him where his cousin Godfrey was?  I
didn't know, but I began to suspect that Cousin Godfrey
might not be far away from Cousin Rachel. Mr. Franklin's
suspicions apparently took the same turn. He tugged hard
at his beard, and went and shut himself up in the library
with a bang of the door that had a world of meaning in it.
I was interrupted no more in the business of preparing for
the birthday dinner till it was time for me to smarten myself up for receiving the company. Just as I had got my
white waistcoat on, Penelope presented herself at my toilet,
on pretense of brushing what little hair I have got left, and
improving the tie of my white cravat. My girl was in high
spirits, and I saw she had something to say to me. She gave
me a kiss on the top of my bald head, and whispered, " News
for you, father! Miss Rachel has refused him."
"Who's him?" I asked.
"The ladies' committee-man, father," says Penelope. "A
nasty, sly fellow. I hate him for trying to supplant Mr.
Franklin!"
If I had had breath enough I should certainly have protested against this indecent way of speaking of an eminent
philanthropic character. But my daughter happened to be
improving the tie of my cravat at that moment, and the
whole strength of her feelings found its way into her fingers.
I never was more nearly strangled in my life.
"I saw him take her away alone into the rose-garden,"
says Penelope. "And I waited behind the holly to see how
they came back.  They had gone out arm in arm, both
laughing. They came back, walking separate, as grave as
grave could be, and looking straight away from each other
in a manner which there was no mistaking. I never was
more delighted, father, in my life! There's one woman in
the world who can resist Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, at any
rate; and, if I was a lady, I should be another!"




8                   TTHE MOONSTONE.
Here I should have protested again. But my daughter
had got the hair-brush by this time, and the whole strength
of her feelings had passed into that. If you are bald, you
will understand how she scarified me. If you are not, skip
this bit, and thank God you have got something in the way
of a defense between your hair-brush and your head.
"Just on the other side of the holly," Penelope went on,'Mr. Godfrey came to a stand-still.'You prefer,' says he,:that I should stop here as if nothing had happened?' Miss
Rachel turned on him like lightning.'You have accepted
my mother's invitation,' she said;'and you are here to meet
her guests. Unless you wish to make a scandal in the house,
you will remain, of course!' She went on a few steps, and
then seemed to relent a little.'Let us forget what has passed, Godfrey,' she said,'and let us remain cousins still.' She
gave him her hand. He kissed it, which I should have considered taking a liberty, and then she left him. He waited
a little by himself, with his head down, and his heel grinding a hole slowly in the gravel-walk; you never saw a man
look more put out in your life.'Awkward!' he said, between
his teeth, when he looked up, and went on to the house-'very awkward!' If that was his opinion of himself, he was
quite right. Awkward enough, I'm sure. And the end of
it is, father, what I told you all along," cries Penelope, finishing me off with a last scarification, the hottest of all,
"Mr. Franklin's the man!"
I got possession of the hair-brush, and opened my lips to
administer the reproof which, you will own, my daughter's
language and conduct richly deserved.
Before I could say a word the crash of carriage-wheels
outside struck in, and stopped me. The first of the dinner
company had come. Penelope instantly ran off. I put on
my coat, and looked in the glass. My head was as red as
a lobster; but, in other respects, I was as nicely dressed for
the ceremonies of the evening as a man need be. I got into
the hall just in time to announce the first two of the guests.
You needn't feel particularly interested about them. Only
the philanthropist's father and mother-Mr. and Mrs. Ablewhite.
CHAPTER X.
ONE on the top of the other, the rest of the company followed the Ablewhites, till we had the whole tale of them
complete. Including the family, they were twenty-four in




THE MOONSTONE.
all. It was a noble sight to see, when they were settled in
their places round the dinner-table, and the Rector of Frizinghall (with beautiful elocution) rose and said grace.
There is no need to worry you with a list of the guests.
You will meet none of them a second time-in my part of
the story at any rate-with the exception of two.
Those two sat on either side of Miss Rachel, who, as queen
of the day, was naturally the great attraction of the party.
On this occasion she was more particularly the centre-point
toward which every body's eyes were directed; for (to my
lady's secret annoyance) she wore her wonderful birthday
present, which eclipsed all the rest-the Moonstone. It was
without any setting when it had been placed in her hands;
but that universal genius, Mr. Franklin, had contrived, with
the help of his neat fingers and a little bit of silver wire, to
fix it as a brooch in the bosom of her white dress. Every
body wondered at the prodigious size and beauty of the Diamond, as a matter of course. But the only two of the company who said any thing out of the common way about it
were those two guests I have mentioned, who sat by Miss
Rachel on her right hand and her left.
The guest on her left was Mr. Candy, our doctor at Frizinghall.
This was a pleasant, companionable little man, with the
drawback, however, I must own, of being too fond, in season
and out of season, of his joke, and of plunging in rather a
headlong manner into talk with strangers, without waiting
to feel his way first. In society he was constantly making
mistakes, and setting people unintentionally by the ears together. In his medical practice he was a more prudent
man; picking up his discretion (as his enemies said) by a
kind of instinct, and proving to be generally right where
more carefully conducted doctors turned out to be wrong.
What he said about the Diamond to Miss Rachel was said,
as usual, by way of a mystification or joke. He gravely entreated her (in the interests of science) to let him take it
home and burn it. "We will first heat it, Miss Rachel,"
says the doctor, "to such and such a degree; then we will
expose it to a current of air; and, little by little-puff!-we
evaporate the Diamond, and spare you a world of anxiety
about the safe-keeping of a valuable precious stone!" My
lady, listening with rather a care-worn expression on her
face, seemed to wish that the doctor had been in earnest, and
that he could have found Miss Rachel zealous enough in the
cause of science to sacrifice her birthday gift.
The other guest who sat on my young lady's right hand




THE MOONSTONE.
was an eminent public character-being no other than the
celebrated Indian traveler, Mr. Mulrthwaite, who at risk of
his life had penetrated in disguise where no European had
ever set fbot before.
This was a long, lean, wiry, brown, silent man. He had a.
weary look and a very steady attentive eye. It was rumored that he was tired of the humdrum life among the people
in our parts, and longing to go back and wander off on the
tramp again in the wild places of the East. Except what
he said to Miss Rachel about her jewel, I doubt if he spoke
six words, or drank so much as a single glass of wine, all
through the dinner. The Moonstone was the object that interested him in the smallest degree. The fame of it seemed
to have reached him, in some of those perilous Indian places
where his wanderings had lain. After looking at it silently
for so long a time that Miss Rachel began to get confused,
he said to her, in his cool immovable way, "If you ever go
to India, Miss Verinder, don't take your uncle's birthday gift
with you.  A Hindoo diamond is sometimes a part of a
Hindoo religion. I know a certain city, and a certain temple in that city, where, dressed as you are now, your life
would not be worth five minutes' purchase."  Miss Rachel,
safe in England, was quite delighted to hear of her danger in
India. The Bouncers were more delighted still: they dropped their knives and forks with a crash, and burst out together vehemently, "Oh! how interesting!"  My lady fidgeted in her chair, and changed the subject.
As the dinner got on I became aware, little by little, that
this festival was not prospering as other like festivals had
prospered before it.
Looking back at the birthday now, by the light of what
happened afterward, I am half inclined to think that the
cursed Diamond must have cast a blight on the whole company. I plied them well with wine; and, being a privileged
character, followed the unpopular dishes round the table,
and whispered to the company, confidentially, "Please to
change your mind, and try it; for I know it will do you
good."  Nine times out of ten they changed their mindsout of regard for their old original Betteredge, they were
pleased to say-but all to no purpose. There were gaps of
silence in the talk, as the dinner got on, that made me feel
personally uncomfortable. When they did use their tongues
again, they used them, innocently, in the most unfortunate
manner and to the worst possible purpose. Mr. Candy, the
doctor, for instance, said more unlucky things than I ever




THE MOONSTONE.                    81
knew him to say before. Take one sample of the way in
which he went on, and you will understand what I had to
put up with at the sideboard, officiating as I was in the
character of a man who had the prosperity of the festival at
heart.
One of our ladies present at dinner was worthy Mrs.
Threadgall, widow of the late Professor of that name. Talking of her deceased husband perpetually, this good lady
never mentioned to strangers that he was deceased. She
thought, I suppose, that every able-bodied adult in England
ought to know as much as that. In one of the gaps of silence somebody mentioned the dry and rather nasty subject of h!uman anatomy; whereupon good Mrs. Threadgall
straightway brought in her late husband as usual, without
mentioning that he was dead. Anatomy she described as the
Professor's favorite recreation in his leisure hours. As ill
luck would have it, Mr. Candy, sitting opposite (who knew
nothing of the deceased gentleman), heard her. Being the
most polite of men, he seized the opportunity of assisting
the Professor's anatomical amusements on the spot.
"They have got some remarkably fine skeletons lately at
the College of Surgeons," says Mr. Candy, across the table.
in a loud cheerful voice. "I strongly recommend the Professor, ma'am, when he neyt has an hour to spare, to pay
them a visit."
You might have heard a pin fall. The company (out of
respect to the Professor's memory) all sat speechless. I was
behind Mrs. Threadgall at the time, plying her confidentially
with a glass of hock. She dropped her head, and said, in a
very low voice, "My beloved husband is no more."
Unlucky Mr. Candy, hearing nothing, and miles away from
suspecting the truth, went on across the table louder and
politer than ever.
"The Professor may not be aware," says he, "that the
card of a member of the College will admit him, on any day
but Sunday, between the hours of ten and four."
Mrs. Threadgall dropped her head right into her tucker,
and, in a lower voice still, repeated the solemn words, "My
beloved husband is no more."
I winked hard at Mr. Candy across the table. Miss Rachel touched his arm. My lady looked unutterable things
at him. Qiite useless! On he went, with a cordiality that
there was no stopping anyhow. "I shall be delighted," says
he, " to send the Professor my card, if you will oblige me by
mentioning his present address?"
" is present address, sir, is the grave," says Mrs. Thread4




82                 THE MOONSTONE.
gall, suddenly losing her temper, and speaking with an emphasis and fury that made the glasses ring again. "The
Professor has been dead these ten years!"
"Oh, good heavens!" says Mr. Candy. Excepting the
Bouncers, who burst out laughing, such a blank now fell on
the company that they might all have been going the way
of the Professor, and hailing, as he did, from the direction of
the grave.
So much for Mr. Candy. The rest of them were nearly
as provoking in their different ways as the doctor himself.
When they ought to have spoken, they didn't speak; or
when they did speak, they were perpetually at cross-purposes. Mr. Godfrey, though so eloquent in public, declined
to exert himself in private. Whether he was sulky, or
whether he was bashful, after his discomfiture in the rosegarden, I can't say. He kept all his talk for the private ear
of the lady who sat next to him. She was one of his committee-women-a spiritually-minded person, with a fine show
of collar-bone, and a pretty taste in Champagne; liked it
dry, you understand, and plenty of it. Being close behind
these two at the sideboard, I can testify, from what I heard
pass between them, that the company lost a good deal of
very improving conversation, which I caught up while drawing the c^rks, and carving the mutton, and so forth. What
they said about their Charities I didn't hear. When I had
time to listen to them, they had got a long way beyond their
women to be confined, and their women to be rescued, and
were buckling to on serious subjects. Religion (I understood
them to say, between the corks and the carving) meant love.
And love meant religion. And earth was heaven a little the
worse for wear. And heaven was earih, done up again to
look like new. Earth had some very objectionable people
in it; but, to make amends for that, all the women in heaven
would be members df a prodigious committee that never
quarreled, with all the men in attendance on them as ministering angels. Beautiful! beautiful! But why the mischief
did Mr. Godfrey keep it all to his lady and himself?
Mr. Franklin again-surely, you will say, Mr. Franklin
stirred the company up into making a pleasant evening of
it?
Nothing of the sort! He had quite recovered himself, and
he was in wonderful force and spirits, Penelope having informed him, I suspect, of Mr. Godfrey's reception in the rosegarden. But, talk as he might, nine times out of ten he
pitched on the wrong subject, or he addressed himself to the
wrong person; the end of it being that he offended some,




THE MOONSTONE.                  83
and puzzled all of them. That foreign training of his —
those French and German and Italian sides of him, to which
I have already alluded, came out, at my lady's hospitable
board, in a most bewildering manner.
What do you think, for instance, of his discussing the
lengths to which a married woman might let her admiration
go for a man who was not her husband, and putting it in his
clear-headed witty French way to the maiden aunt of the
Vicar of Frizinghall? What do you think, when he shifted
to the German side, of his telling the lord of the manor,
while that great authority on cattle was quoting his experience in the breeding of bulls, that experience, properly understood, counted for nothing, and that the proper way to
breed bulls was to lool: deep into your own mind, evolve
out of it the idea of a perfect bull, and produce him? What
do you say, when our county member, growing hot at cheese
and salad time, about the spread of democracy in England,
burst out as follows: "If we once lose our ancient safeguards, Mr. Blake, I beg to ask you, what have we got left?"
— what do you say to Mr. Franklin answering, from the
Italian point of view: " We have got three things left, sirLove, Music, and Salad?" He not only terrified the company with such outbreaks as these, but, when the English side
of him turned up in due course, he lost his foreign smoothness; and, getting on the subject of the medical profession,
said such downright things in ridicule of doctors, that he
actually put good-humored little Mr. Candy in a rage.
The dispute between them began in Mr. Franklin being
led-I forget how-to acknowledge that he had latterly
slept very badly at night. Mr. Candy thereupon told him
that his nerves were all out of order, and that he ought to
go through a course of medicine immediately. Mr. Franklin
replied that a course of medicine, and a course of groping in
the dark, meant, in his estimation, one and the same thing.
Mr. Candy, hitting back smartly, said that Mr. Franklin himself was, constitutionally speaking, groping in the dark after
sleep, and that nothing but medicine could help him to find
it. Mr. Franklin, keeping the ball up on his side, said he had
often heard of the blind leading the blind, and now, for the
first time, he knew what it meant. In this way they kept it
going briskly, cut and thrust, till they both of them got hot
-Mr. Candy, in particular, so completely losing his self-control, in defense of his profession, that my lady was obliged
to interfere, and forbid the dispute to go on. This necessary
act of authority put the last extinguisher on the spirits of
the company. The talk spurted up again here and there, for




84                  THE MOONSTONE.
a minute or two at a time; but there was a miserable lack
of life and sparkle in it. The Devil (or the Diamond) possessed that dinner party; and it was a relief to every body
when my mistress rose, and gave the ladies the signal to
leave the gentlemen over their wine.
I had just ranged the decanters in a row before old Mr.
Ablewhite (who represented the master of the house), when
there came a sound fiom the terrace which startled me out
of my company manners on the instant. Mr. Franklin and
I looked at each other; it was the sound of the Indian drum.
As I live by bread, here were the jugglers returning to us
with the return of the Moonstone to the house!
As they rounded the corner of the terrace, and came in
sight, I hobbled out to warn them off. But, as ill-luck would
have it, the two Bouncers were beforehand with me. They
whizzed out on to the terrace like a couple of sky-rockets,
wild to see the Indians exhibit their tricks. The other ladies followed; the gentlemen came out on their side. Before you could say "Lord, bless us!" the rogues were making their salams; and the Bouncers were kissing the pretty
little boy.
Mr. Franklin got on one side of Miss Rachel, and I put
myself behind her. If our suspicions were right, there she
stood, innocent of all knowledge of the truth, showing the
Indians the Diamond in the bosom of her dress!
I can't tell you what tricks they performed, or how they
did it. What with the vexation about the dinner, and what
with the provocation of the rogues coming back just in the
nick of time to see the jewel with their own eyes, I own I
lost my head. The first thing that I remember noticing
was the sudden appearance on the scene of the Indian traveler, Mr. Murthwaite. Skirting the half-circle in which the
gentlefolks stood or sat, he came quietly behind the jugglers,
and spoke to them on a sudden in the language of their own
country.
If he had pricked them with a bayonet, I doubt if the Indians could have started and turned on him with more tigerish quickness than they did on hearing the first words that
passed his lips. The next moment they were bowing and
salaming to him in their most polite and snaky way. After a
few words in the unknown tongue had passed on either side,
Mr. Murthwaite withdrew as quietly as he had approached.
The chief Indian, who acted as an interpreter, thereupon
wheeled about again toward the gentlefolks. I noticed that
the fellow's coffee-colored face had turned gray since Mr. Mur



THE MOOSTONE.                     85
thwaite had spoken to him. He bowed to my lady, and informed her that the exhibition was over.  The Bouncers, indescribably disappointed, burst out with a loud "Oh!" directed against Mi'. Murthwaite for stopping the performance.
The chief Indian laid his hand humbly on his breast, and said
the second time that the juggling was over. The little boy
went round with the hat. The ladies withdrew to the drawing-roonm; and the gentlemen (excepting Mr. Franklin and
Mr. Murthwaite) returned to their wine.  I and the footman
followed the Indians, and saw them safe off the premises.
GoingY back by wvay of the shrubbery, I smelled tobacco,
and found Mr. Franklin and Mr. Murthwaite (the latter
smoking a cheroot) walking slowly up and down among the
trees.  Mr. Franklin beckoned to me to join them.
"This," says Mr. Franklin, presenting me to the great
traveler, "is Gabriel Betteredge, the old servant and friend
of our family of whom I spoke to you just now.  Tell him,
if you please, what you have just told me."
Mr. Murthwaite took his cheroot out of his mouth and
leaned, in his weary way, against the trunk of a tree.
"Mr. Betteredge," he began, "those three Indians are no
more jugglers than you and I are,"
Here was a new-rsurprise! I naturally asked the traveler
if he had ever mlet with the Indians before.
" Never," says Mr. Murthwaite; " but I know what Indian
juggling really is.  All you have seen to-night is a very bad
and clumsy imitation of it.  Unless, after long experience, I
am utterly mistaken, those men are high-caste Brahmans.  I
charged them with being disguised, and you saw how it told
on them, clever as the Hindoo people are in concealing their
feelings.  There is a mystery about their conduct that I
can't explain.  They have doubly sacrificed their castefirst, in crossing the sea; secondly, in disguising themselves
as jugglers. In the land they live in that is a tremendous
sacrifice to make. There must be some very serious motive
at the bottom  of it, and some justification of no ordinary
kind to plead for them, in recovery of their caste, when they
return to their own country."
I was struck dumb. Mr. Murthwaite went on with his
cheroot. Mr. Franklin, after what looked to me like a little
private Veering about between the different sides of his
character, -broke the silence as follows, speaking in his nice
Italian manner, with his solid English foundation showing
through:
"I feel some hesitation, Mr. Murthwaite, in troubling you
with family matters, in which you can have no interest, and




86                 TTHE MOONSTONE.
which I am not very willing to speak of out of our own circle. But, after what you have said, I feel bound, in the interests of Lady Verinder and her daughter, to tell you something which may possibly put the clue into your hands. I
speak to you in confidence; you will oblige me, I am sure,
by not forgetting that?"
With this preface he told the Indian traveler (speaking
now in his clear-headed French way) all that he had told
me at the Shivering Sand. Even the immovable Mr. Murthwaite was so interested in what he heard that he let his
cheroot go out.
"Now," says Mr. Franklin, when he had done," what does
your experience say?"
"My experience," answered the traveler, "says that you
have had more narrow escapes of your life, Mr. Franklin
Blake, than I have had of mine; and that is saying a great
deal."
It was Mr. Franklin's turn to be astonished now.
"Is it really as serious as that?" he asked.
" In my opinion it is," answered Mr. Murthwaite. " I can't
doubt, after what you have told me, that the restoration of
the Moonstone to its place on the forehead of the Indian
idol, is the motive and the justification of that sacrifice of
caste which I alluded to just now. Those men will wait
their opportunity with the patience of cats, and will use it
with the ferocity of tigers. How you have escaped them I
can't imagine," says the eminent traveler, lighting his cheroot
again, and staring hard at Mr. Franklin. "You have been
carrying the Diamond backward and forward, here and in
London, and you are still a living man! Let us try and account for it. It was daylight, both times, I suppose, when
you took the jewel out of the bank in London?"
" Broad daylight," says Mr. Franklin.
"And plenty of people in the streets?"
" Plenty."
"You settled, of course, to arrive at Lady Verinder's house
at a certain time? It's a lonely country between this and
the station. Did you keep your appointment?"
"No. I arrived four hours earlier than my appointment."
"I beg to congratulate you on that proceeding! When
did you take the Diamond to the bank at the town here?"
" I took it an hour after I had brought it to this houseand three hours before any body was prepared for seeing me
in these parts."
"I beg to congratulate you again! Did you bring it back
here alone?"




THE MOONSTONE.                   87
No. I happened to ride back with my cousins and the
groom."
"I beg to congratulate you for the third time! If you
ever feel inclined to travel beyond the civilized limits, Mr.
Blake, let me know, and I will go with you. You are a
lucky man."
Here I struck in. This sort of thing didn't at all square
with my English ideas.
"You don't really mean to say, sir," I asked, "that they
would have taken Mr. Franklin's life, to get their Diamond,
if he had given them the chance?"
"Do you smoke, Mr. Betteredge?" says the traveler.
"Yes, sir."
"Do you care much for the ashes left in your pipe when
you empty it?"
"No, sir."
"In the country those men came from they care just as
much about killing a man as you care about emptying the
ashes out of your pipe. If a thousand lives stood between
them and the getting back of their Diamond-and if they
thought they could destroy those lives without discoverythey would take them all. The sacrifice of caste is a serious thing in India, if you like. The sacrifice of life is nothing at all."
I expressed my opinion upon this that they were a set of
murdering thieves. Mr. Murthwaite expressed his opinion
that they were a wonderful people. Mr. Franklin, expressing no opinion at all, brought us back to the matter in hand.
"They have seen the Moonstone on Miss Verinder's dress,"
he said. " What is to be done?"
" What your uncle threatened to do," answered Mr. Murthwaite. " Colonel Herncastle understood the people he had
to deal with. Send the Diamond to-morrow (under guard
of more than one man) to be cut up at Amsterdam. Make
half a dozen diamonds of it instead of one. There is an end
of its sacred identity as The Moonstone-and there is an end
of the conspiracy."
Mr. Franklin turned to me.
"There is no help for it," he said. "We must speak to
Lady Verinder to-morrow."
"What about to-night, sir?" I asked. "Suppose the Indians come back?"
Mr. Murthwaite answered me before Mr. Franklin could
speak.
"The Indians won't risk coming back to-night," he said.
"The direct way is hardly ever the way they take to any




88                  THE MOONSTONE.
thing-let alone a matter like this, in which the slightest
mistake might be fatal to their reaching their end."
"But suppose the rogues are bolder than you think, sir?"
I persisted.
"In that case," says Mr. Murthwaite, "let the dogs loose.
Have you got any big dog in the yard?"
"Two, sir. A mastiff and a blood-hound."
"Thev will do. In the present emergency, Mr. Betteredge,
the mastiff and the blood-hound have one great merit-they
are not likely to be troubled with your scruples about the
sanctitv of human life."
The strumming of the piano reached us from the drawingroom as he fired that shot at me. He threw away his cheroot, and took Mr. Franklin's arm, to go back to the ladies.
I noticed that the sky was clouding over fast as I followed
them  to the house. Mr. Murthwaite noticed it too. He
looked round at me in his dry, drolling way, and said:
"The Indians will want their umbrellas, Mr. Betteredge,
to-night!"
It was all very well for him to joke. But I was not an
eminent traveler; and my way in this world had not led me
into playing ducks and drakes with my own life among
thieves and murderers in the outlandish places of the earth.
I went into my own little room, and sat down in my chair
in a perspiration, and wondered helplessly what was to be
done next. In this anxious frame of mind other men might
have ended by working themselves up into a fever; fended
in a different way. I lit my pipe, and took a turn at Robinson Crusoe.
Before I had been at it five minutes I came to this amazing bit-page one hundred and sixty-one-as follows:
"Fear of Danger is ten thousand times more terrifying
than Danger itself; when apparent to the Eyes; and we find
the Burden of Anxiety greater, by much, than the Evil which
we are anxious about."
The man who doesn't believe in Robinson Crusoe after that
is a man with a screw loose in his understanding, or a man
lost in the mist of his own self-conceit! Argument is thrown
away upon him; and pity is better reserved for some person
with a livelier faith.
I was far on with my second pipe, and still lost in admiration of that wonderfuil book, when Penelope (who had been
handing round the tea) came in with her report from the
drawing-room.  She had left the Bouncers singing a duetwords beginning with a large " 0," and music to correspond.
She had observed that my lady made mistakes in her game




THE MOONSTONE.                   89
of whist for the first time in our experience of her. She had
seen the great traveler asleep in a corner. She had overheard Mr. Franklin sharpening his wits on Mr. Godfrey, at
the expense of Ladies' Charities in general; and she had noticed that Mr. Godfrey hit him back again rather more smartly than became a gentleman of his benevolent character.
She had detected Miss Rachel, apparently engaged in appeasing Mrs. Threadgall by showing her some photographs,
and really occupied in stealing looks at Mr. Franklin, which no
intelligent lady's-maid could misinterpret for a single instant.
Finally, she had missed Mr. Candy, the doctor, who had mysteriously disappeared from the drawing-room, and had then
mysteriously returned, and entered into conversation with
Mr. Godfrey. Upon the whole, things were prospering better than the experience of the dinner gave us any right to
expect. If we could only hold on for another hour, old Father Time would bring up their carriages, and relieve us of
them altogether.
Every thing wears off in this world; and even the comforting effect of Robinson Crusoe wore off after Penelope
left me. I got fidgety again, and resolved on making a survey of the grounds before the rain came. Instead of taking
the footman, whose nose was human, and therefore useless in
any emergency, I took the blood-hound with me. His nose
for a stranger was to be depended on.  We went all round
the premises, and out into the road-and returned as wise as
we went, having discovered no such thing as a lurking human creature anywhere. I chained up the dog again for the
present; and, returning once more by way of the shrubbery,
met two of our gentlemen coming out toward me from the
drawing-room. The two were Mr. Candy and Mr. Godfrey,
still (as Penelope had reported them) in conversation together, and laughing softly over some pleasant conceit of their
own. I thought it rather odd that those two should have
run up a friendship together-but passed on, of course, without appearing to notice them.
The arrival of the carriages was the signal for the arrival
of the rain. It poured as if it meant to pour all night. With
the exception of the doctor, whose gig was waiting for him,
the rest of the company went home snugly under cover in
close carriages. I told Mr. Candy that I was afraid he would
get wet through. He told me, in return, that he wondered I
had arrived at my time of life without knowing that a doctor's skin was water-proof.  So he drove away in the rain,
laughing over his own little joke; and so we got rid of our
dinner company.
The next thing to tell is the story of the night.




90                 THE MOONSTONE.
CHAPTER XI.
WHEN the last of the guests had driven away I went back
into the inner hall, and found Samuel at the side-table, presiding over the brandy and soda-water. My lady and Miss
Rachel came out of the drawing-room, followed by the two
gentlemen. Mr. Godfrey had some brandy and soda-water.
Mr. Franklin took nothing. He sat down, looking dead
tired; the talking on
this birthday occasion
had, I suppose, been
i__ht t     too much for him.
My lady, turning
round to wish them
good - night, looked
hard at the wicked
Colonel's legacy shining in her daughter's
__in~~~~~ hrii-oanittmdress.
"Rachel," she asked, "where are you
going to put your
Diamond to-night?"
Miss Rachel was in
high good spirits, just
in that humor fortalking nonsense, and perversely persisting in
it as if it was sense,
_                       -__ which you may some,
B y*~~ ~, a;   _ _~~ii~I  #times have observed in
z young girls when they
are highly wrought
=T )up, at the end of an
exciting day. First,
she declared she didn't know where to put the Diamond.
Then she said, "on her dressing-table, of course, along with
the other things." Then she remembered that the Diamond
might take to shining of itself, with its awful moony light, in
the dark, and that would terrify her in the dead of night.
Then she bethought herself of an Indian cabinet which stood
in her sitting-room, and instantly mrade up her mind to put




THE MOONSTONE.                   91
the Indian diamond in the Indian cabinet for the purpose of
permitting two beautiful native productions to admire each
other. Having let her little flow of nonsense run on as far
as that point, her mother interposed and stopped her.
" My dear! your Indian cabinet has no lock to it," says my
lady.
iGood heavens, mamma!" cries Miss Rachel, "is this a
hotel? Are there thieves in the house?"
Without taking notice of this fantastic way of talking, my
lady wished the gentlemen good-night. She next turned to
Miss Rachel, and kissed her. "Why not let me keep the
Diamond for you to-night?" she asked.
Miss Rachel received that proposal as she might, ten years
since, have received a proposal to part her from a new doll.
My lady saw there was no reasoning with her that night.
"Come into my room, Rachel, the first thing to-morrow
morning," she said.  "I shall have something to say to
you."  With those last words she left us slowly; thinking
her own thoughts, and, to all appearance, not best pleased
with the way by which they were leading her.
Miss Rachel was the next to say good-night. She shook
hands first with Mr. Godfrey, who was standing at the other end of the hall, looking at a picture. Then she turned
back to Mr. Franklin, still sitting weary and silent in a
corner.
What words passed between them I can't say. But standing near the old oak frame which holds our large lookingglass, I saw her, reflected in it, slyly slipping the locket which
Mr. Franklin had given to her out of the bosom of her dress,
and showing it to him for a moment, with a smile which certainly meant something out of the common, before she tripped off to bed. This incident staggered me a little in the
reliance I had previously felt on my own judgment. I began to think that Penelope might be right about the state
of her young lady's affections after all.
As soon as Miss Rachel left him eyes to see with, Mr.
Franklin noticed me. His variable humor, shifting about
every thing, had shifted about the Indians already.
" Betteredge," he said, " I am half inclined to think I took
Mr. Murthwaite too seriously when we had that talk in the
shrubbery. I wonder whether he has been trying any of his
traveler's tales on-us? Do you really mean to let the dogs
loose?"
"I'll relieve them of their collars, sir," I answered, "and
leave them free to take a turn in the night, if they smell a
reason for it."




92                  THE MOONSTONE.
"All right," says Mr. Franklin. "We'll see what is to be
done to-morrow. I am not at all disposed to alarm my aunt,
Betteredge, without a very pressing reason for it. Goodnight."
He looked so worn and pale as he nodded to me, and took
his candle to go up stairs, that I ventured to advise his having a drop of brandy-and-water, by way of night-cap. Mr.
Godfrey, walking toward us from the other end of the hall,
backed me. He pressed Mr. Franklin, in the fiiendliest manner, to take something before he went to bed.
I only note these trifling circumstances, because, after all
I had seen and heard that day, it pleased me to observe that
our two gentlemen were on just as good terms as ever.
Their warfare of words (heard by Penelope in the drawingroom), and their rivalry for the best place in Miss Rachel's
good graces, seemed to have set no serious difference between them.  But there! they were both good-tempered,
and both men of the world.  And there is certainly this
merit in people of station, that they are not nearly so quarrelsome among each other as people of no station at all.
Mr. Franklin declined the brandy-and-water, and went up
stairs with Mr. Godfrey, their rooms being next door to each
other. On the landing, however, either his cousin persuaded
him, or he veered about and changed his mind as usual.
"Perhaps I may want it in the night," he called down to
me. "Send up some brandy into my room."
I sent up Samuel with the brandy-and-water; and then
went out and unbuckled the dogs' collars. They both lost
their heads with astonishment on being set loose at that
time of night, and jumped upon me like a couple of puppies!
However, the rain soon cooled them down again: they lapped a drop of water each, and crept back into their kennels.
As I went into the house I noticed signs in the sky which
betokened a break in the weather for the better. For the
present, it still poured heavily, and the ground was in a perfect sop.
Samuel and I went all over the house, and shut up as usual. I examined every thing myself, and trusted nothing to
my deputy on this occasion. All was safe and fast when 1
rested my old bones in bed, between midnight and one in the
morning.
The worries of the day had been a little too much for me,
I suppose. At any rate, I had a touch of Mr. Franklin's
malady that night. It was sunrise before I fell off at last
into a sleepT. All the time I lay awake the house was as
quiet as the grave. Not a sound stirred but the splash of




I WENT TO THE CABINET. THE DRAWER WAS EMPTY.








THE MOONSTONE.                   95
the rain, and the sighing of the wind among the trees as a
breeze sprang up with the morning.
About half-past seven I woke, and opened my window on
a fine sunshiny day. The clock had struck eight, and I was
just going out to chain up the dogs again, when I heard a
sudden whisking of petticoats on the stairs behind me.
I turned about, and there was Penelope flying down after
me like mad. "Father!" she screamed, "come up stairs, for
God's sake! The Diamond is gone!"
"Are you out of your mind?" I asked her.
"Gone!" says Penelope.  "Gone, nobody knows how!
Come up and see."
She dragged me after her into her young lady's sittingroom, which opened into her bedroom. There, on the threshold of her bedroom door, stood Miss Rachel, almost as white
in the face as the white dressing-gown that clothed her.
There also stood the two doors of the Indian cabinet, wide
open. One of the drawers inside was pulled out as far as it
would go.
" Look!" says Penelope. "I myself saw Miss Rachel put
the Diamond into that drawer last night."
I went to the cabinet. The drawer was empty.
"Is this true, miss'?" I asked.
With a look that was not like herself, with a voice that
was not like her own, Miss Rachel answered, as my daughter had answered:
"The Diamond is gone."
Having said those words, she withdrew into her bedroom,
and shut and locked the door.
Before we knew which way to turn next my lady came in,
hearing my voice in her daughter's sitting-room, and wondering what had happened.  The news of the loss of the
Diamond seemed to petrify her. She went straight to Miss
Rachel's bedroom and insisted on being admitted. Miss
Rachel let her in.
The alarm, running through the house like fire, caught the
two gentlemen next.
Mr. Godfrey was the first to come out of his room. All
he did when he heard what had happened was to hold up
his hands in a state of bewilderment, which didn't say much
for his natural strength of mind. Mr. Franklin, whose clear
head I had confidently counted on to advise us, seemed to
be as helpless as his cousin when he heard the news in his
turn. For a wonder, he had had a good night's rest at last;
and the unaccustomed luxury of sleep had, as he said him




96                  THE MOONSTONE.
self, apparently stupefied him.  However, when he had
swallowed his cup of coffee-which he always took, on the
foreign plan, some hours before he ate any breakfast-his
brains brightened; the clear-headed side of him turned up,
and he took the matter in hand, resolutely and cleverly,
much as follows:
He first sent for the servants, and told them to leave all
the lower doors and windows (with the exception of the
front door, which I had opened) exactly as they had been
left when we locked up overnight.  He next proposed to his
cousin and me to make quite sure, before we took any further steps, that the Diamond had not accidentally dropped
somewhere out of sight-say at the back of the cabinet, or
down behind the table on which the cabinet stood. Having
searched in both places, and found nothing —having also
questioned Penelope, and discovered fiom her no more than
the little she had already told me-Mr. Franklin suggested
next extending our inquiries to Miss Rachel, and sent Penelope to knock at her bedroom door.
My lady answered the knock, and closed the door behind
her. The moment after we heard it locked inside by Miss
Rachel.  My mistress came out among us, looking sorely
puzzled and distressed. "The loss of the Diamond seems
to have quite overwhelmed Rachel," she said, in reply to
Mr. Franklin. "She shrinks, in the strangest manner, fiom
speaking of it, even to me. It is impossible you can see her
for the present."
Having added to our perplexities by this account of Miss
Rachel, my lady, after a little effort, recovered her usual
composure, and acted with her usual decision.
" I suppose there is no help for it?" she said, quietly. " I
suppose I have no alternative but to send for the police?"
"And the first thing for the police to do," added Mr.
Franklin, catching her up, "is to lay hands on the Indian
jugglers who performed here last night."
My lady and Mr. Godfrey (not knowing what Mr. Franklin and I knew) both started, and both looked surprised.
"I can't stop to explain myself now," Mr. Franklin went
on. "I can only tell you that the Indians have certainly
stolen the Diamond. Give me a letter of introduction," says
he, addressing my lady, "to one of the magistrates at Frizinghall-merely telling him that I represent your interests
and wishes, and let me ride off with it instantly. Our
chance of catching the thieves may depend on our not wasting one unnecessary minute."  (Nota bene: Whether it was
the French side or the English, the right side of Mr. Frank



! i0 MOONSTONE.                 97
"In seemed to be uppermost now. The only question was,
fiow long would it last?)
He put pen, ink, and paper before his aunt, who (as it appeared to me) wrote the letter he wanted a little unwillingly. If it had been possible to overlook such an event as the
loss of a jewel worth twenty thousand pounds, I believewith my lady's opinion of her late brother, and her distrust
of his birthday-gift-it would have been privately a relief to
her to let the thieves get off with the Moonstone scot-free.
I went out with Mr. Franklin to the stables, and took the
opportunity of asking him how the Indians (whom I suspected, of course, as shrewdly as he did) could possibly have got
into the house.
"One of them might have slipped into the hall, in the confusion, when the dinner-company were going away," says
Mr. Franklin. "The fellow may have been under the sofa
while my aunt and Rachel were talking about where the Di-?amond was to be put for the night. He would only have to
wait till the house was quiet, and there it would be in the
cabinet, to be had for the taking." With those words he
called to the groom to open the gate, and galloped off.
This seemed certainly to be the only rational explanation.
But how had the thief contrived to make his escape from
the house? I had found the front door locked and bolted,
as I had left it at night, when I went to open it, after getting
up. As for the other doors and windows, there they were
still, all safe and fast, to speak for themselves. The dogs,
too? Suppose the thief had got away by dropping from
one of the upper windows, how had he escaped the dogs?
Had he come provided for them with drugged meat? As
the doubt crossed my mind, the dogs themselves came galloping at me round a corner, rolling each other over on the
wet grass, in such lively health and spirits that it was with
no small difficulty I brought them to reason, and chained
them up again. The more I turned it over in my mind, the
less satisfactory Mr. Franklin's explanation appeared to be.
We had our breakfast-whatever happens in a house, robbery or murder, it doesn't matter, you must have your breakfast. When we had done, my lady sent for me; and I found
myself compelled to tell her all that I had hitherto concealed, relating to the Indians and their plot. Being a woman
of high courage, she soon got over the first startling effect
of what I had to communicate. Her mind seemed to be far
more perturbed about her daughter than about the heathen
rogues and their conspiracy. "You know how odd Rachel
is, and how differently she behaves sometimes from other
1




98                  THEE MOONSTONE
girls," my lady said to me. "But I have never, in all ry
experience, seen her so strange and so reserved ab eoe a no,.
The loss of her jewel seems almost to have turned her oIbaia.
Who would have thought that horrible Diamond could have
laid such a hold on her in so short a time?"
It was certainly strange. Taking toys and trinkets in
general, Miss Rachel was nothing like so mad after them as
most young girls. Yet there she was, still locked up inconsolably in her bedroom. It is but fair to add that she was
not the only one of us in the house who was thrown out of
the regular groove. Mr. Godfrey, for instance-though professionally a sort of consoler-general-seemed to be at a loss
where to look for his own resources. Having no company to
amuse him, and getting no chance of trying what his experience of women in distress could do toward comforting Miss
Rachel, he wandered hither and thither about the house and
garden in an aimless, uneasy way. He was in two different
minds about what it became him to do, after the misfortune
that had happened to us. Ought he to relieve the family, in
their present situation, of the responsibility of him as a guest?
or ought he to stay on the chance that even his humble services might be of some use?  He decided ultimately that
the last course was perhaps the most customary and considerate course to take, in such a very peculiar case of family
distress as this was. Circumstances try the metal a man is
really made of. Mr. Godfrey, tried by circumstances, showed himself of weaker metal than I had thought him to be.
As for the women servants-excepting Rosanna Spearman,
who kept by herself-they took to whispering together in
corners, and staring at nothing suspiciously, as is the manner
of that weaker half of the human family, when any thing extraordinary happens in a house. I myself acknowledged to
having been fidgety and ill-tempered. The cursed Moonstone had turned us all upside down.
A little before eleven Mr. Franklin came back. The resolute side of him had, to all appearance, given way, in the interval since his departure, under the stress that had been
laid on it. He had left us at a gallop; he came back to
us at a walk. When he went away he was made of iron.
When he returned he was stuffed with cotton, as limp as
limp could be.
" Well I" says my lady, " are the police coming?"
" Yes," says Mr. Franklin; " they said they would follow
me in a fly. Superintendent Seegrave, of your local police
force, and two of his men. A mere form I  he case is hopeless."




THE MOONSTONE.                  9'
"Wht! have the Indians escaped, sir?" I asked.
"The poor ill-used Indians have been most unjustly put in
prison," says Mr. Franklin. "They are as innocent as the
babe unborn. My idea that one of them was hidden in the
house has ended, like all the rest of my ideas, in smoke. It's
been proved," says Mr. Franklin, dwelling with great relish
on his own incapacity, " to be simply impossible."
After astonishing us by announcing this totally new turn
in the matter of the Moonstone, our young gentleman, at his
aunt's request, took a seat, and explained himself.
It appeared that the resolute side of him had held out as
far as Frizinghall. He had put the whole case plainly before the magistrate, and the magistrate had at once sent for
the police. The first inquiries instituted about the Indians
showed that they had not so much as attempted to leave the
town. Further questions addressed to the police proved that
all three had been seen returning to Frizinghall with their
boy, on the previous night between ten and eleven-which
(regard being had to hours and distances) also proved that
they had walked straight back after performing on our terrace. Later still, at midnight, the police having occasion to
search the common lodging-house where they lived, had seen
them all three again, and their little boy with them as usual.
Soon after midnight I myself had safely shut up the house.
Plainer evidence than this, in favor of the Indians, there could
not well be. The magistrate said there was not even a case
of suspicion against them, so far. But, as it was just possible, when the police came to investigate the matter, that discoveries affecting the jugglers might be made, he would contrive, by committing them as rogues and vagabonds, to keep
them at our disposal, under lock and key, for a week. They
had ignorantly done something (I forget what) in the town
which barely brought them within the operation of the law.
Every human institution (Justice included) will stretch a little, if you only pull it the right way. The worthy magistrate
was an old friend of my lady's-and the Indian lot were
committed" for a week, as soon as the court opened that
morning.
Such was Mr. Franklin's narrative of events at Frizinghall. The Indian clue to the mystery of the lost jewel was
now, to all appearance, a clue that bad broken in our hands.
If the jugglers were innocent, who, in the name of wonder,
had taken the Moonstone out of Miss Rachel's drawer?
Ten minutes later, to our infinite relief, Superintendent
Seegrave arrived at the house  He reported passing Mr.
Franklin on the terrace, sitting in the sun (I suppose with




.00                THE MOONSTONE.
the Itaiian side of hin uppermost); and warning the oolice,
as they went by, that the investigation was hopeless Ltfore
the investigation had begun.
For a family in our situation, the Superintendent of thG
Frizinghall police was the most comforting officer you could
wish to see. Mr. Seegrave was tall and portly, and military
in his manners. He had a fine commanding voice, and a
mighty resolute eye, and a grand fiock-coat which buttoned
beautifully up to his leather stock. " I'm the man you want!"
was written all over his face; and he ordered his two inferior
policemen about with a severity which convinced us all that
there was no trifling with him.
He began by going round the premises, outside and in;
the result of that investigation proving to him that no thieves
had broken in upon us from outside, and that the robbery,
consequently, must have been committed by some person in
the house. I leave you to imagine the state the servants
were in when this official announcement first reached their
ears. The Superintendent decided to begin by examining
the boudoir; and, that done, to examine the servants next.
At the same time he posted one of his men on the staircase
which led to the servants' bedrooms, with instructions to let
nobody in the house pass him till further orders.
At this latter proceeding the weaker half of the human
family went distracted on the spot. They bounced out of
their corners; whisked up stairs in a body to Miss Rachel's
room (Rosanna Spearman being carried away among them
this time); burst in on Superintendent Seegrave; and all
looking equally guilty, summoned him to say which of them
he suspected, at once.
Mr. Superintendent proved equal to the occasion-he looked at them with his resolute eye, and he cowed them with
his military voice. "Now, then, you women, go down stairs
again, every one of you. I won't have you here. Look!"
says Mr. Superintendent, suddenly pointing to a little smear
of the decorative painting on Miss Rachel's door  at the
outer edge, just under the lock. "Look what mischief the
petticoats of some of you have done already. Clear out!
clear out!"  Rosanna Spearman, who was nearest to him,
and nearest to the little smear on the door, set the example
of obedience, and slipped off instantly to her work. The rest
followed her out. The Superintendent finished his examination of the room; and, making nothing of it, asked me who
had first discovered the robbery. My daughter had first discovered it. My daughter was sent for.
Mr. Superintendent proved to be a little too sharp with




THE MOONSTONE.                  101
Penelope at starting. "Now, young woman, attend to meand mind you speak the truth." Penelope fired up instantly.
" I've never been taught to tell lies, Mr. Policeman!-and if
father can stand there and hear me accused of falsehood and
thieving, and my own bedroom  shut against me, and my
character taken away, which is all a poor girl has left, he's
not the good father I take him fob!" A timely word from
me put Justice and Penelope on a pleasanter footing together. The questions and answers went swimmingly; and ended
in nothing worth mentioning. My daughter had seen Miss
Rachel put the Diamond in the drawer of the cabinet, the last
thing at night. She had gone in with Miss Rachel's cup of
tea, at eight the next morning, and had found the drawer
open and empty. Upon that she had alarmed the houseand there was an end of Penelope's evidence.
Mr. Superintendent next asked to see Miss Rachel herself.
Penelope mentioned his request through the door. The answer reached us by the same road: "I have nothing to tell
the policemen-I can't see any body." Our experienced officer looked equally surprised and offended when he heard that
reply.  I told him my young lady was ill, and begged him
to wait a little and see her later. We thereupon went down
stairs again; and were met by Mr. Godfiey and Mr. Franklin crossing the hall.
The two gentlemen, being inmates of the house, were summoned to say if they could throw any light on the matter.
Neither of them knew any thing about it. Had they heard
any suspicious noises during the previous night? They had
heard nothing but the pattering of the rain. Had I, lying
awake longer than either of them, heard nothing either?
Nothing! Released fiom examination. Mr. Franklin (still
sticking to the helpless view of our difficulty) whispered to
me: "That man will be of no earthly use to us. Superintendent Seegrave is an ass."  Released in his turn, Mr. Godfrey whispered to me: "Evidently a most competent person.
Betteredge, I have the greatest faith in him!" Many men,
many opinions, as one of the ancients said, before my time.
Mr. Superintendent's next proceeding took him back to
the "boudoir" again, with my daughter and me at his heels.
His object was to discover whether any of the furniture had
been moved during the night out of its customary place-his
previous investigation in the room having, apparently, not
gone quite far enough to satisfy his mind on this point.
While we were still poking about among the chairs and
tables the door of the bedroom was suddenly opened. After having denied herself to every body, Miss Rachel, to our




102                THE MOONSTONE.
astonishment, walked into the midst of us of her own accord.
She took up her garden hat from a chair and then went
straight to Penelope with this question:
"Mr. Franklin Blake sent you with a message to me this
morning?"
"Yes, miss."
"He wished to speak to me, didn't he?"
"Yes, miss."
"Where is he now?"
Hearing voices on the terrace below I looked out of window, and saw the two gentlemen walking up and down together. Answering for my daughter, I said, "Mr. Franklin
is on the terrace, miss."
Without another word, without heeding Mr. Superintendent, who tried to speak to her, pale as death, and wrapped
up strangely in her own thoughts, she left the room, and
went down to her cousins on the terrace.
It showed a want of due respect, it showed a breach of
good manners, on my part; but, for the life of me I couldn't
help looking out of window when Miss Rachel met the gentlemen outside. She went up to Mr. Franklin without appearing to notice Mr. Godfrey, who thereupon drew back
and left them by themselves. What she said to Mr. Franklin appeared to be spoken vehemently. It lasted but for a
short time; and (judging by what I saw of his face from the
window) seemed to astonish him beyond all power of expression. While they were still together my lady appeared
on the terrace. Miss Rachel saw her-said a few last words
to Mr. Franklin-and suddenly went back into the house
again, before her mother came up with her. My lady, surprised herself, and noticing Mr. Franklin's surprise, spoke to
him. Mr. Godfrey joined them, and spoke also. Mr. Franklin walked away a little, between the two, telling them what
had happened, I suppose; for they both stopped short, after
taking a few steps, like persons struck with amazement. I
had just seen as much as this when the door of the sittingroom  was opened violently. Miss Rachel walked swiftly
through to her bedroom, wild and angry, with fierce eyes
and flaming cheeks.  Mr. Superintendent once more attempted to question her. She turned round on him at her
bedroom door. "I have not sent for you!" she cried out,
vehemently, "Idon't want you. My Diamond is lost. Neither you nor any body will ever find it!" With those words
she went in, and locked the door in our faces. Penelope,
standing nearest to it, heard her burst out crying the mo,
ment she was alone again.




THE MOONSTONE.                  103
In a rage one moment, in tears the next! What did it
mean?
I told the Superintendent it meant that Miss Rachel's
temper was upset by the loss of her jewel. Being anxious
for the honor of the family, it distressed me to see my young
lady forget herself-even with a police officer-and I made
the best excuse I could, accordingly. In my own private
mind I was more puzzled by Miss Rachel's extraordinary
language and conduct than words can tell. Taking what
she had said at her bedroom door as a guide to guess by, I
could only conclude that she was mortally offended by our
sending for the police, and that Mr. Franklin's astonishment
on the terrace was caused by her having expressed herself
to him (as the person chiefly instrumental in fetching the
police) to that effect. If this guess was right, why-having
lost her Diamond-should she object to the presence in the
house of the very people whose business it was to recover
it for her?  And how, in Heaven's name, could she know
that the Moonstone would never be found again?
As things stood at present no answer to those questions
was to be hoped for fiom any body in the house. Mr. Franklin appeared to think it a point of honor to forbear repeating
to a servant-even to so old a servant as I was-what Miss
Rachel had said to him on the terrace. Mr. Godfiey, who,
as a gentleman and a relative, had been probably admitted
into Mr. Franklin's confidence, respected that confidence as
he was bound to do. My lady, who was also in the secret
no doubt, and who alone had access to Miss Rachel, owned
openly that she could make nothing of her. "You madden
mne when you talk of the Diamond!" All her mother's influence failed to extract fiom her a word more than that.
Here we were, then, at a dead-lock about Miss Racheland at a dead-lock about the Moonstone. In the first case,
my lady was powerless to help us. In the second (as you
shall presently judge), Mr. Seegrave was fast approaching
the condition of a superintendent at his wit's end.
Having ferreted about all over the "boudoir," without
making any discoveries among the furniture, our experienced
officer applied to me to know whether the servants in general were or were not acquainted with the place in which
the Diamond had been put for the night.
"I knew where it was put, sir," I said, " to begin with.
Samuel, the footman, knew also-for he was present in the
hall when they were talking about where the Diamond was
to be kept that night. My daughter knew, as she has already told you. She or Samuel may have mentioned the




104                THE MOONSTONE.
thing to the other servants-or the other servants may have
heard the talk for themselves, through the side-door of the
hall, which might have been open to the back staircase. For
all I can tell, every body in the house may have known
where the jewel was last night."
My answer presenting rather a wide field for Mr. Superintendent's suspicions to range over, he tried to narrow it by
asking about the servants' characters next.
I thought directly of Rosanna Spearman. But it was neither my place nor my wish to direct suspicion against a poor
girl whose honesty had been above all doubt as long as I
had known her. The matron at the Reformatory had reported her to my lady as a sincerely penitent and thoroughly trustworthy girl. It was the Superintendent's business
to discover reason for suspecting her first-and then, and
not till then, it would be my duty to tell him how she came
into my lady's service. "All our people have excellent
characters," I said. "And all have deserved the trust their
mistress has placed in them." After that there was but one
thing left for Mr. Seegrave to do-namely, to set to work
and tackle the servants' characters himself.
One after another they were examined. One after another they proved to have nothing to say-and said it (so far
as the women were concerned) at great length, and with a
very angry sense of the embargo laid on their bedrooms.
The rest of them being sent back to their places down stairs,
Penelope was then summoned, and examined separately a
second time.
My daughter's little outbreak of temper in the " boudoir,"
and her readiness to think herself suspected, appeared to
have produced an unfavorable impression on Superintendent
Seegrave. It seemed also to dwell a little on his mind that
she had been the last person who saw the Diamond at night.
When the second questioning was over my girl came back
to me in a fienzy. There was no doubt of it any longerthe police officer had almost as good as told her she was the
thief! I could scarcely believe him (taking Mr. Franklin's
view) to be quite such an ass as that. But, though he said
nothing, the eye with which he looked at my daughter was
not a pleasant eye to see. I laughed it off with poor Penelope, as something too ridiculous to be treated seriouslywhich it certainly was. Secretly, I am afraid I was foolish
enough to be angry too. It was a little trying-it was indeed. My girl sat down in a corner with her apron over her
head, quite broken-hearted. Foolish of her, you will say: she
might have waited till he openly accused her. Well, being




THE MOONSTONE.                    105
a man of just and equal temper, I admit that.  Still Mr. Superintendent might have remembered-never mind what he
might have remembered. The devil take him!
The next andslast step in the investigation brought mattels, as they say, to a crisis. The officer had an interview
(at which I was present) with my lady. After informing
her that the Diamond rmust have been taken by somebody
in the house, he requested permission for himself and his men
to search the servants' rooms and boxes on the spot. My
good mistress, like the generous, high-bred woman she was,
refused to let us be treated like thieves.  "I will never consent to make such a return as that," she said, "for all I owe
to the faithful servants who are employed in my house."
Mr. Superintendent made his bow, with a look in my direction, which said plainly, "Why employ me if you are to tie
my hands in this way?" As head of the servants, I felt directly that we were bound, in justice to all parties, not to
profit by our mistress's generosity.  "WVe gratefully thank
your ladyship," I said; "but we ask permission to do what
is right in this matter by giving up our keys.  When Gabriel Betteredge sets the example," says I, stopping Superintendent Seegrave at the door, "the rest of the servants will
follow, I promise you. There are my keys, to begin with!"
My lady took me by the hand, and thanked me with the
tears in her eyes. Lord! what would I not have given, at
that moment, for the privilege of knocking Superintendent
Seegrave down!
As I had promised for them, the other servants followed
my lead, sorely against the grain, of course, but all taking
the view that I took. The women were a sight to see, while
the police officers were rummaging among their things.
The cook looked as if she could grill Mr. Superintendent
alive on a furnace, and the other women looked as if they
could eat him when he was done.
The search over, and no Diamond or sign of a Diamond
being found, of course, anywhere, Superintendent Seegrave
retired to my little room to consider with himself what he
was to do next. He and his men had now been hours in the
house, and had not advanced us one inch toward a discovery
of how the Moonstone had been taken, or of whom we were
to suspect as the thief.
While the police officer was still pondering in solitude, I
was sent for to see Mr. Franklin in the library.  To my unutterable astonishment, just as my hand was on the door it
was suddenly opened from the inside, and out walked Ro-tnna Spearman!




106                 THE MOONSTONE,
After the library had been swept and cleaned in the morn*
in(, neither first nor second house-maid had any business in
that room at any later period of the day. I stopped Rosanna
Spearman, and charged her with a breach of domestic discipline on the spot.
" What might you want in the library at this time of day?"
I inquired.
" Mr. Franklin Blake dropped one of his rings up stairs,"
says Rosanna; " and I have been into the library to give it
to him." The girl's face was all in a flush as she made me
that answer; and she walked away with a toss of her head
and a look of self-importance which I was quite at a loss to
account for. The proceedings in the house had doubtless
upset all the women-servants more or less; but none of them
had gone clean out of their natural characters, as Rosanna,
to all appearance, had now gone out of hers.
I found Mr. Franklin writing at the library-table. He
asked for a conveyance to the railway station the moment I
entered the room. The first sound of his voice informed me
that we now had the resolute side of him uppermost once
more. The man made of cotton had disappeared; and the
man made of iron sat before me again.
" Going to London, sir?" I asked.
"Going to telegraph to London," says Mr. Franklin.  "I
have convinced my aunt that we must have a cleverer head
than Superintendent Seegrave's to help us; and I have got
her permission to dispatch a telegram to my father. He
knows the Chief Commissioner of Police, and the Commissioner can lay his hand on the right man to solve the mystery of the Diamond. Talking of mysteries, by-the-bye," says
Mr. Franklin, dropping his voice, "I have another word to
say to you before you go to the stables. Don't breathe a
word of it to any body as yet; but either Rosanna Spearman's head is not quite right, or I am afraid she knows more
about the Moonstone than she ought to know."
I can hardly tell whether I was more startled or distressed
at hearing him say that. If I had been younger, I might
have confessed as much to Mr. Franklin. But when you
are old, you acquire one excellent habit. In cases where
you don't see your way clearly, you hold your tongue.
"She came in here with a ring I dropped in my bedroom,"
Mr. Franklin went on. " When I had thanked her, of course
I expected her to go. Instead of that she stood opposite to
me at the table, looking at me in the oddest manner —half
frightened, and half familiar-I couldn't make it out.'This
is a strange thing about the Diamond, sir,' she said, in a c"



THI  M'9ONSTONE.                107
riously sudden, headlong way. I said, Yes it was, and wondered what was coming next. Upon my honor, Betteredge,
I think she must be wrong in the head! She said,'They
will never find the Diamond, sir, will they? No! nor the
person who took it-I'll answer for that.' She actually nodded and smiled at me! Before I could ask her what she
meant we heard your step outside. I suppose she was afraid
of your catching her here. At any rate, she changed color
and left the room. What on earth does it mean?"
I could not bring myself to tell him the girl's story even
then. It would have been almost as good as telling him
that she was the thief. Besides, even if I had made a clean
breast of it, and even supposing she was the thief, the reason
why she should let out her secret to Mr. Franklin, of all the
people in the world, would have been still as far to seek as
ever.
"I can't bear the idea of getting the poor girl into a
scrape, merely because she has a flighty way with her, and
talks very strangely." Mr. Franklin went on. "And yet, if
she had said to the Superintendent what she said to me, foot
as he is, I'm afraid-"  He stopped there, and left the rest
unspoken.
"The best way, sir," I said, "will be for me to say two
words privately to my mistress about it at the first opportunity. My lady has a very friendly interest in Rosanna;
and the girl may only have been forward and foolish, after
all. When there's a mess of any kind in a house, sir, the
women-servants like to look at the gloomy side-it gives
the poor wretches a kind of importance in their own eyes.
If there's any body ill, trust the women for prophesying that
the person will die. If it's a jewel lost, trust them for prophesying that it will never be found again."
This view (which I am bound to say I thought a probable view myself on reflection) seemed to relieve Mr. Franklin mightily; he folded up his telegram and dismissed the
subject. On my way to the stables to order the pony-chaise
I looked in at the servants' hall where they were at dinner.
Rosanna Spearman was not among them.  On inquiry I
found that she had been suddenly taken ill, and had gone
up stairs to her own room to lie down.
" Curious! She looked well enough when I saw her last,"
I remarked.
Penelope followed me out. "Don't talk in that way before the rest of them, father," she said. "You only make
them harder on Rosanna than ever.  The poor thing is
breaking her heart about Mr. Franklin Blake."




108                 THE MOONt'ONE.
Here was another view of the girl's conduct. If it was
possible for Penelope to be right, the explanation of Rosanna's strange language and behavior might have been all in
this-that she didn't care what she said so long as she could
surprise Mr. Franklin into speaking to her.  Granting that
to be the riglt reading of the riddle, it accounted, perhaps,
for her flighty selfconceited manner when she passed me in
the hall. Though he had only said three words still she
had carried her point, and Mr. Franklin had spoken to her.
I saw the pony harnessed myself.  In the infernal network of mysteries and uncertainties that now surrounded
us, I declare it was a relief to observe how well the buckles
and straps understood each other! When you had seen the
pony backed into the shafts of the chaise you had seen something there was no doubt about. And that, let me tell you,
was becoming a treat of the rarest kind in our household.
Going round with the chaise to the fiont door, I found not
only Mr. Franklin, but Mr. Godfiey and Superintendent Seegrave also, waiting for me on the steps.
Mr. Superintendent's reflections (after failing to find the
Diamond in the servants' rooms or boxes) had led him, it
appeared, to an entirely new conclusion. Still sticking to
his first text, namely, that somebody in the house had stolen
the jewel, our experienced officer was now of opinion tllat
the thief (he was wise enough not to name poor Penelope,
whatever he might privately think of her!) had been actitig
in concert with the Indians; and he accordingly proposced
shifting his inquiries to the jugglers in the prison at Frizinghall. IHearing of this new move, Mr. Franklin had volunteered to take the Superintendent back to the town, ifrom
which he could telegraph to London as easily as from our
station.  Mr. Godfrey, still devoutly believing in Mr. Seegrave, and greatly interested in witnessing the examination
of the Indians, had begged leave to accompany the officer to
Frizingchall. One of the two inferior policemen was to be.left at the house in case any thing happened. The other
was to go back with the Superintendent to the town.  So
the four places in the pony-chaise were just filled.
Before lie took the reins to drive off, Mr. Franklin walked
me away a few steps out of hearing of the others.
"I will wait to telegraph to London," he said, "till I see
what comes of our examination of the Indians.  My own
conviction is, that this muddle-headed local police officer is
as much in the dark as ever, and is simply trying to gain
time. The idea of any of the servants being in league with
the Indians is a preposterous absurdity, in my opinion.




THE MOONSTONE.
Keep about the house, Betteredge, till I come back, and ti
what you can make of Rosanna Spearman. 1 don't ask you
to do any thing degrading to your own self-respect, or any
thing cruel toward the girl. I only ask you to exercise your
observation more carefully than usual.  We will make as
light of it as we can before my aunt; but this is a more important matter than you may suppose."
"It's a matter of twenty thousand pounds, sir," I said,
thinking of the value of the Diamond.
"It's a matter of quieting Rachel's mind," answered Mr.
Franklin, gravely.  "I am very uneasy about her."
He left me suddenly, as if he desired to cut short any further talk between us. I thought I understood why. Further talk might have let me into the secret of what Miss
Rachel had said to him on the terrace.
So they drove away to Frizinghall.  I was ready enough,
in the girl's own interest, to have a little talk with Rosanna
in private. But the needful opportunity failed to present itself. She only came down stairs again at tea-time.  When
she did appear she was flighty and excited, had what they
call an hysterical attack, took a dose of sal volatile by my
lady's order, and was sent back to her bed.
The day wore on to its end drearily and miserably enough,
I can tell you. Miss Rachel still kept her room, declaring
that she was too ill to come down to dinner that day. My
lady was in such low spirits about her daughter that I could
not bring myself to make her additionally anxious by reporting what Rosanna Spearman had said to Mr. Franklin.
Penelope persisted in believing that she was to be forthwith
tried, sentenced, and transported for theft. The other women took to their Bibles and hymn-books, and looked as sour
as verjuice over their reading-a result which I have observed, in my sphere of life, to follow generally on the performance of acts of piety at unaccustomed periods of the
day. As for me, I hadn't even heart enough to open my
Robinson Crusoe. I went out into the yard, and being hard
up for a little cheerful society, set my chair by the kennels
and talked to the dogs.
Half an hour before dinner-time the two gentlemen came
back from Frizinghall, having arranged with Superintendent
Seegrave that he was to return to us the next day. They
had called on Mr. Mnrthwaite, the Indian traveler, at his
present residence, near the town. At Mr. Franklin's request
he had kindly given them the benefit of his knowledge of
the language, in dealing with those two, out of the three
Indians, who knew nothing of English. The examination,




THE MOONSTONE.
onducted carefully, and at great length, had ended in no
ing; not the shadow of a reason being discovered for s
pecting the jugglers of having tampered with any of c
servants. On reaching that conclusion Mr. Franklin h
sent his telegraphic message to London, and there the m
ter now rested till to-morrow came.
So much for the history of the day that followed the bir
day. Not a glimmer of light had broken in on us so far.
day or two after, however, the darkness lifted a little. How,
and with what result, you shall presently see.
CHAPTER XIL
THE Thursday night passed, and nothing happened. With
the Friday morning came two pieces of news.
Item  the first: The baker's man declared he had met
Rosanna Spearman, on the previous afternoon, with a thicl
veil on, walking toward Frizinghall by the foot-path way
over the moor. It seemed strange that any body should be
mistaken about Rosanna, whose shoulder marked her out
pretty plainly, poor thing-but mistaken the man must have
been; for Rosanna, as you know, had been all the Thursday
afternoon ill up stairs in her room.
Item  the second came through the postman. Worthy
Mr. Candy had said one more of his many unlucky things,
when he drove off in the rain on the birthday night, and
told me that a doctor's skin was water-proof. In spite of
his skin the wet had got through him. He had caught a
chill that night and was now down with a fever. The last
accounts, brought by the postman, represented him to be
light-headed-talking nonsense as glibly, poor man, in his
delirium as he often talked it in his sober sense. We were
all sorry for the little doctor; but Mr. Franklin appeared to
regret his illness chiefly on Miss Rachel's account. From
what he said to my lady while I was in the room at breakfasttime, he appeared to think that Miss Rachel-if the suspense
about the Moonstone was not soon set at rest-might stand
in urgent need of the best medical advice at our disposal.
Breakfast had not been over long when a telegram from
Mr. Blake, the elder, arrived in answer to his son. It informed us that he had laid hands (by help of his friend the
Commissioner) on the right man to help us. The name of
him was Sergeant Cuff, and the arrival of him from London
might be expected by the morning train




THE MOONSTONE.
At reading the name of the new police officer Mr. Franklil gave a start. It seems that he had heard some curious
anecdotes about Sergeant Cuff from his father's lawyer durin  his stay in London. "I begin to hope we are seeing the
end of our anxieties already," he said. "If half the stories
I  lave heard are true, when it comes to unraveling a mys"elry there isn't the equal in England of Sergeant Cuff!"
We all got excited and impatient as the time drew near
for the appearance of this renowned and capable character.
Superintendent Seegrave returning to us at his appointed
time, and hearing that the Sergeant was expected, instantly'hut himself up in a room, with pen, ink, and paper, to make
Ates of the Report which would be certainly expected from
I should have liked to have gone to the station myto fetch the Sergeant. But my lady's carriage and
ses were not to be thought of, even for the celebrated
if; and the pony-chaise was required later for Mr. Godey. He deeply regretted being obliged to leave his aunt
at such an anxious time; and he kindly put off the hour of
his departure till as late as the last train, for the purpose
of hearing what the clever London police officer thought of
the case. But on Friday night he must be in town, having
a Ladies' Charity, in difficulties, waiting to consult him on
Saturday morning.
When the time came for the Sergeant's arrival I went
down to the gate to look out for him.
A fly from the railway drove up as I reached the lodge;
and out got a grizzled, elderly man, so miserably lean that
he looked as if he had not got an ounce of flesh on his bones
in any part of him.  He was dressed all in decent black,
with a white cravat round his neck. His face was as sharp
as a hatchet, and the skin of it was as yellow and dry and
withered as an autumn leaf. His eyes, of a steely light gray,
had a very disconcerting trick, when they encountered your
eyes, of looking as if they expected something more fiom
you than you were aware of yourself. His walk was soft;
his voice was melancholy; his long lanky fingers were hooked like claws. He might have been a parson, or an undertaker, or any thing else you like, except what he really was.
A more complete opposite to Superintendent Seegrave than
Sergeant Cuff, and a less comforting officer to look at for a family in distress, I defy you to discover, search where you may
" Is this Lady Verinder's?" he asked.
" Yes, sir."
"I am Sergeant Cuff.
" This way, sir, if you please."




~ij,,       TTHE MOONSTONE.
On our road to tb.e house I mentioned mv name and po-i.
tion in the familv, to satisfy him that he might speak to me
about the business on which my lady was to employ hling
Not a word did he say about the business, however, for Fill
that. HWe admired the grounds, and remarked that he fitl
the sea-air very brisk and refreshing. I privately wondered,
on my side, how the celebrated Cuff had got his reputatio n
We reached the house in the temper of two strange dogs,
coupled up together for the first time in their lives by the
same chain.
Asking for my lady, and hearing, that she was ihi one of
the conservatories, we went round to the gardens at the
back and sent a servant to seek her. While we were Va;
ing Sergeant Cuff looked through the evergreen arch
our left, spied out our rosery, and walked straight in, x
the first appearance of any thing like interest that he i
sh:own yet. To the gardener's astonishment, and to my C,
gusr, this celebrated policeman proved to be quite a min.
of learning on the trumpery subject of rose-gardens.
"Ah, you've got the right exposure here to the south and
sou'west," says the Sergeant, with a wag of his grizzled
head, and a streak of pleasure in his melancholy voice.
"This is the shape for a rosery-nothing like a circle set in
a square. Yes, yes; with walks between all the beds. But
they oughtn't to be gravel-walks like these. Grass, Mr. Gardener- grass-walks between your roses; gravel's too hard
for them. That's a sweet pretty bed of white roses and
blush roses. They always mix well together, don't they?
Here's the white musk-rose, Mr. Betteredge - our old English rose holding up his head along with the best and the
newest of them. Pretty dear!" says the Sergeant, fondling
the musk-rose with his lanky fingers, and speaking to it as
if he was speaking to a child.
This was a nice sort of man to recover Miss Rachel's Dia.
mond. and to find out the thief who stole it 
" You seem to be fond of roses, Sergeant?" I remarked.
" I haven't much time to be fond of any thing," says Sergeant Cuff. "But, when I have a moment's fondness to bestow, most times, Mr. Betteredge, the roses get it. I began
my life among them  in my father's nursery garden, and I
shall end my life among them if I can. Yes. One of these
days (please God) I shall retire from catching thieves, and
try my hand at growing roses. There will be grass-walks,
Mr. Gardener, between my beds," says the Sergeant, on
whose mind the gravel-paths of a rosery seemed to dwell
unpleasantly.




THE MOONSTONE.                  113
"It seems an odd taste, sir," I ventured to say, "for a
iUan in your line of life."
"If you will look about you (which most people won't
do)," says Sergeant Cuff, "you will see that the nature of a
man's tastes is, most times, as opposite as possible to the
nature of a man's business. Show me any two things more
opposite one from the other than a rose and a thief, and I'll
correct my tastes accordingly-if it isn't too late at my time
of life. You find the damask-rose a goodish stock for most
of the tender sorts, don't you, Mr. Gardener? Ah! I thought
so. Here's a lady coming. Is it Lady Verinder?"
He had seen her before either I or the gardener had seen
her-though we knew which way to look, and he didn't. I
began to think him rather a quicker man than he appeared
to be at first sight.
The Sergeant's appearance, or the Sergeant's errand-one
or both —seemed to cause my lady some little embarrassment. She was, for the first time in all my experience of
her, at a loss what to say at an interview with a stranger.
Sergeant Cuff put her at her ease directly. He asked if any
other person had been employed about the robbery before
we sent for him; and hearing that another person had been
called in, and was now in the house, begged leave to speak
to him before any thing else was done.
My lady led the way back. Before he followed her, the
Sergeant relieved his mind on the subject of the gravelwalks by a parting word to the gardener.  "Get her ladyship to try grass," he said, with a sour look at the paths.
" No gravel! no gravel!"
Why Superintendent Seegrave should have appeared to
be several sizes smaller than life, on being presented to Sergeant Cuff, I can't undertake to explain. I can only state
the fact.  They retired together; and remained a weary
long time shut up from  all mortal intrusion.  When they
came out Mr. Superintendent was excited and Mr. Sergeant
was yawning.
" The Sergeant wishes to see Miss Verinder's sittingroom," says Mr. Seegrave, addressing me with great pomp
and eagerness. " The Sergeant may have some questions to
ask. Attend the Sergeant, if you please!"
While I was being ordered about in this way, I looked
at the great Cuff. The great Cuff, on his side, looked at Superintendent Seegrave in that quietly expecting way which
I have already noticed. I can't affirm that he was on the
w.tch for his brother-officer's speedy appearance in the char-;s er of an Ass-I can only say that I strongly suspected it.
8




114                THE MOONSTONE.
I led the way up stairs. The Sergeant went softly all over
the Indian cabinet and all round the "boudoir;" asking
questions (occasionally only of Mr. Superintendent, and continually of me), the drift of which I believe to have been
equally unintelligible to both of us. In due time his course
brought him to the door, and put him face to face with the
decorative painting that you know of. He laid one lean inquiring finger on the small smear, just under the lock, which
Superintendent Seegrave had already noticed when he reproved the women-servants for all crowding together into
the room.
"That's a pity," says Sergeant Cuff. "How did it happen?"
He put the question to me. I answered that the women
servants had crowded into the room on the previous morning, and that some of their petticoats had done the mischief.
" Superintendent Seegrave ordered them out, sir," I added,
"before they did any more harm."
"Right!" says Mr. Superintendent, in his military way.
"I ordered them out. The petticoats did it, Sergeant-the
petticoats did it."
"Did you notice which petticoat did it?" asked Sergeant
Cuff, still addressing himself, not to his brother-officer, but
to me.
" No, sir."
He turned to Superintendent Seegrave upon that, and said,
" You noticed, I suppose?"
Mr. Superintendent looked a little taken aback; but he
made the best of it. " I can't charge my memory, Sergeant,"
he said, "a mere trifle-a mere trifle."
Sergeant Cuff looked at Mr. Seegrave as he had looked at
the gravel-walks in the rosery, and gave us, in his melancholy
way, the first taste of his quality which we had had yet.
" I made a private inquiry last week, Mr. Superintendent,"
he said. "At one end of the inquiry there was a murder,
and at the other end there was a spot of ink on a table-cloth
that nobody could account for. In all my experience along
the dirtiest ways of this dirty little world I have never met
with such a thing as a trifle yet. Before we go a step farther in this business we must see the petticoat that made
the smear, and we must know for certain when that paint
was wet."
Mr. Superintendent-taking his set-down rather sulkilyasked if he should summon the women. Sergeant Cuff, after
considering a minute, sighed, and shook his head.
"No," he said, " we'll take the matter of the paint first.




THE MOONSTONE.                 115
It's a question of Yes or No with the paint-which is short.
It's a question of petticoats with the woman-which is long.
What o'clock was it when the servants were in this room
esterday morning? Eleven o'clock-eh?  Is there any
ody in the house who knows whether that paint was wet
or dry, at eleven yesterday morning?"
"Her ladyship's nephew, Mr. Franklin Blke, knows," I
said.
"Is the gentleman in the house?"
Mr. Franklin was as close at hand as could be-waiting
for his first chance of being introduced to the great Cuff.
In half a minute he was in the room, and was giving his evidence as follows:
"That door, Sergeant," he said, "has been painted by Miss
Verinder, under my inspection, with my help, and in a vehicle of my own composition. The vehicle dries whatever
colors may be used with it in twelve hours."
"Do you remember when the smeared bit was done, sir?"
asked the Sergeant.
" Perfectly," answered Mr. Franklin. "That was the last
morsel of the door to be finished. We wanted to get it
done on Wednesday last, and I myself completed it by three
in the afternoon, or soon after."
"To-day is Friday," said Sergeant Cuff, addressing himself to Superintendent Seegrave. "Let us reckon back, sir.
At three on the Wednesday afternoon, that bit of painting
was completed. The vehicle dried it in twelve hours-that
is to say, dried it by three o'clock on Thursday morning. At
eleven on Thursday morning you held your inquiry here.
Take three from eleven and eight remains. That paint had
been eight hours dry, Mr. Superintendent, when you supposed
that the women-servants' petticoats smeared it."
First knock-down blow for Mr. Seegrave! If he had not
suspected poor Penelope, I should have pitied him.
Having settled the question of the paint, Sergeant Cuff,
from the moment, gave his brother-officer up as a bad joband addressed himself to Mr. Franklin, as the more promising assistant of the two.
" It's quite on the cards, sir," he said, "that you have put
the clue into our hands."
As the words passed his lips the bedroom door opened,
and Miss Rachel came out among us suddenly.
She addressed herself to the Sergeant, without appearing
to notice (or to heed) that he was a perfect stranger to her.
"Did you say," she asked, pointing to Mr. Franklin, "that
he had put the clue into your hands?"




116                 THE MOONSTONE.
("This is Miss Verinder," I whispered, behind the Sergeant.)
"That gentleman, miss," says the Sergeant-with his
steely-gray eyes carefully studying my young lady's face"has possibly put the clue into our hands."
She turned for one moment, and tried to look at Mr.Franklin. I say tried, for she suddenly looked away again before
their eyes met. There seemed to be some strange disturbance in her mind. She colored up, and then she turned pale
again. With the paleness there came a new look into her
face, a look which it startled me to see.
"Having answered your question, miss," says the Sergeant, "I beg leave to make an inquiry in my turn. There
is a smear on the painting of your door here. Do you happen to know when it was done? or who did it?"
Instead of making any reply, Miss Rachel went on with
her questions as if he had not spoken, or as if she had not
heard him.
"Are you another police officer?" she asked.
"I am Sergeant Cuff, miss, of the Detective Police."
"Do you think a young lady's advice worth having?"
"I shall be glad to hear it, miss."
"Do your duty by yourself-and don't allow Mr. Franklin Blake to help you!"
She said those words so spitefully, so savagely, with such
an extraordinary outbreak of ill-will toward Mr. Franklin, in
her voice and her look, that-though I had known her from a
baby, though I loved and honored her next to my lady herself
-I was ashamed of Miss Rachel for the first time in my life.
Sergeant Cuff's immovable eyes never stirred fiom off
her face. " Thank you, miss," he said. "Do you happen to
know any thing about the smear? Might you have done it
by accident yourself?"
"I know nothing about the smear."
With that answer she turned away, and shut herself up
again in her bedroom. This time, I heard her-as Penelope
had heard her before-burst out crying as soon as she was
alone again.
I couldn't bring myself to look at the Sergeant-I looked
at Mr. Franklin, who stood nearest to me. He seemed to be
even more sorely distressed at what had passed than I was.
"I told you I was uneasy about her," he said. "And
now you see why."
" Miss Verinder appears to be a little out of temper about
the loss of her Diamond," remarked the Sergeant. " It's a
valuable jewel. Natural enough! natural enough!"




THE MOONSTONE.                   117
Here was the excuse that I had made for her (when she
forgot herself before Superintendent Seegrave, on the previous day) being made for her over again, by a man who
couldn't have had my interest in making it-for he was a
perfect stranger! A kind of cold shudder ran through me,
which I couldn't account for at the time. I know now that
I must have got my first suspicion, at that moment, of a new
light (and a horrid light) having suddenly fallen on the
case, in the mind of Seieant Cuff —purely and entirely in
consequence of what he ha I seen in Miss Rachel, and heard
from Miss Rachel, at that first interview between them.
"A young lady's tongue is a privileged member, sir," says
the Sergeant to Mr. Franklin.  "Let us forget what has
passed, and go straight on with this business. Thanks to
you, we know when the paint was dry. The next thing to
discover is when the paint was last seen without that smear.
You have got a head on your shoulders-and you understand what I mean."
Mr. Franklin composed himself, and came back with an
effort from Miss Rachel to the matter in hand.
" I think I do understand," he said. "The more we narrow the question of time the more we also narrow the field
of inquiry."
"That's it, sir," said the Sergeant.  "Did you notice your
work here on the Wednesday afternoon, after you had done
it?"
Mr. Franklin shook his head and answered, "I can't say I
did."
"Did you?" inquired Sergeant Cuff, turning to me.
" I can't say I did either, sir."
" Who was the last person in the room, the last thing on
Wednesday night?"
"Miss Rachel, I suppose, sir."
Mr. Franklin struck in there, " Or possibly your daughter,
Betteredge."  He turned to Sergeant Cuff, and explained
that my daughter was Miss Verinder's maid.
"Mr. Betteredge, ask your daughter to step up. Stop!"
says the Sergeant, taking me away to the window, out of
ear-shot. "Your Superintendent here," he went on, in a
whisper, "has made a pretty full report to me of the manner
in which he has managed this case. Among other things
he has, by his own confession, set the servants' backs up.
It's very important to smooth them down again. Tell your
daughter, and tell the rest of them, these two things with
my compliments: First, that I have no evidence before me,
yet, that the Diamond has been stolen; I only know that




118                 THE MOONSTONE.
the Diamond has been lost. Second, that my business here
with the servants is simply to ask them to lay their heads
together and help me to find it."
My experience of the women-servants, when Superintendent Seegrave laid his embargo on their rooms, came in handy
here.
"May I make so bold, Sergeant, as to tell the women a
third thing?" I asked. "Are they free (with your compliments) to fidget up and down stairs, and whisk in and out
of their bedrooms, if the fit takes them?"
"Perfectly free," says the Sergeant.
"That will smooth them  down, sir," I remarked, "from
the cook to the scullion."
" Go and do it at once, Mr. Betteredge."
I did it in less than five minutes. There was only one
difficulty when I came to the bit about the bedrooms. It
took a pretty stiff exertion of my authority, as chief, to prevent the whole of the female household from following me
and Penelope up stairs, in the character of volunteer witnesses in a burning fever of anxiety to help Sergeant Cuff.
The Sergeant seemed to approve of Penelope. He became
a trifle less dreary; and he looked much as he had looked
when he noticed the white musk-rose in the flower-garden.
Here is my daughter's evidence, as drawn off from her by
the Sergeant. She gave it, I think, very prettily-but, there!
she is my child all over: nothing of her mother in her; Lord
bless you, nothing of her mother in her!
Penelope examined: Took a lively interest in the painting
on the door, having helped to mix the colors. Noticed the
bit of work under the lock, because it was the last bit done.
Had seen it, some hours afterward, without a smear. Had
left it, as late as twelve at night, without a smear. Had, at
that hour, wished her young lady good-night in the bedroom; had heard the clock strike in the "boudoir;" had her
hand at the time on the handle of the painted door; knew
the paint was wet (having helped to mix the colors, as aforesaid); took particular pains not to touch it; could swear
that she held up the skirts of her dress, and that there was
no smear on the paint then; could not swear that her dress
mightn't have touched it accidentally in going out; remembered the dress she had on, because it was new, a present
from Miss Rachel; her father remembered, and could speak
to it, too; could, and would, and did fetch it; dress recognized by her father as the dress she wore that night; skirts
examined, a long job from the size of them; not the ghost of
a paint stain discovered anywhere. End of Penelope's evi



THE MOONSTONE.                   11 
dence-and very pretty and convincing, too. Signed, Ga
briel Betteredge.
The Sergeant's next proceeding was to question me about
any large dogs in the house who might have got into the
room, and done the mischief with a whisk of their tails.
Hearing that this was impossible, he next sent for a magnifying-glass, and tried how the smear looked, seen that way.
No skin-mark (as of a human hand) printed off on the paint.
All the signs visible-signs which told that the paint had
been smeared by some loose article of somebody's dress
touching it in going by. That somebody (putting together
Penelope's evidence and Mr. Franklin's evidence) must have
been in the room, and done the mischief, between midnight
and three o'clock on the Thursday morning.
Having brought his investigation to this point, Sergeant
Cuff discovered that such a person as Superintendent Seegrave was still left in the room, upon which he summed up
the proceedings for his brother-officer's benefit, as follows:
" This trifle of yours, Mr. Superintendent," says the Sergeant, pointing to the place on the door, " has grown a little
in importance since you noticed it last. At the present stage
of the inquiry there are, as I take it, three discoveries to make,
starting from that smear. Find out (first) whether there is
any article of dress in this house with the smear of the paint
on it. Find out (second) who that dress belongs to. Find
ont (third) how the person can account for having been in
this room, and smeared the paint, between midnight and
three in the morning. If the person can't satisfy you, you
haven't far to look for the hand that has got the Diamond.
I'll work this by myself, if you please, and detain you no
longer from your regular business in town. You have got
one of your men here, I see. Leave him here at my disposal,
in case I want him-and allow me to wish you good-morniln."
Superintendent Seegrave's respect for the Sergeant was
great; but his respect for himself was greater still. Hit
hard by the celebrated Cuff, he hit back smartly, to the best
of his ability, on leaving the room.
"I have abstained from expressing any opinion, so far,"
says Mr. Superintendent, with his military voice still in good
working order. "I have now only one remark to offer, on
leaving this case in your hands. There is such a thing, Sergeant, as making a mountain out of a mole-hill. Good-morning."
"There is also such a thing as making nothing out of a
mole-hill, in consequence of your head being too high to see




IMU                 THE MOONSTONE.
it."  Having returned his brother-officer's compliment in
those terms, Sergeant Cuff wheeled about, and walked away
to the window by himself.
Mr. Franklin and I waited to see what was coming next.
The Sergeant stood at the window, with his hands in his
pockets, looking out, and whistling the tune of the Last Rose
of Summer softly to himself. Later in the proceedings, I discovered that he only forgot his manners so far as to whistle,
when his mind was hard at work, seeing its way inch by inch
to its own private ends, on which occasions the Last Rose of
Summer evidently helped and encouraged him. I suppose it
fitted in somehow with his character. It reminded him, you
see, of his favorite roses, and, as he whistled it, it was the most
melancholy tune going.
Turning from the window, after a minute or two, the Sergeant walked into the middle of the room, and stopped there,
deep in thought, with his eyes on'Miss Rachel's bedroom
door. After a little he roused himself, nodded his head, as
much as to say, "That will do!" and, addressing me, asked
for ten minutes' conversation with my mistress at her ladyship's earliest convenience.
Leaving the room with this message, I heard Mr. Franklin
ask the Sergeant a question, and stopped to hear the answer
also at the threshold of the door.
"Can you guess yet," inquired Mr. Franklin, "who has
stolen the Diamond?"
"Nobody has stolen the Diamond," answered Sergeant
Cuff.
We both started at that extraordinary view of the case,
and both earnestly begged him to tell us what he meant.
"Wait a little," said the Sergeant. "The pieces of the
puzzle are not all put together yet."
CHAPTER XII.
I FOUND my lady in her own sitting-room. She started
and looked annoyed when I mentioned that Sergeant Cuff
wished to speak to her.
"Must I see him?" she asked. "Can't you represent me,
Gabriel?"
I felt at a loss to understand this, and showed it plainly, I
suppose, in my face.  My lady was so good as to explain
herself.
"I am afraid my nerves are a little shaken," she said.




THE MOONSTONE.                   121
"There is something in that police officer from  London
which I recoil fiom —I don't know why. I have a presentiment that he is brilging, trouble and misery with him into
the house. Very foolish and very unlike me-but so it is."
I hardly knew what to say to this. The more I saw of
Sergeant Cuff the better I liked limn. My lady rallied a little after having opened her heart to me-being naturally a
woman of a high courage, as I have already told you.
"If I must see him, I must," she said. "But I can't prevail on myself to see him alone. Bring him in, Gabriel, and
stay here as long as he stays."
This was the first attack of the megrims that I remembered
in my mistress since the time when she was a young girl. I
went back to the " boudoir."  Mr. Franklin strolled out into
the garden, and joined Mr. Godfrey, whose time for departure was now drawing near.  Sergeant Cuff and I went
straight to my mistress's room.
I declare.m-y ^Iad-y turned a shade paler at the sight of
him! She commanded herself, however, in other respects,
and asked the Sergeant if he had any objection to my being
present. She was so good as to add that I was her trusted
adviser as well as her old servant, and that in any thing
which related to the household I was the person whom it
might be most profitable to consult.  The Sergeant politely
answered that he would take my presence as a favor, having
something to say about the servants in general, and having
found my experience in that quarter already of some use to
him. My lady pointed to two chairs, and we set in for our
conference immediately.
" I have already formed an opinion on this case," says Sergeant Cuff, "which I beg your ladyship's permission to keep
to myself for the present. My business now is to mention
what I have discovered up stairs in Miss Verinder's sittingroom, and what I have decided (with your ladyship's leave)
on doing next."
He then went into the matter of the smear on the paint,
and stated the conclusions he drew from it-just as he had
stated them (only with greater respect of language) to Superintendent Seegrave. "One thing," he said, in conclusion,
"is certain. The Diamond is missing out of the drawer in
the cabinet. Another thing is next to certain. The marks
fromr the smear on the door must be on some article of dress
belonging to somebody in this house.  We must discover
that article of dress before we go a step farther."
"And that -discovery," remarked my mistress, " implies, I
presu'. the discovery of the thief?"




122                 THE MOONSTONE.
"I beg your ladyship's pardon-I don't say the Diamond
is stolen. I only say, at present, that the Diamond is missing. The discovery of the stained dress may lead the way
to finding it."
Her ladyship looked at me. "Do you understand this?"
she said.
"Sergeant Cuff understands it, my lady," I answered.
"How do you propose to discover the stained dress?"
inquired my mistress, addressing herself once more to the
Sergeant. "My good servants, who have been with me for
years, have, I am ashamed to say, had their boxes and rooms
searched already by the other officer. I can't and won't
permit them to be insulted in that way a second time.'
(There was a mistress to serve! There was a woman in
ten thousand, if you like!)
"That is the very point I was about to put to your ladyship," said the Sergeant. "The other officer has done a
world of harm to this inquiry by letting the servants see
that he suspected them. If I give them cause to think themselves suspected a second time, there's no knowing what obstacles they may not throw in my way-the women especially. At the same time, their boxes must be searched
again-for this plain reason, that the first investigation only
looked for the Diamond, and that the second investigation
must look for the stained dress. I quite agree with you, my
lady, that the servants' feelings ought to be consulted. But
I am equally clear that the servants' wardrobes ought to be
searched."
This looked very like a dead-lock. My lady said so, in
choicer language than mine.
"I have got a plan to meet the difficulty," said Sergeant
Cuff, " if your ladyship will consent to it. I propose explaining the case to the servants."
"The women will think themselves suspected directly," I
said, interrupting him.
"The women won't, Mr. Betteredge," answered the Sergeant, " if I can tell them I am going to examine the wardrobes of every body-from  her ladyship downward-who
slept in the house on Wednesday night. It's a mere formality," he added, with a side look at my mistress; "but the
servants will accept it as even dealing between them and
their betters; and, instead of hindering the investigation,
hney will make a point of honor of assisting it."
I saw the truth of that. My lady, after her first surprise
was over, saw the truth of it also.' You are certain the investigation is necessary?" s'  aid.




THE MOONSTONE.                 123
"It's the shortest way that I can see, my lady, to the end
we have in view."
My mistres: rose to ring the bell for her maid. "You
shall speak to the servants," she said, " with the keys of my
wardrobe in your hand."
Sergeant Cuff stopped her by a very unexpected question.
"Hadn't we better make sure first," he asked," that the
other ladies and gentlemen in the house will consent, too?"
"The only other lady in the house is Miss Verinder," answered my mistress, with a look of surprise. "The only
gentlemen are my nephews, Mr. Blake and Mr. Ablewhite.
There is not the least fear of a refusal from any of the three."
I reminded my lady here that Mr. Godfrey was going
away. As I said the words Mr. Godfrey himself knocked at
the door to say good-bye, and was followed in by Mr. Franklin, who was going with him to the station. My lady explained the difficulty. Mr. Godfrey settled it directly. He
called to Samuel, through the window, to take his portmanteau up stairs again, and he then put the key himself into
Sergeant Cuff's hand. "My luggage can follow me to London," he said," when the inquiry is over." The Sergeant received the key with a becoming apology. "I am sorry to
put you to any inconvenience, sir, for a mere formality; but
the example of their betters will do wonders in reconciling
the servants to this inquiry." Mr. Godfrey, after taking
leave of my lady in a most sympathizing manner, left a
farewell message for Miss Rachel, the terms of which made
it clear to my mind that he had not taken No for an answer,
and that he meant to put the marriage question to her once
more, at the next opportunity. Mr. Franklin, on following
his cousin out, informed the Sergeant that all his clothes
were open to examination, and that nothing he possessed
was kept under lock and key. Sergeant Cuff made his best
acknowledgments. His views, you will observe, had been
met with the utmost readiness by my lady, by Mr. Godfrey,
and by Mr. Franklin. There was only Miss Rachel now
wanting to follow their lead, before we called the servants
together, and began the search for the stained dress.
MIy lidy's unaccountable objection to the Sergeant seem3d to make our conference more distasteful to her than ever,
as soon as we were left alone again. " If I send you down
Miss Verinder's keys," she said to him, " I presume I shall
have done all you want of me for the present."
" I beg your ]adyship's pardon," said Sergeant Cuff. " Before we begin, I should like, if convenient, to have the washing-bcok. The stained article of dress may be an article of




124                 THE MOONSTONE.
linen. If the search leads to nothing, I want to be able to
account next for all the linen in the house, and for all the
linen sent to wash. If there is an article missing, there will
be at least a presumption that it has got the paint-stain on
it, and that it has been purposely made away with, yesterday or to-day, by the person owning it. Superintendent Seegrave," added the Sergeant, turning to me, "pointed the attention of the women-servants to the smear, when they all
crowded into the room on Thursday morning. That may
turn out, Mr. Betteredge, to have been one more of Superintendent Seegrave's many mistakes."
My lady desired me to ring the bell and order the washing-book. She remained with us until it was produced, in
case Sergeant Cuff had any further request to make of her
after looking at it.
The washing-book was brought in by Rosanna Spearman.
The girl had come down to breakfast that morning miserably
pale and haggard, but sufficiently recovered from her illness
of the previous day to do her usual work. Sergeant Cuff
looked attentively at our second house-maid-at her face,
when she came in; at her crooked shoulder, when she went
out.
"Have you any thing more to say to me?" asked my lady,
still as eager as ever to be out of the Sergeant's society.
The great Cuff opened the washing-book, understood it
perfectly in half a minute, and shut it up again. "I venture
to trouble your ladyship with one last question," he said.
"Has the young woman who brought us this book been in
your employment as long as the other servants?"
"Why do you ask?" said my lady.
" The last time I saw her," answered the Sergeant, " she
was in prison for theft."
After that there was no help for it but to tell him the
truth. My mistress dwelt strongly on Rosanna's good conduct in her service, and on the high opinion entertained of
her by the matron at the Reformatory.  "You don't suspect her, I hope?" my lady added, in conclusion, very earnestly.
"I have already told your ladyship that I don't suspect
any person in the house of thieving, up to the present time."
After that answer my lady rose to go up stairs, and ask
for Miss Rachel's keys. The Sergeant was beforehand with
me in opening the door for her. He made a very low bow.
My lady shuddered as she passed him.
We waited, and waited, and no keys appeared. Sergeant
Cuff made no remark to me. He turned his melancholy face




aRREfANT CUFF LOOKED ATTENTIVELY AT OUR SECOND HOUSE-MAID.








THE MOONSTONE.                   127
to the window; he put his lanky hands into his pockets, and
he whistled The Last Rose of Slummer drearily to himself.
At last Samuel came in, not with the keys, but with a
morsel of paper for me. I got at my spectacles with some
fumbling and difficulty, feeling the Sergeant's dismal eyes
fixed on me all the time. There were two or three lines on
the paper, written in pencil by my lady. They informed me
that Miss Rachel flatly refused to have her wardrobe examined. Asked for her reasons, she had burst out crying.
Asked again, she had said: "I won't, because I won't. I
must yield to fbrce if you use it, but I will yield to nothing
else." I understood my lady's disinclination to face Sergeant
Cuff with such an answer from her daughter as that. If I
had not been too old for the amiable weakness of youth, I
believe I should have blushed at the notion of facing him
myself.
"Any news of Miss Verinder's keys?" asked the Sergeant.
" My young lady refuses to have her wardrobe examined."
"Ah!" said the Sergeant.
His voice was not quite in such a perfect state of discipline
as his face. When he said "Ah!" he said it in the tone of a
man who had heard something which he expected to hear.
He half-angered and half-frightened me-why, I couldn't tell,
but he did it.
"Must the search be given up?" I asked.
"Yes," said the Sergeant, " the search must be given up,
because your young lady refuses to submit to it like the rest.
We must examine all the wardrobes in the house or none.
Send Mr. Ablewhite's portmanteau to London by the next
train, and return the washing-book, with my compliments
and thanks, to the young woman who brought it in."
He laid the washing-book on the table, and, taking out his
penknife, began to trim his nails.
"You don't seem to be much disappointed," I said.
"No," said Sergeant Cuff; "I'm not much disappointed."
I tried to make him explain himself.
"Why should Miss Rachel put an obstacle in your way?"
I inquired. "Isn't it her interest to help you?"
"Wait a little, Mr. Betteredge-wait a little."
Cleverer heads than mine might have seen his drift. Or a
person less fond of Miss Rachel than I was might have seen
his drift. My lady's horror of him might (as I have since
thought) have meant that she saw his drift (as the Scripture
says) "in a glass darkly." I didn't see it yet-that's all I
know.
"What's to be done next?" I asked.




128                THE MOONSTONE.
Sergeant Cuff finished the nail on which he was then at
work, looked at it for a moment with a melancholy interest,
and put up his penknife.
"Come out into the garden," he said, "and let's have a
look at the roses."
CHAPTER XIV.
THE nearest way to the garden, on going out of my lady's
sitting-room, was by the shrubbery path, which you already
know of. For the sake of your better understanding of what
is now to come, I may add to this, that the shrubbery path
was Mr. Franklin's favorite walk. When he was out in the
grounds, and when we failed to find him anywhere else, we
generally found him here.
I am afraid I must own that I am rather an obstinate old
man. The more firmly Sergeant Cuff kept his thoughts shut
up from me the more firmly I persisted in trying to look in
at them. As we turned into the shrubbery path I attempted
to circumvent him in another way.
"As things are now," I said, "if I was in your place I
should be at my wit's end."
" If you were in my place," answered the Sergeant, " you
would have formed an opinion-and, as things are now, any
doubt you might previously have felt about your own conclusions would be completely set at rest. Never mind, for
the present, what those conclusions are, Mr. Betteredge. I
haven't brought you out here to draw me like a badger; I
have brought you out here to ask for some information. You
might have given it to me, no doubt, in the house, instead
of out of it. But doors and listeners have a knack of getting
together, and, in my line of life, we sometimes cultivate a
healthy taste for the open air."
Who was to circumvent this man? I gave in-and waited
as patiently as I could to hear what was coming next.
"We won't enter into your young lady's motives," the
Sergeant went on; " we will only say it's a pity she declines
to assist me, because, by so doing, she makes this investigation more difficult than it might otherwise have been. We
must now try to solve the mystery of the smear on the door
-which, you may take my word for it, means the mystery
of the Diamond also-in some other way. I have decided
to see the servants, and to search their thoughts and actions,
Mr. Betteredge, instead of searching their wardrobes. Be



THE MOONSTONE.                  129
fore I begin, however, I want to ask you a question or two.
You are an observant man-did you notice any thing strange
in any of the servants (making due allowance, of course, for
fright and fluster) after the loss of the Diamond was found
out?  Any particular quarrel among them? Any one of
them not in his or her usual spirits? Unexpectedly out of
temper, for instance? or unexpectedly taken ill?"
I had just time to think of Rosanna Spearman's sudden
illness at yesterday's dinner-but not time to make any answer-when I saw Sergeant Cuff's eyes suddenly turn aside
toward the shrubbery; and I heard him say softly to himself, " Halloo!"
" What's the matter?" I asked.
" A touch of the rheumatics in my back," said the Sergeant,
in a loud voice, as if he wanted some third person to hear
us. "We shall have a change in the weather before long."
A few steps farther brought us to the corner of the house.
Turning off sharp to the right, we entered on the terrace,
and went down, by the steps in the middle, into the garden
below.  Sergeant Cuff stopped there, in the open space,
where we could see round us on every side.
"About that young person, Rosanna Spearman?" he said.
"It isn't very likely, with her personal appearance, that she
has got a lover. But, for the girl's own sake, I must ask
you at once whether she has provided herself with a sweetheart, poor wretch, like the rest of them?"
What on earth did he mean, under present circumstances,
by putting such a question to me as that? I stared at him
instead of answering him.
"I saw Rosanna Spearman hiding in the shrubbery as we
went by," said the Sergeant.
" When you said'Halloo?"'
"Yes-when I said,' Halloo.' If there's a sweetheart in
the case, the hiding doesn't much matter. If there isn'tas things are in this house-the hiding is a highly suspicious
circumstance, and it will be my painful duty to act on it accordingly."
What, in God's name, was I to say to him? I knew the
shrubbery was Mr. Franklin's favorite walk; I knew  he
would most likely turn that way when he came back from
the station; I knew that Penelope had over and over again
caught her fellow-servant hanging about there, and had always declared to me that Rosanna's object was to attract
Mr. Franklin's attention. If my daughter was right, she
might well have been lying in wait for Mr. Franklin's return when the Sergeant noticed her. I was put between
9




130                 THE MOONSTONE.
the two difficulties of mentioning Penelope's fanciful notior
as if it was mine, or of leaving an unfortunate creature to
suffer the consequences, the very serious consequences, of
exciting the suspicion of Sergeant Cuff. Out of pure pity
for the girl-on my soul and my character, out of pure pity
for the girl —I gave the Sergeant the necessary explanations.
and told him that Rosanna had been mad enough to set her
heart on Mr. Franklin Blake.
Sergeant Cuff never laughed. On the few occasions when
any thing amused him he curled up a little at the corners of
the lips, nothing more. He curled up now.
"Hadn't you better say she's mad enough to be an ugly
girl and only a servant?" he asked. "The falling in love
with a gentleman of Mr. Franklin Blake's manners and appearance doesn't seem to me to be the maddest part of her
conduct by any means. However, I'm  glad the thing is
cleared up: it relieves one's mind to have things cleared
up.  Yes, I'll keep it a secret, Mr. Betteredge. I like to
be tender to human infirmity —though I don't get many
chances of exercising that virtue in my line of life. You
think Mr. Franklin Blak: hasn't got a suspicion of the girl's
fancy for him?   ~h! hle,,ould have found it out fast
enough if she had b::::n nice-looking. The ugly women have
a bad time of it in this world, let's hope it will be made up
to them in another. You have got a nice garden there, and
a well-kept lawn. See for yourself how much better the
flowers look with grass about them instead of gravel. No,
thank you. I won't take a rose. It goes to my heart to
break them off the stem. Just as it goes to your heart, you
know, when there's something wrong in the servants' hall.
Did you notice any thing you couldn't account for in any of
the servants when the loss of the Diamond was first found
out?"
I had got on very fairly well with Sergeant Cuff so far.
But the slyness with which he slipped in that last question
put me on my guard. In plain English, I didn't at all relish
the notion of helping his inquiries, when those inquiries took
him (in the capacity of snake in the grass) among my fellowservants.
"I noticed nothing," I said," except that we all lost our
heads together, myself included."
"Oh," says the Sergeant, " that's all you have to tell me,
is it?"
I answered, with (as I flattered myself) an unmoved coun
tenance, "That is all."
Sergeant Cuff's dismal eyes looked me hard in the face.




THE MOONSTONE.                 131
" Mr. Betteredge," be said, "have you any objection to
oblige me by shaking hands? I have taken an extraordinary liking to you."
(Why he should have chosen the exact moment when I
was deceiving him to give me that proof of his good opinion
is beyond all comprehension! I felt a little proud — really
did feel a little proud of having been one too many at last
for the celebrated Cuff!)
We went back to the house; the Sergeant requesting that
I would give him a room to himself, and then send in the
servants (the indoor servants only), one after another, in the
order of their rank, from first to last.
I showed Sergeant Cuff into my own room, and then called
the servants together in the hall. Rosanna Spearman appeared among them, much as usual. She was as quick in
her way as the Sergeant in his, and I suspect she had heard
what he said to me about the servants in general, just before he discovered her. There she was, at any rate, looking
as if she had never heard of such a place as the shrubbery in
her life.
I sent them in, one by one, as desired. The cook was the
first to enter the Court of Justice, otherwise my room. She
remained but a short time. Report, on coming out: " Sergeant Cuff is depressed in his spirits; but Sergeant Cuff is
a perfect gentleman." My lady's own maid followed. Remained much longer. Report, on coming out: " If Sergeant
Cuff doesn't believe a respectable woman, he might keep his
opinion to himself, at any rate!" Penelope went next. Remained only a moment or two. Report, on coming out:
"Sergeant Cuff is much to be pitied. He must have been
crossed in love, father, when he was a young man." The
first house-maid followed Penelope. Remained, like my
lady's maid, a long time. Report, on coming out: " I didn't
enter her ladyship's service, Mr. Betteredge, to be doubted
to my face by a low police officer!" Rosanna Spearman
went next. Remained longer than any of them. No report
on coming out-dead silence, and lips as pale as ashes. Samuel, the footman, followed Rosanna. Remained a minute or
two. Report, on coming out: "Whoever blacks Sergeant
Cuff's boots ought to be ashamed of himself." Nancy,
the kitchen-maid, went last. Remained a minute or two.
Report, on coming out: "Sergeant Cuff has a heart; he
doesn't cut jokes, Mr. Betteredge, with a poor hard-working
girl."
Going into the Court of Justice, when it was all over, to
hear if there were any further commands for me, I found the




132                 THE MOONSTONE.
Sergeant at his old trick-looking out of the window and
whistling The Last Rose of Summer to himself.
"Any discoveries, sir?" I inquired.
"If Rosanna Spearman asks leave to go out," said the
Sergeant, " let the poor thing go; but let me know first."
I might as well have held my tongue about Rosanna and
Mr. Franklin! It was plain enough; the unfortunate girl
had fallen under Sergeant Cuff's suspicions, in spite of all I
could do to prevent it.
" I hope you don't think Rosanna is concerned in the loss
of the Diamond?" I ventured to say.
The corners of the Sergeant's melancholy mouth curled
up, and he looked hard in my face; just as he had looked in
the garden.
" I think I had better not tell you, Mr. Betteredge," he said.
"You might lose your head, you know, for the second time."
I began to doubt whether I had been one too many for
the celebrated Cuff, after all! It was rather a relief to me
that we were interrupted here by a knock at the door and a
message fiom the cook. Rosanna Spearman had asked to
go out, fbo the usual reason, that her head was bad, and she
wanted a breath of fresh air. At a sign from the Sergeant,
I said, Yes. "Which is the servants' way out?" he asked,
when the messenger had gone. I showed him the servants'
way out. " Lock the door of your room," says the Sergeant;
" and if any body asks for me, say I'm in there, composing
my mind."  He curled up again at the corners of the lips,
and disappeared.
Left alone, under those circumstances, a devouring curiosity pushed me on to make some discoveries for myself.
It was plain that Sergeant Cuff's suspicions of Rosanna
had been roused by something that he had found out at his
examination of the servants in my room. Now, the only
two servants (excepting Rosanna herself) who had remained
under examination for any length of time were my lady's
own maid and the first house-maid, those two being also the
women who had taken the lead in persecuting their unfortunate fellow-servant from the first. Reaching these conclusions, I looked in on them, casually as it might be, in the
servants' hall, and, finding tea going forward, instantly invited myself to that meal. (For, nota bene, a drop of tea is,
to a woman's tongue, what a drop of oil is to a wasting lamp.)
My reliance on the tea-pot as an ally did not go unrewarded. In less than half an hour I knew as much as the Sergeant
himself.
My lady's maid and the house-maid had, it appears, neither




THE MOONSTONE.                  133
of them believed in Rosanna's illness of the previous day.
These two devils-I ask your pardon; but how else can you
describe a couple of spiteful women? —had stolen up stairs,
at intervals during the Thursday afternoon; had tried Rosanna's door, and found it locked; had knocked, and not
been answered; had listened, and not heard a sound inside.
When the girl had come down to tea, and had been sent up,
still out of sorts, to bed again, the two devils aforesaid had
tried her door once more, and found it locked; had looked
at the key-hole, and found it stopped up; had seen a light
under the door at midnight, and had heard the crackling of
a fire (a fire in a servant's bedroom in the month of June!)
at four in the morning. All this they had told Sergeant
Cuff, who, in return for their anxiety to enlighten him, had
eyed them with sour and suspicious looks, and had shown
them plainly that he didn't believe either one or the other.
Hence the unfavorable reports of him which these two women had brought out with them from the examination. Hence,
also (without reckoning the influence of the tea-pot), their
readiness to let their tongues run to any length on the subject of the Sergeant's ungracious behavior to them.
Having had some experience of the great Cuff's roundabout ways, and having last seen him evidently bent on following Rosanna privately when she went out for her walk, it
seemed clear to me that he had thought it unadvisable to let
the lady's maid and the house-maid know how materially
they had helped him. They were just the sort of women,
if he had treated their evidence as trustworthy, to have
been puffed up by it, and to have said or done something
which would have put Rosanna Spearman on her guard.
I walked out in the fine summer evening, very sorry for
the poor girl, and very uneasy in my mind, generally, at the
turn things had taken. Drifting toward the shrubbery,
there I met Mr. Franklin in his favorite walk. He had been
back some time from the station, and had been with my
lady, holding a long conversation with her. She had told
him of Miss Rachel's unaccountable refusal to let her wardrobe be examined, and had put him in such low spirits about
my young lady that he seemed to shrink from speaking on
the subject. The family temper appeared in his face that
evening for the first time in my experience of him.
"Well, Betteredge," he said, "how does the atmosphere
of mystery and suspicion in which we are all living now
agree with you?  Do you remember that morning when I
first came here with the Moonstone? I wish to God we had
thrown it into the quicksand!"




134                 THE MOONSTONE.
After breaking out in that way, he abstained from speaking again until he had composed himself. We walked silently, side by side, for a minute or two, and then he asked me
what had become of Sergeant Cuff. It was impossible to
put Mr. Franklin off with the excuse of the Sergeant being
in my room, composing his mind. I told him exactly what
had happened, mentioning particularly what my lady's maid
and the house-maid had said about Rosanna Spearman.
Mr. Franklin's clear head saw the turn the Sergeant's suspicions had taken, in the twinkling of an eye.
"Didn't you tell me this morning," he said, "that one of
the trades-people declared he had met Rosanna yesterday, on
the foot-way to Frizinghall, when we supposed her to be ill
in her room?"
" Yes, sir."
" If my aunt's maid and the other woman have spoken the
truth, you may depend upon it the tradesman did meet her.
The girl's attack of illness was a blind to deceive us. She
had some guilty reason for going to the town secretly. The
paint-stained dress is a dress of hers; and the fire heard crackling in her room at four in the morning was a fire lit to destroy it. Rosanna Spearman has stolen the Diamond. I'll
go in directly, and tell my aunt the turn things have taken."
"Not just yet, if you please, sir," said a melancholy voice
behind us.
We both turned about, and found ourselves face to face
with Sergeant Cuff.
" Why not just yet?" asked Mr. Franklin.
" Because, sir, if you tell her ladyship, her ladyship will tell
Miss Verinder."
"Suppose she does. What then?" Mr. Franklin said
those words with a sudden heat and vehemence, as if the
Sergeant had mortally offended him.
"Do you think it's wise, sir," said Sergeant Cuff, quietly,
" to put such a question as that to me-at such a time as this?"
There was a moment's silence between them: Mr. Franklin walked close up to the Sergeant. The two looked each
other straight in the face. Mr. Franklin spoke first; dropping his voice as suddenly as he had raised it.
"I suppose you know, Mr. Cuff," he said, "that you are
treading on delicate ground?"
" It isn't the first time, by a good many hundreds, that I
find myself treading on delicate ground," answered the other,
just as immovable as ever.
"I am to understand that you forbid me to tell my aunt
what has happened?"




THE MOONSTONE.                  135
"You are to understand, if you please, sir, that I throw up
the case, if you tell Lady Verinder, or tell any body, what
has happened until I give you leave."
That settled it. Mr. Franklin had no choice but to submit.
He turned away in anger, and left us.
I had stood there listening to them, all in a tremble; not
knowing whom to suspect, or what to think next. In the
midst of my confusion, two things, however, were plain to
me. First, that my young lady was, in some unaccountable
manner, at the bottom of the sharp speeches that had passed between them. Second, that they thoroughly understood
each other without having previously exchanged a word of
explanation on either side.
"Mr. Betteredge," said the Sergeant, "you have done a
very foolish thing in my absence. You have done a little
detective business on your own account. For the future,
perhaps you will be so obliging as to do your detective business along with me."
He took me by the arm, and walked me away with him
along the road by which he had come. I dare say I had deserved his reproof-but I was not going to help him to set
traps for Rosanna Spearman for all that. Thief or no thief,
legal or not legal, I don't care-I pitied her.
" What do you want of me?" I asked, shaking him off, and
stopping short.
"Only a little information about the country round here,"
said the Sergeant.
I couldn't well object to improve Sergeant Cuff in his
geography.
"Is there any path, in that direction, leading from the seabeach to this house?" asked the Sergeant. He pointed, as
he spoke, to the fir-plantation which led to the Shivering
Sand.
"Yes," I said; "there is a path."
"Show it to me."
Side by side, in the gray of the summer evening, Sergeant
Cuff and I set forth for the Shivering Sand.
CHAPTER XV.
THE Sergeant remained silent, thinking his own thoughts,
till we entered the plantation of firs which led to the quicksand. There he roused himself, like a man whose mind was
made up, and spoke to me again.




136                 THE MOONSTONE.
"Mr. Betteredge," he said, " as you have honored me by
taking an oar in my boat, and as you may, I think, be of some
assistance to me before the evening is out, I see no use in our
mystifying one another any longer, and I propose to set you
an example of plain-speaking on my side. You are determined to give me no information to the prejudice of Rosanna
Spearman, because she has been a good girl to you, and because you pity her heartily. Those humane considerations
do you a world of credit, but they happen in this instance
to be humane considerations clean thrown away. Rosanna
Spearman is not in the slightest danger of getting into trouble
-no, not if I fix her with being concerned in the disappearance of the Diamond, on evidence which is as plain as the
nose on your face!"
"Do you mean that my lady won't prosecute?" I asked.
" I mean that your lady can't prosecute," said the Sergeant.
"Rosanna Spearman is simply an instrument in the hands of
another person, and Rosanna Spearman will be held harmless
for that other person's sake."
He spoke like a man in earnest-there was no denying
that. Still, I felt something stirring uneasily against him
in my mind. "Can't you give that other person a name?
I said.
" Can't you, Mr. Betteredge?"
c No."
Sergeant Cuff stood stock-still, and surveyed me with a
look of melancholy interest.
"It's always a pleasure to me to be tender toward human
infirmity," he said. " I feel particularly tender at the present moment, Mr. Betteredge, toward you.  And you, with
the same excellent motive, feel particularly tender toward
Rosanna Spearman, don't you? Do you happen to know
whether she has had a new outfit of linen lately?"
What he meant by slipping in this extraordinary question
unawares I was at a total loss to imagine. Seeing no possible injury to Rosanna if I owned the truth, I answered that
the girl had come to us rather sparely provided with linen,
and that my lady, in recompense for her good conduct (I
laid a stress on her good conduct), had given her a new outfit not a fortnight since.
"This is a miserable world," says the Sergeant. "Human
life, Mr. Betteredge, is a sort of target-misfortune is always
firing at it, and always hitting the mark. But for that outfit we should have discovered a new night-gown or petticoat
among Rosanna's things, and have nailed her in that way.
You're not at a loss to follow me, are you? You have ex



THE MOONSTONE.                  137
amined the servants yourself, and you know what discover.
ies two of them made outside Rosanna's door. Surely you
know  what the girl was about yesterday, after she was
taken ill? You can't guess? Oh, dear me, it's as plain as
that strip of light there at the end of the trees. At eleven,
on Thursday morning, Superintendent Seegrave (who is a
mass of human infirmity) points out to all the women servants
the smear on the door.  Rosanna has her own reasons for
suspecting her own things; she takes the first opportunity
of getting to her room, finds the paint stain on her nightgown, or petticoat, or what not, shams ill, and slips away
to the town, gets the materials for making a new petticoat
or night-gown, makes it alone in her room on the Thursday
night, lights a fire (not to destroy it; two of her fellow-servants are prying outside her door, and she knows better than
to make a smell of burning, and to have a lot of tinder to
get rid of)- lights a fire, I say, to dry and iron the substitute dress after wringing it out, keeps the stained dress
hidden (probably on her), and is at this moment occupied in
making away with it, in some convenient place, on that lonely bit of beach ahead of us. I have traced her this evening
to your fishing village, and to one particular cottage which
we may possibly have to visit before we go back. She stopped in the cottage for some time, and she came out with (as
I believe) something hidden under her cloak. A cloak (on a
woman's back) is an emblem of charity-it covers a multitude of sins. I saw her set off northward along the coast,
after leaving the cottage. Is your sea-shore here considered
a fine specimen of marine landscape, Mr. Betteredge?"
I answered "Yes," as shortly as might be.
"Tastes differ," says Sergeant Cuff. "Looking at it from
my point of view, I never saw a marine landscape that I
admired less. If you happen to be following another person along your sea-coast, and if that person happens to look
round, there isn't a scrap of cover to hide you anywhere. I
had to choose between taking Rosanna in custody on suspicion, or leaving her, for the time being, with her little
game in her own hands. For reasons, which I won't trouble
you with, I decided on making any sacrifice rather than
give the alarm as soon as to-night to a certain person who
shall be nameless between us. I came back to the house to
ask you to take me to the north end of the beach by another
way. Sand-in respect of its printing off people's footsteps
-is one of the best detective officers I know. If we don't
meet with Rosanna Spearman by coming round on her this
way, the sand may tell us what she has been at, if the light




138                 THE MOONSTONE.
only lasts long enough. Here is the sand. If you will excuse my suggesting it-suppose you hold your tongue, and
let me go first?"
If there is such a thing known at the doctor's shop as a
detective fever, that disease had now got fast hold of your
humble servant. Sergeant Cuff went on between the hillocks of sand, down to the beach. I followed him (with my
heart in my mouth); and waited at a little distance for what
xwas to happen next.
As it turned out, I found myself standing nearly in the
same place where Rosanna Spearman and I had been talkilg together when Mr. Franklin suddenly appeared before
us, on arriving at our house from London. While my eyes
were watching the Sergeant, my mind wandered away in
spite of me to what had passed on that former occasion between Rosanna and me.  I declare I almost felt the poor
thing slip her hand again into mine, and give it a little
grateful squeeze to thank me for speaking kindly to her. I
declare I almost heard her voice telling me again that the
Shivering Sand seemed to draw her to it, against her own
will, whenever she went out-almost saw her face brighten
again, as it brightened when she first set eyes upon Mr.
Franklin coming briskly out on us from among the hillocks.
My spirits fell lower and lower as I thought of these things
-and the view of the lonesome little bay, when I looked
about to rouse myself, only served to make me feel more uneasy still.
The last of the evening light was fading away; and over
all the desolate place there hung a still and awful calm.
The heave of the main ocean on the great sand-bank out in
the bay, was a heave that made no sound. The inner sea
lay lost and dim, without a breath of wind to stir it. Patches of nasty ooze floated, yellow-white, on the dead surface of
the water. Scum and slime shone faintly in certain places.
where the last of the light still caught them on the two
great spits of rock jutting out, north and south, into the sea.
It was now the time of the turn of the tide; and even as I
stood there waiting, the broad brown face of the quicksand
began to dimple and quiver-the only moving thing in all
the horrid place.
I saw the Sergeant start as the shiver of the sand caught
his eye. After looking at it for a minute or so he turned and
came back to me.
"A treacherous place, Mr. Betteredge," he said; " and no
signs of Rosanna Spearman anywhere on the beach, look
where you may."




THE MOONSTONE.                  139
He took me down lower on the shore, and I saw for my,
self that his footsteps and mine were the only footsteps
printed off on the sand.
"How does the fishing village bear, standing where we
are now?" asked Sergeant Cuff.
"Cobb's Hole," I answered (that being the name of the
place), " bears as near as may be due south."
"I saw the girl this evening, walking northward along
the shore, from Cobb's Hole," said the Sergeant. "Consequently, she must have been walking toward this place. Is
Cobb's Hole on the other side of that point of land there?
And can we get to it-now it's low water-by the beach?"
I answered "Yes" to both those questions.
" If you'll excuse my suggesting it, we'll step out briskly,"
says the Sergeant. "I want to find the place where she left
the shore before it gets dark."
We had walked, I should say, a couple of hundred yards
toward Cobb's Hole, when Sergeant Cuff suddenly went
down on his knees on the beach, to all appearance seized
with a sudden frenzy for saying his prayers.
"There's something to be said for your marine landscape
here, after all," remarked the Sergeant. "Here are a woman's footsteps, Mr. Betteredge! Let us call them Rosanna's
footsteps, until we find evidence to the contrary that we
can't resist. Very confused footsteps, you will please to observe-purposely confused, I should say. Ah, poor soul, she
understands the detective virtues of sand as well as I do!
But hasn't she been in rather too great a hurry to tread out
the marks thoroughly? I think she has. Here's one footstep going from  Cobb's Hole; and here is another going
back to it. Isn't that the toe of her shoe pointing straight
to the water's edge? And don't I see two heel-marks farther down the beach, close at the water's edge also? I don't
want to hurt your feelings, but I'm afraid Rosanna is sly.
It looks as if she had determined to get to that place you
and I have just come from, without leaving any marks on
the sand to trace her by. Shall we say that she walked
through the water from this point till she got to that ledge
of rocks behind us, and came back the same way, and then
took to the beach again where those two heel-marks are still
left? Yes, we'll say that. It seems to fit in with my notion
that she had something under her cloak when she left the
cottage. No! not something to destroy-for, in that case,
where would have been the need of all these precautions to
prevent my tracing the place at which her walk ended?
Something to hide is, I think, the better guess of the two.




140                THE MOONSTONE.
Perhaps, if we go on to the cottage, we may find out $what
that something is!"
At this proposal my detective fever suddenly cooled.
"You don't want me," I said. "What good can I do?"
"The longer I know you, Mr. Betteredge," said the Sergeant, " the more virtues I discover. Modesty-oh, dear me,
how rare modesty is in this world! and how much of that
rarity you possess! If I go alone to the cottage the people's
tongues will be tied at the first question I put to them. If
I go with you I go introduced by a justly respected neig-'
bor, and a flow of conversation is the necessary result. it
strikes me in that light; how does it strike you?"
Not having an answer of the needful smartness as ready
as I could have wished, I tried to gain time by asking him
what cottage he wanted to go to.
On the Sergeant describing the place, I recognized it as
a cottage inhabited by a fisherman named Yolland, with his
wife and two grown-up children, a son and a daughter. If
you will look back, you will find that, in first presenting
Rosanna Spearman to your notice, I have described her as
occasionally varying her walk to the Shivering Sand by a
visit to some friends of hers at Cobb's Hole. Those friends
were the Yollands-respectable, worthy people, a credit to
the neighborhood. Rosanna's acquaintance with them had
begun by means of the daughter, who was afflicted with a
misshapen foot, and who was known in our parts by the
tame of Limping Lucy. The two deformed girls had, I suppose, a kind of fellow-feeling for each other. Any way, the
Yollands and Rosanna always appeared to get on together,
at the few chances they had of meeting, in a pleasant and
friendly manner. The fact of Sergeant Cuff having traced
the girl to their cottage set the matter of my helping his inquiries in quite a new light. Rosanna had merely gone
where she was in the habit of going; and to show that she
had been in company with the fisherman and his family was
as good as to prove that she had been innocently occupied,
so far, at any rate. It would be doing that girl a service,
therefore, instead of an injury, if I allowed myself to be convinced by Sergeant Cuffs logic. I professed myself convinced by it accordingly.
We went on to Cobb's Hole, seeing the footsteps on the
sand as long as the light lasted.
On reaching the cottage, the fisherman and his son proved
to be out in the boat; and Limping Lucy, always weak and
weary, was resting on her bed up stairs. Good Mrs. Yolland received us alone in her kitchen. When she heard that




THE MOONSTONE.                   141
Sergeant Cuff was a celebrated character in London, she
clapped a bottle of Dutch gin and a couple of clean pipes on
the table, and stared as if she could never see enough of
him.
I sat quiet in a corner, waiting to heat how the Sergeant
would find his way to the subject of Rosanna'Spearman.
His usual roundabout manner of going to work proved, on
this occasion, to be more roundabout than ever. How he
managed it is more than I could tell at the time, and more
than I can tell now. But this is certain, he began with the
Royal Family, the Primitive Methodists, and the price of
fish; and he got from that (in his dismal, under-ground way)
to the loss of the Moonstone, the spitefulness of our first
house-maid, and the hard behavior of the women-servants
generally toward Rosanna Spearman. Having reached his
subject in this fashion, he described himself as making his
inquiries about the lost Diamond partly with a view to find
it, and partly for the purpose of clearing Rosanna from the
unjust suspicions of her enemies in the house. In about a
quarter of an hour fiom the time when we entered the kitchen good Mrs. Yolland was persuaded that she was talking to
Rosanna's best fiiend, and was pressing Sergeant Cuff to
comfort his stomach and revive his*spirits out of the Dutch
bottle.
Being firmly persuaded that the Sergeant was wasting his
breath to no purpose on Mrs. Yolland, I sat enjoying the
talk between them, much as I have sat, in my time, enjoying
a stage play. The great Cuff showed a wonderful patience;
trying his luck drearily this way and that way, and firing
shot after shot, as it were, at random, on the chance of hitting the mark. Every thing to Rosanna's credit, nothing
to Rosanna's prejudice-that was how it ended, try as he
might; with Mrs. Yolland talking nineteen to the dozen, and
placing the most entire confidence in him. His last effort
was made, when we had looked at our watches, and had got
on our legs previous to taking leave.
"I shall now wish you good-night, ma'am," says the Sergeant.  "And I shall only say, at parting, that Rosanna
Spearman has a sincere well-wisher in myself; your obedient
servant. But, oh dear me! she will never get on in her
present place: and my advice to her is-leave it."
" Bless your heart alive! she is going to leave it!" cries
Mrs. Yolland. (Nota Bene-I translate Mrs. Yolland out of
the Yorkshire language into the English language. When
[ tell you that the all-accomplished Cuff was every now and
then puzzled to understand her until I helped him, you will




142                 THE MOONSTONE.
draw your own conclusions as to what your state of mind
would be if I reported her in her native tongue.)
Rosanna Spearman going to leave us! I pricked up my
ears at that. It seemed strange, to say the least of it, that
she should have given no warning, in the first place, to my
lady or to me. A certain doubt came up in my mind whether Sergeant Cuff's last random shot might not have hit the
mark. I began to question whether my share in the proceedings was quite as harmless a one as I had thought it.
It might be all in the way of the Sergeant's business to mystify an honest woman by wrapping her round in a net-work
of lies; but it was my duty to have remembered, as a good
Protestant, that the father of lies is the Devil-and that mischief and the Devil are never far apart. Beginning to smell
mischief in the air, I tried to take Sergeant Cuff out. He
sat down again instantly, and asked for a last little drop of
comfort out of the Dutch bottle. Mrs. Yolland sat down
opposite to him, and gave him his nip. I went on to the
door, excessively uncomfortable, and said I thought I must
bid them good-night-and yet I didn't go.
"So she means to leave?" says the Sergeant. "What
is she to do when she does leave?  Sad, sad!  The poor
creature has got no friends in the world except you and
me."
"Ah, but she has though!" says Mrs. Yolland. "She
came in here, as I told you, this evening; and, after sitting
and talking a little with my girl Lucy and me, she asked
to go up stairs by herself into Lucy's room. It's the only
room in our place where there's pen and ink.'I want to
write a letter to a friend,' she says,'and I can't do it for the
prying and the peeping of the servants up at the house.'
Who the letter was written to I can't tell you: it must have
been a mortal long one, judging by the time she stopped up
stairs over it. I offered her a postage stamp when she came
down. She hadn't got the letter in her hand, and she didn't
accept the stamp. A little close, poor soul (as you know),
about herself and her doings. But a friend she has got
somewhere, I can tell you; and to that friend, you may depend upon it, she will go."
"Soon?" asked the Sergeant.
"As soon as she can," says Mrs. Yolland.
Here I stepped in again from the door. As chief of my
lady's establishment I couldn't allow this sort of loose talk
about a servant of ours going or not going to proceed any
longer in my presence without noticing it.
" You must be mistaken about Rosanna Spearman," I said.




THE MOONSTONE.                  143
"If she had been going to leave her present situation she
would have mentioned it, in the first place, to me."
" Mistaken?" cries Mrs. Yolland. " Why, only an hour
ago she bought some things she wanted for traveling-of
my own self; Mr. Betteredge, in this very room. And that
reminds me," says the wearisome woman, suddenly beginning to feel in her pocket, " of something I've got it on my
mind to say about Rosanna and her money. Are you either
of you likely to see her when you go back to the house?"
"I'll take a message to the poor thing, with the greatest
pleasure," answered Sergeant Cuff, before I could put in a
word edgewise.
Mrs. Yolland produced out of her pocket a few shillings
and sixpences, and counted them out with a most particular
and exasperating carefillness in the palm of her hand. She
offered the money to the Sergeant, looking mighty loath to
part with it all the while.
"Might I ask you to give this back to Rosanna, with my
love and respects?" says Mrs. Yolland. "She insisted on
paying me for the one or two things she took a fancy to this
evening-and money's welcome enough in our house, I don't
deny it. Still, I'm not easy in my mind about taking the
poor thing's little savings. And to tell you the truth, I don't
think my man would like to hear that I had taken Rosanna
Spearman's money when he comes back to-morrow morning
from his work. Please say she's heartily welcome to the
things she bought of me-as a gift. And don't leave the
money on the table," says Mrs. Yolland, putting it down
suddenly before the Sergeant, as if it burned her fingers"don't, there's a good man! For times are hard, and flesh
is weak; and I might feel tempted to put it back in my
pocket again."
"Come along!" I said. " I can't wait any longer: I must
go back to the house."
"I'll follow you directly," says Sergeant Cuff.
For the second time I went to the door; and for the second time, try as I might, I couldn't cross the threshold.
"It's a delicate matter, ma'am," I heard the Sergeant say,
"giving money back. You charged her cheap for the things,
I'm sure?"
" Cheap!" said Mrs. Yolland. " Come and judge for yourself."
She took up the candle and led the Sergeant to a corner
of the kitchen. For the life of me I couldn't help following
them. Shaken down in the corner was a heap of odds and
ends (mostly old metal) which the fisherman had picked up




144                 THE MOONSTONE.
at different times from wrecked ships, and which he hadn't
found a market for yet to his own mind. Mrs. Yolland dived
into this rubbish, and brought up an old japanned tin case,
with a cover to it, and a hasp to hang it up by-the sort of
thing they use on board ship for keeping their maps and
charts, and such like, from the wet.
"There!" says she. "When Rosanna came in this evening,
she bought the fellow to that.' It will just do,' she says,
to put my cuffs and collars in, and keep them from being
crumpled in my box.' One-and-ninepence, Mr. Cuff. As I
live by bread, not a half-penny more!"
"Dirt cheap!" says the Sergeant, with a heavy sigh.
He weighed the case in his hand. I thought I heard a
note or two of The Last Rose of Summer as he looked at
it. There was no doubt now! He had made another discovery to the prejudice of Rbsanna Spearman in the place
of all others where I thought her character was safest, and
all through me! I leave you to imagine what I felt, and
how sincerely I repented having been the medium of introduction between Mrs. Yolland and Sergeant Cuff.
"That will do," I said. "We really must go."
Without paying the least attention to me Mrs. Yolland
took another dive into the rubbish, and came up out of it,
this time, with a dog chain.
"Weigh it in your hand, sir," she said, to the Sergeant.
"We had three of these; and Rosanna has taken two of
them.'What can you want, my dear, with a couple of
dog's chains?' says I.'If I join them together they'll go
round my box nicely,' says she.'Rope's cheapest,' says I.'Chain's surest,' says she.' Who ever heard of a box corded with chain?' says I.' Oh, Mrs. Yolland, don't make objections!' says she;'let me have my chains!' A strange
girl, Mr. Cuff-good as gold, and kinder than a sister to my
Lucy-but always a little strange. There! I humored her.
Three-and-sixpence.  On the word of an honest woman, three
and sixpence, Mr. Cuff!"
"Each?" says the Sergeant.
"Both together!" says Mrs. Yolland. "Three - and - sixpence for the two."
"Given away, ma'am," says the Sergeant, shaking his
head. "Clean given away!"
"There's the money," says Mrs. Yolland, getting back sideways to the little heap of silver on the table, as if it drew
her in spite of herself. "The tin case and the dog chains
were all she bought, and all she took away. One-and-ninepence and three-and-sixpence-total, five and three. With




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THE MOONSTONE.                 141
my love and respects-and I can't find it in my conscience
to take a poor girl's savings, when she may want them herself."
" I can't find it in my conscience, ma'am, to give the money
back," says Sergeant Cuff. "You have as good as made her
a present of the things-you have indeed."
"Is that your sincere opinion, sir?" says Mrs. Yolland,
brightening up wonderfully.
"There can't be a doubt about it," answered the Sergeant. "Ask Mr. Betteredge."
It was no use asking me. All they got out of me was,
"Good-night."
"Bother the money!" says Mrs. Yolland. With those
words she appeared to lose all command over herself; and
making a sudden snatch at the heap of silver, put it back,
holus-bolus, in her pocket. "It upsets one's temper, it does,
to see it lying there, and nobody taking it," cries this unreasonable woman, sitting down with a thump, and looking at
Sergeant Cuff, as much as to say, " It's in my pocket again
now-get it out if you can!"
This time I not only went to the door but went fairly out
on the road back. Explain it how you may, I felt as if one
or both of them had mortally offended me. Before I had
taken three steps down the village I heard the Sergeant behind me.
"Thank you for your introduction, Mr. Betteredge," he
said. "I am indebted to the fisherman's wife for an entirely
new sensation. Mrs. Yolland has puzzled me."
It was on the tip of my tongue to have given him a sharp
answer, for no better reason than this-that I was out of
temper with him, because I was out of temper with myself.
But when he owned to being puzzled, a comforting doubt
crossed my mind whether any great harm had been done after all. I waited in discreet silence to hear more.
"Yes," says the Sergeant, as if he was actually reading
my thoughts in the dark. "Instead of putting me on the
scent, it may console you to know, Mr. Betteredge (with
your interest in Rosanna), that you have been the means of
throwing me off. What the girl has done to-night is clear
enough, of course. She has joined the two chains, and has
fastened them to the hasp in the tin case. She has sunk the
case in the water or in the quicksand. She has made the loose
end of the chain fast to some place under the rocks, known
only to herself. And she will leave the case secure at its
anchorage till the present proceedings have come to an end;
after which she can privately pull it up again out of its hid



148                 THE MOONSTONE.
ing-place, at her own leisure and convenience. All perfectly
plain so far. But," says the Sergeant, with the first tone ot
impatience in his voice that I had heard yet, " the mystery
is-what the devil has she hidden in the tin case?"
I thought to myself; "The Moonstone!"  But I only said
to Sergeant Cuff, "Can't you guess?"
It's not the Diamond," says the Sergeant. "The whole
experience of my life is at fault if Rosanna Spearman has
got the Diamond."
On hearing those words the infernal detective fever began, I suppose, to burn in me again. At any rate, I forgot
myself in the interest of guessing this new riddle. I said
rashly, "The stained dress!"
Sergeant Cuff stopped short in the dark, and laid his hand
on my arm.
"Is any thing thrown into that quicksand of yours ever
thrown up on the surface again?" he asked.
"Never," I answered. "Light or heavy, whatever goes
into the Shivering Sand is sucked down and seen no more."
" Does Rosanna Spearman know that?"
" She knows it as well as I do."
" Then," says the Sergeant, " what on earth has she got to
do but to tie up a bit of stone in the stained dress and throw
it into the quicksand? There isn't the shadow of a reason
why she should have hidden it-and yet she must have hidden it. Query," says the Sergeant, walking on again,"is
the paint-stained dress a petticoat or a night-gown? or is it
something else which there is a reason for preserving at any
risk? Mr. Betteredge, if nothing occurs to prevent it, I must
go to Frizinghall to-morrow, and discover what she bought
in the town, when she privately got the materials for making
the substitute dress. It's a risk to leave the house as things
are now-but it's a worse risk still to stir another step in
this matter in the dark. Excuse my being a little out of
temper; I'm  degraded in my own estimation-I have let
Rosanna Spearman puzzle me."
When we got back the servants were at supper. The first
person we saw in the outer yard was the policeman whom
Superintendent Seegrave had left at the Sergeant's disposal.
The Sergeant asked if Rosanna Spearman had returned.
Yes. When? Nearly an hour since. What had she done?
She had gone up stairs to take off her bonnet and cloakand she was now at supper quietly with the rest.
Without making any remark Sergeant Cuff walked on,
sinking lower and lower in his own estimation, to the back
of the house. Missing the entrance in the dark, he went on




THE MOONSTONE.                  149
(in spite of my calling to him) till he was stopped by a
wicket-gate which led into the garden. When I joined him
to bring him back by the right way, I found that he was
looking up attentively at one particular window, on the bedroom floor, at the back of the house.
Looking up in my turn, I discovered that the object of his
contemplation was the window of Miss Rachel's room, and
that lights were passing backward and forward there as if
something unusual was going on.
"Isn't that Miss Verinder's room?" asked Sergeant Cuff.
I replied that it was, and invited him to go in with me to
supper. The Sergeant remained in his place, and said something about enjoying the smell of the garden at night. I
left him to his enjoyment. Just as I was turning in at the
door I heard The Last Rose of Summer at the wicket-gate.
Sergeant Cuff had made another discovery! And my young
lady's window was at the bottom of it this time!
That latter reflection took me back again to the Sergeant,
with a polite intimation that I could not find it in my heart
to leave him by himself. " Is there any thing you don't understand up there?" I added, pointing to Miss Rachel's window.
Judging by his voice, Sergeant Cuff had suddenly risen
again to the right place in his own estimation. "You are
great people for betting in Yorkshire, are you not?" he asked.
" Well?" I said. "Suppose we are?"
" If I was a Yorkshireman," proceeded the Sergeant, taking my arm, "I would lay you an even sovereign, Mr. Betteredge, that your young lady has suddenly resolved to
leave the house. If I won on that event, I should offer to
lay another sovereign that the idea has occurred to her
within the last hour."
The first of the Sergeant's guesses startled me. The second mixed itself up somehow in my head with the report
we had heard from the policeman, that Rosanna Spearman
had returned from the sands within the last hour. The two
together had a curious effect on me as we went in to supper.
I shook off Sergeant Cuff's arm, and, forgetting my manners, pushed by him through the door to make my own inquiries for myself.
Samuel, the footman, was the first person I met in the passage.
"Her ladyship is waiting to see you and Sergeant Cuff,"
he said, before I could put any questions to him.
"How long-has she been waiting?" asked the Sergeant's
voice behind me.




1 0               THE MOONSTONE.
"For the last hour, sir."
There it was again! Rosanna had come back; Miss Rachel had taken some resolution out of the common; and my
lady had been waiting to see the Sergeant-all within the
last hour! It was not pleasant to find these very different
persons and things linking themselves together in this way.
I went on up stairs, without looking at Sergeant Cuff or
speaking to him. My hand took a sudden fit of trembling
as I lifted it to knock at my mistress's door.
"I shouldn't be surprised," whispered the Sergeant over
my shoulder, "if a scandal was to burst up in the house tonight. Don't be alarmed! I have put the muzzle on worse
family difficulties than this in my time."
As he said the words I heard my mistress's voice calling
to us to come in.
CHAPTER XVI
WE found my lady with no light in the room but the
reading-lamp. The shade was screwed down so as to overshadow her face. Instead of looking up at us in her usual
straightforward way, she sat close at the table, and kept her
eyes fixed obstinately on an open book.
"Officer," she said, " is it important to the inquiry you are
conducting to know beforehand if any person now in this
house wishes to leave it?"
"Most important, my lady."
" I have to tell you, then, that Miss Verinder proposes going to stay with her aunt, Mrs. Ablewhite, of Frizinghall.
She has arranged to leave us the first thing to-morrow morning."
Sergeant Cuff looked at me. I made a step forward to
speak to my mistress-and, feeling my heart fail me (if I
must own it), took a step back again, and said nothing.
"May I ask your ladyship when Miss Verinder first
thought of going to her aunt's?" inquired the Sergeant.
"About an hour since," answered my mistress.
Sergeant Cuff looked at me once more. They say old people's hearts are not very easily moved. My heart couldn't
have thumped much harder than it did now, if I had been
five-and-twenty again!
" I have no claim, my lady," says the Sergeant," to control Miss Verinder's actions. All I can ask you to do is to
put off her departure, if possible, till later in the day.  I




I SEIZED THE SERGEANT BY THE COLLAR OF HIS COAT AND PINNED
HIM AGAINST THE WALL.








THE MOONSTONE.                  153
must go to Frizinghall myself to-morrow morning   and I
shall be back by two o'clock, if not before. If Miss Verinder can be kept here till that time, I should wish to say two
words to her-unexpectedly-before she goes."
My lady directed me to give the coachman her orders
that the carriage was not to come for Miss Rachel until two
o'clock. "Have you more to say?" she asked of the Sergeant, when this had been done.
"Only one thing, your ladyship. If Miss Verinder is surprised at this change in the arrangements, please not to
mention Me as being the cause of putting off her journey."
My mistress lifted her head suddenly from her book as if
she was going to say something-checked herself by a great
effort-and, looking back again at the open page, dismissed
us with a sign of her hand.
"That's a wonderful woman," said Sergeant Cuff, when we
were out in the hall again. "But for her self-control the
mystery that puzzles you, Mr. Betteredge, would have beei
at an end to-night."
At those words the truth rushed at last into my stupid old
head. For the moment I suppose I must have gone clean
out of my senses. I seized the Sergeant by the collar of his
coat and pinned him against the wall.
" Damn you!" I cried out," there's something wrong about
Miss Rachel-and you have been hiding it from me all this
time!"
Sergeant Cuff looked up at me-flat against the wallwithout stirring a hand or moving a muscle of his melancholy face.
Ah," he said, " you've guessed it at last!"
My hand dropped from his collar, and my head sank on
my breast. Please to remember, as some excuse for my
breaking out as I did, that I had served the family for fifty
years. Miss Rachel had climbed upon my knees, and pulled
my whiskers, many and many a time when she was a child.
Miss Rachel, with all her faults, had been, to my mind, the
dearest and prettiest and best young mistress that ever an
old servant waited on, and loved. I begged Sergeant Cuff's
pardon, but I am afraid I did it with watery eyes, and not
in a very becoming way.
"Don't distress yourself, Mr. Betteredge," says the Sergeant, with more kindness than I had any right to expect
from him. "In my line of life, if we were quick at taking
offense we shouldn't be worth salt to our porridge. If it's
any comfort to you, collar me again. You don't in the least




154                 THE MOONSTONE.
know how to do it; but I'll overlook your awkwardness in
consideration of your feelings."
He curled up at the corners of his lips, and, in his own
dreary way, seemed to think he had delivered himself of a
very good joke.
I led him into my own little sitting-room and closed the
door.
"Tell me the truth, Sergeant," I said. " What do you suspect?  It's no kindness to hide it from me now."
"I don't suspect," said Sergeant Cuff. " I know."
My unlucky temper began to get the better of me again.
"Do you mean to tell me in plain English," I said, "that
Miss Rachel has stolen her own Diamond?"
"Yes," says the Sergeant; "that is what I mean to tell
you in so many words. Miss Verinder has been in secret
possession of the Moonstone from first to last; and she has
taken Rosanna Spearman into her confidence because she
has calculated on our suspecting Rosanna Spearman of the
theft. There is the whole case in a nut-shell. Collar me
again, Mr. Betteredge.  If it's any vent to your feelings, collar me again."
God help me! my feelings were not to be relieved in that
way. "Give me your reasons!"  That was all I could say
to him.
"You shall hear my reasons to-morrow," said the Sergeant.  "If Miss Verinder refuses to put off her visit to her
aunt (which you will find Miss Verinder will do), I shall be
obliged to lay the whole case before your mistress to-morrow.  And as I don't know what may come of it, I shall request you to be present and to hear what passes on both
sides. Let the matter rest for to-night. No, Mr. Betteredge,
you don't get a word more on the subject of the Moonstone
out of me. There is your table spread for supper. That's
one of the many human infirmities which I always treat tenderly. If you will ring the bell, I'll say grace.'For what
we are going to receive —'
"I wish you a good appetite to it, Sergeant," I said.
"My appetite is gone. I'll wait and see you served, and
then I'll ask you to excuse me if I go away and try to get
the better of this by myself."
I saw him served with the best of every thing-and I
shouldn't have been sorry if the best of every thing had
choked him. The head gardener (Mr. Begbie) came in at
the same time with his weekly account. The Sergeant got
on the subject of roses and the merits of grass walks and
gravel walks immediately. I left the two together, and




THE MOONSTONE.                 155
went out with a heavy heart. This was the first trouble I
remember for many a long year which wasn't to be blown
off by a whiff of tobacco, and which was even beyond the
reach of Robinson Crusoe.
Being restless and miserable, and having no particular
room to go to, I took a turn on the terrace, and thought it
over in peace and quietness by myself. It doesn't much
matter what my thoughts were. I felt wretchedly old, and
worn out, and unfit for my place-and began to wonder, for
the first time in my life, when it would please God to take
me. With all this I held firm, notwithstanding, to my belief in Miss Rachel. If Sergeant Cuff had been Solomon in
all his glory, and had told me that my young lady had mixed herself up in a mean and guilty plot, I should have had
but one answer for Solomon, wise as he was: "You don't
know her, and I do."
My meditations were interrupted by Samuel. He brought
me a written message from my mistress.
Going into the house to get a light to read it by, Samuel
remarked that there seemed a change coming in the weather.
My troubled mind had prevented me fiom noticing it before. But, now my attention was roused, I heard the dogs
uneasy, and the wind moaning low. Looking up at the sky,
I saw the rack of clouds getting blacker and blacker, and
hurrying faster and faster over a watery moon. Wild
weather coming-Samuel was right, wild weather coming.
The message from my lady informed me that the magistrate at Frizinghall had written to remind her about the
three Indians. Early in the coming week the rogues must
needs be released, and left free to follow their own devices.
If we had any more questions to ask them, there was no time
to lose. Having forgotten to mention this when she had last
seen Sergeant Cuff, my mistress now desired me to supply
the omission. The Indians had gone clean out of my head
(as they have, no doubt, gone clean out of yours). I didn't
see much use in stirring that subject again. However, I
obeyed my orders on the spot, as a matter of course.
I found Sergeant Cuff and the gardener, with a bottle of
Scotch whisky between them, head over ears in an argument on the growing of roses. The Sergeant was so deeply
interested that he held up his hand, and signed to me not to
interrupt the discussion, when I came in. As far as I could
understand it, the question between them was, whether the
white moss-rose did, or did not, require to be budded on the
dog-rose to make it grow well. Mr. Begbie said, Yes; and
Sergeant Cuff said, No. They appealed to me as hotly as




156                THE MOONSTONE.
a couple of boys.  Knowing nothing whatever about the
growing of roses, I steered a middle course-just as her
majesty's judges do, when the scales ofjustice bother them
by hanging, even to a hair.  "Gentlemeni," I remarked,
"there is much to be said on both sides."  In the temporary lull produced by that impartial sentence I laid my
lady's written message on the table under the eyes of Sergeant Cuff.
I had got by this time as nearly as might be to hate the
Sergeant. But truth compels me to acknowledge that, in
respect of readiness of mind, he was a wonderful man.
In half a minute after he had read the message he had
looked back into his memory for Superintendent Seegrave's
report; had picked out that part of it in which the Indians
were concerned; and was ready with his answer. A certain
great traveler, who understood the Indians and their language, had figured in Mr. Seegrave's report, hadn't he?
Very well. Did I know the gentleman's name and address?  Very well again. Would I write them on the back
of my lady's message?  Much obliged to me. Sergeant
Cuff would look that gentleman up when he went to Frizinghall in the morning.
" Do you expect any thing to come of it?" I asked. "Superintendent Seegrave found the Indians as innocent as the
babe unborn."
" Superintendent Seegrave has been proved wrong, up to
this time, in all his conclusions," answered the Sergeant.
"It may be worth while to find out to-morrow whether Superintendent Seegrave was wrong about the Indians as
well."  With that he turned to Mr. Begbie, and took up
the argument again exactly at the place where it had left
off. "This question between us is a question of soils and
seasons, and patience and pains, Mr. Gardener. Now let
me put it to you from another point of view. You take
your white moss-rose-"
By that time I had closed the door on them, and was out
of hearing of the rest of the dispute.
In the passage I met Penelope hanging about, and asked
what she was waiting for.
She was waiting for her young lady's bell, when her young
lady chose to call her back to go on with the packing for the
next day's journey. Further inquiry revealed to me that
Miss Rachel had given it as a reason for wanting to go to
her aunt at Frizinghall that the house was unendurable to
her, and that she could bear the odious presence of a policeman under the same roof with herself no longer. On being




THE MOONSTONE.                  15J
informed, half an hour since, that her departure would be delayed till two in the afternoon, she had flown into a violent
passion. My lady, present at the time, had severely rebuked her, and then (having apparently something to say,
which was reserved for her daughter's private ear) had sent
Penelope out of the room. My girl was in wretchedly low
spirits about the changed state of things in the house. " Nothing goes right, father; nothing is like what it used to be. I
feel as if some dreadful misfortune was hanging over us all."
That was my feeling too. But I put a good face on it before my daughter. Miss Rachel's bell rang while we were
talking. Penelope ran up the back stairs to go on with the
packing. I went by the other way to the hall, to see what
the glass said about the change in the weather.
Just as I approached the swing-door leading into the hall
from the servants' offices, it was violently opened from the
other side; and Rosanna Spearman ran by me, with a miserable look of pain in her face, and one of her hands pressed
hard over her heart, as if the pang was in that quarter.
"What's the matter, my girl?" I asked, stopping her.
"Are you ill?"  "For God's sake, don't speak to me," she
answered, and twisted herself out of my hands, and ran on
toward the servants' staircase. I called to the cook (who
was within hearing) to look after the poor girl. Two other
persons proved to be within hearing as well as the cook.
Sergeant Cuff darted softly out of my room, and asked what
was the matter. I answered, "Nothing."  Mr. Franklin, on
the other side, pulled open the swing-door, and beckoning
nle into the hall, inquired if I had seen any thing of Rosanna Spearman.
"She has just passed me, sir, with a very disturbed face,
and in a very odd manner."
" I am afraid I am innocently the cause of that disturbance, Betteredge."
"You, sir!"
" I can't explain it," says Mr. Franklin; " but if the girl is
concerned in the loss of the Diamond, I do really believe she
was on the point of confessing every thing-to me, of all the
people in the world-not two minutes since."
Looking toward the swing-door, as he said those last
words, I fancied I saw it opened a little way from the inner
side.
Was there any body listening? The door fell to before
I could get to it. Looking through, the moment after, I
thought I saw the tails of Sergeant Cuff's respectable black
coat disappearing round the corner of the passage. He




158                 THE MOONSTONE.
knew as well as I did that he could expect no more help
from me, now that I had discovered the turn which his investigations were really taking. Under those circumstances
it was quite in his character to help himself, and to do it by
the under-ground way.
Not feeling sure that I had really seen the Sergeant-and
not desiring to make needless mischief, where, Heaven knows,
there was mischief enough going on already-I told Mr.
Franklin that I thought one of the dogs had got into the
house-and then begged him to describe what had happened between Rosanna and himself.
" Were you passing through the hall, sir?" I asked. " Did
you meet her accidentally, when she spoke to you?"
Mr. Franklin pointed to the billiard-table.
"I was knocking the balls about," he said, "and trying to
get this miserable business of the Diamond out of my mind.
I happened to look up-and there stood Rosanna Spearman
at the side of me, like a ghost! Her stealing on me in that
way was so strange that I hardly knew what to do at first.
Seeing a very anxious expression in her face, I asked her if
she wished to speak to me. She answered,'Yes, if I dare.'
Knowing what suspicion attached to her, I could only put
one construction to such language as that. I confess it
made me uncomfortable. I had no wish to invite the girl's
confidence. At the same time, in the difficulties that now
beset us, I could hardly feel justified in refusing to listen to
her, if she was really bent on speaking to me. It was an
awkward position; and I dare say I got out of it awkwardly enough. I said to her,'I don't quite understand you. Is
there any thing you want me to do?' Mind, Betteredge, I
didn't speak unkindly! The poor girl can't help being ugly
-- felt that at the time. The cue was still in my hand, and
I went on knocking the balls about, to take off the awkwardness of the thing. As it turned out, I only made matters
worse still. I'm afraid I mortified her without meaning it!
She suddenly turned away.'He looks at the billiard-balls,'
I heard her say.'Any thing rather than look at me!' Before I could stop her she had left the hall. I am not quite
easy about it, Betteredge. Would you mind telling Rosanna that I meant no unkindness? I have been a little hard
on her, perhaps, in my own thoughts-I have almost hoped
that the loss of the Diamond might be traced to her. Not
from any ill-will to the poor girl; but-"  He stopped
there, and, going back to the billiard-table, began to knock
the balls about once more.
After what had passed between the Sergeant and me, I




THE MOONSTONE.                  159
knew what it was that he had left unspoken as well as he
knew it himself.
Nothing but the tracing of the Moonstone to our second
house-maid could now raise Miss Rachel above the infamous
suspicion that rested on her in the mind of Sergeant Cuff.
It was no longer a question of quieting my young lady's nervous excitement; it was a question of proving her innocence.
If Rosanna had done nothing to compromise herself, the hope
which Mr. Franklin confessed to having felt would have been
hard enough on her in all conscience. But this was not the
case. She had pretended to be ill, and had gone secretly to
Frizinghall. She had been up all night, making something,
or destroying something, in private. And she had been at
the Shivering Sand that evening under circumstances which
were highly suspicious, to say the least of them. For all
these reasons (sorry as I was for Rosanna) I could not but
think that Mr. Franklin's way of looking at the matter was
neither unnatural nor unreasonable, in Mr. Franklin's position. I said a word to him to that effect.
" Yes, yes!" he said, in return. "But there is just a chance
-a very poor one, certainly-that Rosanna's conduct may
admit of some explanation which we don't see at present. I
hate hurting a woman's feelings, Betteredge! Tell the poor
creature what I told you to tell her. And if she wants to
speak to me-I don't care whether I get into a scrape or not
-send her to me in the library."  With those kind words
he laid down the cue and left me.
Inquiry at the servants' offices informed me that Rosanna
had retired to her own room. She had declined all offers of
assistance with thanks, and had only asked to be left to rest
in quiet. Here, therefore, was an end of any confession on
her part (supposing she really had a confession to make) for
that night. I reported the result to Mr. Franklin, who, thereupon, left the library, and went up to bed.
I was putting the lights out, and making the windows
f st, when Samuel came in with news of the two guests whom
I had left in my room. The argument about the white mossrose had apparently come to an end at last. The gardener
had gone home, and Sergeant Cuff was nowhere to be found
in the lower regions of the house.
I looked into my room. Quite true-nothing was to be
discovered there but a couple of empty tumblers and a
strong smell of hot grog. Had the Sergeant gone of his
own accord to the bed-chamber that was prepared for him?
I went up stairs to see.
After reaching the second landing, I thought I heard a




160                THE MOONSTONE.
sound of quiet and regular breathing on my left-hand side.
My left-hand side led to the corridor which communicated
with Miss Rachel's room. I looked in, and there, coiled up
on three chairs placed right across the passage-there, with
a red handkerchief tied round his grizzled head, and his respectable black coat rolled up for a pillow, lay and slept Sergeant Cuff!
He woke, instantly and quietly, like a dog, the moment I
approached him.
"Good - night, Mr. Betteredge," he said. "And mind, if
you ever take to growing roses, the white moss-rose is all
the better for not being budded on the dog-rose, whatever
tLe gardener may say to the contrary!"
"What are you doing here?" I asked. "Why are you
not in your proper bed?"
"I am not in my proper bed," answered the Sergeant,
"because I am one of the many people in this miserable
world who can't earn their money honestly and easily at the
same time. There was a coincidence, this evening, between
the period of Rosanna Spearman's return from the Sands and
the period when Miss Verinder took her resolution to leave
the house. Whatever Rosanna may have hidden, it's clear
to my mind that your young lady couldn't go away until
she knew that it was hidden. The two must have communicated privately once already to-night. If they try to communicate again, when the house is quiet, I want to be in the
way, and stop it. Don't blame me for upsetting your sleeping arrangements, Mr. Betteredge-blame the Diamond."
"I wish to God the Diamond had never found its way into
this house!" I broke out.
Sergeant Cuff looked with a rueful face at the three chairs
on which he had condemned himself to pass the night.
" So do I," he said, gravely.
CHAPTER XVII.
NOTHING happened in the night; and (I am happy to add)
no attempt at communication between Miss Rachel and Rosanna rewarded the vigilance of Sergeant Cuff.
I had expected the Sergeant to set off for Frizinghall the
first thing in the morning. He waited about, however, as
if he had something else to do first. I left him to his own
devices; and going into the grounds shortly after, met Mr.
Franklin on his favorite walk by the shrubbery side.




THE MOONSTONE.                  161
Pefore we had exchanged two words the Sergeant unexpectedly joined us. He made up to Mr. Franklin, who received him, I must own, haughtily enough. "Have you any
thing.to say to me?" was all the return he got for politely
wishing Mr. Franklin good-morning.
"I have something to say to you, sir," answered the Sergeant, " on the subject of the inquiry I am conducting here.
You detected the turn that inquiry was really taking yester,
dav. Naturally enough, in your position, you are shocked
and (listressed. Naturally enough, also, you visit your own
angry sellSe of your own family scandal upon Me."
"What do you want?" Mr. Franklin broke in, sharply
enough.
"I want to remind you, sir, that I have at any rate, thus
far, not been proved to be wrong. Bearing that in mind, be
pleased to remember, at the same time, that I am an officer
of the law acting here under the sanction of the mistress of
the house.  Under these circumstances, is it, or is it not,
your duty as a good citizen to assist me with any special information whic;. you may happen to possess?"
"I possess no special information," says Mr. Franklin.
Sergeant Cuff put that answer by him, as if no answer had
been made.
"You may save my time, sir, from being wasted on an inquiry at a distance," he went on," if you choose to understand me and speak out."
"I don't understand you," answered Mr. Franklin; "and
I have nothing to say."
"One of the female servants (I won't mention names)
spoke to you privately, sir, last night."
Once more Mr. Franklin cut him short; once more Mr.
Franklin answered, " I have nothing to say."
Standing by in silence, I thought of the movement in the
swing-door, on the previous evening, and of the coat-tails
which I had seen disappearing down the passage. Sergeant
Cuff had, no doubt, just heard enough before I interrupted
him to make him  suspect that Rosanna had relieved her
mind by confessing something to Mr. Franklin Blake.
This notion had barely struck me-when who should appear at the end of the shrubbery walk but Rosanna Spearman in her own proper person! She was followed by Penelope, who was evidently trying to make her retrace her steps
to the house. Seeing that Mr. Franklin was not alone, Rosanna came to a stand-still, evidently in great perplexity
what to do next.  Penelope waited behind her. Mr. Franklin saw the girls as soon as I saw them. The Sergeant, with
11




162                THE MOONSTONE.
his devilish cunning, took on not to have noticed them at
all. All this happened in an instant. Before either Mr.
Franklin or I could say a word Sergeant Cuff struck in
smoothly, with an appearance of continuing previous conversation.
" You needn't be afraid of harming the girl, sir," he said,
to Mr. Franklin, speaking in a loud voice, so that Rosanna
might hear him. "On the contrary, I recommend you to
honor me with your confidence, if you feel any interest in
Rosanna Spearman."
Mr. Franklin instantly took on not to have noticed the
girls either. He answered, speaking loudly on his side:
" I take no interest whatever in Rosanna Spearman."
I looked toward the end of the walk. All I saw at the
distance was that Rosanna suddenly turned round the moment Mr. Franklin had spoken. Instead of resisting Penelope, as she had done the moment before, she now let my
daughter take her by the arm and lead her back to the
house.
The breakfast-bell rang as the two girls disappeared-and
even Sergeant Cuff was now obliged to give it up as a bad
job! He said to me quietly, "I shall go to Frizinghall, Mr.
Betteredge; and I shall be back before two." He went his
way without, a word more-and for some few hours we were
well rid of him.
"You must make it right with Rosanna," Mr. Franklin
said to me when we were alone. " I seem to be fated to say
or do something awkward before that unlucky girl. You
must have seen yourself that Sergeant Cuff laid a trap for
both of us.  If he could confuse me, or irritate her into
breaking out, either she or I might have said something
which would answer his purpose. On the spur of the moment, I saw no better way out of it than the way I took. It
stopped the girl from saying any thing, and it showed the
Sergeant that I saw through him. He was evidently listening, Betteredge, when I was speaking to you last night."
He had done worse than listen, as I privately thought to
myself. He had remembered my telling him that the girl
was in love with Mr. Franklin; and he had calculated on
that when he appealed to Mr. Franklin's interest in Rosanna
-in Rosanna's hearing.
"As to listening, sir," I remarked (keeping the other point
to myself), " we shall all be rowing in the same boat if this
sort of thing goes on much longer. Prying and peeping and
listening are the natural occupations of people situtea as
we are. In another day or two, Mr. Franklin, we shall all




THE MOONSTONE.                   163
be struck dumb together-for this reason, that we shall all
be listening to surprise each other's secrets, and all know it.
Excuse my breaking out, sir. The horrid mystery hangingover us in this house gets into my head like liquor, and
makes me wild. I won't forget what you have told me.
I'll take the first opportunity of making it right with Rosanna Spearman."
"You haven't said any thing to her yet about last night,
have you?" Mr. Franklin asked.
"No, sir."
" Then say nothing now. I had better not invite the girl's
confidence, with the Sergeant on the look-out to surprise us
together.  My conduct is not very consistent, Betteredgeis it? I see no way out of this business which isn't dreadful
to think of unless the Diamond is traced to Rosanna. And
yet I can't and won't help Sergeant Cuff to find the girl
out."
Unreasonable enough, no doubt. But it was my state of
mind as well. I thoroughly understood him. If you will,
for once in your life, remember that you are mortal, perhaps
you will thoroughly understand him too.
The state of things, indoors and out, while Sergeant Cuff
was on his way to Frizinghall, was briefly this:
Miss Rachel waited for the time when the carriage was to
take her to her aunt's, still obstinately shut up in her own
room. My lady and Mr. Franklin breakfasted together. After breakfast Mr. Franklin took one of his sudden resolutions
and went out precipitately to quiet his mind by a long walk.
I was the only person who saw him go; and he told me he
should be back before the Sergeant returned. The change
in the weather, foreshadowed overnight, had come. Heavy
rain had been followed, soon after dawn, by high wind. It
was blowing friesh as the day got on. But though the clouds
threatened more than once the rain still held off. It was not
a bad day for a walk, if you were young and strong, and
could breast the great gusts of wind which came sweeping
in from the sea.
I attended my lady after breakfast, and assisted her in the
settlement of oi. household accounts.  She only once alluded to the matter of the Moonstone, and that was in the
way of forbidding any present mention of it between us.
"Wait till that man comes back," she said, meaning the Sergeant. " We must speak of it then: we are not obliged to
speak of it now."
After leaving my mistress I found Penelope waiting for
me in my room.




164                TIHE MOONSTONE.
"I wish, father, you would come and speak to Rosanna,"
she said. "I am very uneasy about her."
I suspected what was the matter readily enough. But it
is a maxim of mine that men (being superior creatures) are
bound to improve women-if they can. When a woman
wants me to do any thing (my daughter or not it doesn't
matter), I always insist on knowing why. The oftener you
make them rummage their own minds for a reason, the more
manageable you will find them in all the relations of life. It
isn't their fault (poor wretches!) that they act first, and think
afterward; it's the fault of the fools who humor them.
Penelope's reason why, on this occasion, may be given in
her own words. "I'm afraid, father," she said, " Mr. Franklin has hurt Rosanna cruelly without intending it."
" What took Rosanna into the shrubbery walk?" I asked.
"Her own madness," says Penelope; "I can call it nothing else. She was bent on speaking to Mr. Franklin this
morning, come what might of it. I did my best to stop her;
you saw that. If I could only have got her away before she
heard those dreadful words-"
"There! there!" I said, "don't lose your head. I can't
call to mind that any thing happened to alarm Rosanna."
"Nothing to alarm her, father. But Mr. Franklin said he
took no interest whatever in her-and, oh, he said it in such
a cruel voice!"
"He said it to stop the Sergeant's mouth," I answered.
"I told her that," says Penelope. "But you see, father
(though Mr. Franklin isn't to blame), he's been mortifying
and disappointing her for weeks and weeks past; and now
this comes on the top of it all.! She has no right, of course,
to expect him to take any interest in her. It's quite monstrous that she should forget herself and her station in that
way. But she seems to have lost pride and proper feeling
and every thing. She frightened me, father, when Mr. Franklin said those words. They seemed to turn her into stone.
A sudden quiet came over her, and she has gone about her
work ever since like a woman in a dream."
I began to feel a little uneasy. There was something in
the way Penelope put it which silenced nmy superior sense.
I called to mind, now my thoughts were directed that way,
what had passed between Mr. Franklin and Rosanna overnight. She looked cut to the heart on that occasion; and
now, as ill-luck would have it, she had been unavoidably
stung again, poor soul, on the tender place. Sad! sad!-all
the more sad because the girl had no reason to justify her,
and no right to feel it.




THE MOONSTONE.                   165
I had promised Mr. Franklin to speak to Rosanna, and this
seemed the fittest time for keeping my word.
We found the girl sweeping the corridor outside the bedrooms, pale and composed, and neat as ever in her modest
print dress. I noticed a curious dimness and dullness in her
eyes-not as if she had been crying, but as if she had been
looking at something too long.  Possibly it was a misty
something raised by her own thoughts. There was certainly no object about her to look at which she had not seen already hundreds on hundreds of times.
"Cheer up, Rosanna!" I said. "You mustn't fret over
your own fancies. I have got something to say to you from
Mr. Franklin."
I thereupon put the matter in the right view before her, in
the friendliest and most comforting words I could find. My
principles, in regard to the other sex, are, as you may have
noticed, very severe. But somehow or other when I come
face to face with the women, my practice (I own) is not conformable.
"Mr. Franklin is very kind and considerate. Please to
thank him." That was all the answer she made me.
My daughter had already noticed that Rosanna went about
her work like a woman in a dream. I now added to this observation that she also, listened and spoke like a woman in a
dream. I doubted if her mind was in a fit condition to take
in what I had said to her.
"Are you quite sure, Rosanna, that you understand me?"
I asked.
" Quite sure."
She echoed me, not like a living woman, but like a creature
moved by machinery. She went on sweeping all the time.
I took away the broom as gently and as kindly as I could.
"Come, come, my girl!" I said, "this is not like yourself.
You have got something on your mind. I'm your friendand I'll stand your friend, even if you have done wrong.
Make a clean breast of it, Rosanna-make a clean breast of
it!"
The time had been, when my speaking to her in that way
would have brought the-tears into her eyes. I could see no
change in them now.
"Yes," she said, "I'll make a clean breast of it."
"To my lady?" I asked.
" No."
"To Mr. Franklin?"
"Yes; to Mr. Franklin."
I hardly knew what to say to that. She was in no con



166                THE MOONSTONE.
dition to understand the caution against speaking to him in
private, which Mr. Franklin had directed me to give her.
Feeling my way, little by little, I only told her Mr. Franklin had gone out for a walk.
"It doesn't matter," she answered. " I sha'n't trouble Mr.
Franklin to-day."
"Why not speak to my lady?" I said. "The way to relieve your mind is to speak to the merciful and Christian
mistress who has always been kind to you."
She looked at me for a moment with a grave and steady
attention, as if she was fixing what I said in her mind.
Then she took the broom out of my hands, and moved off
with it slowly, a little way down the corridor.
"No," she said, going on with her sweeping, and speaking to herself; " I know a better way of relieving my mind
than that."
"What is it?"
"Please to let me go on with my work."
Penelope followed her, and offered to help her.
She answered, "No. I want to do my work. Thank you,
Penelope."  She looked round at me. "Thank you, Mr.
Betteredge."
There was no moving her-there was nothing more to be
said. I signed to Penelope to come away with me. We
left her, as we had found her, sweeping the corridor like a
woman in a dream.
" This is a matter for the doctor to look into," I said. " It's
beyond me."
My daughter reminded me of Mr. Candy's illness, owing
(as you may remember) to the chill he had caught on the
night of the dinner-party.  His assistant-a certain Mr.
Ezra Jennings-was at our disposal, to be sure. But nobody knew much about him in our parts. He had been engaged by Mr. Candy under rather peculiar circumstances;
and, right or wrong, we none of us liked him or trusted him.
There were other doctors at Frizinghall.  But they were
strangers to our house; and Penclope doubted, in Rosanna's
present state, whether strangers might not do her more harm
than good.
I thought of speaking to my lady. But, remembering the
heavy weight of anxiety which she already had on her mind,
I hesitated to add to all the other vexations this new trouble. Still, there was a necessity for doing something. The
girl's state was, to my thinking, downright alarming-and
my mistress ought to be informed of it. Unwillingly enough
I went to her sitting-room. No one was there. My lady




THE MOONSTONE.                  167
was shut up with Miss Rachel. It was impossible for me to
see her till she came out again.
I waited in vain till the clock on the front staircase struck
the quarter to two.  Five minutes afterward I heard my
name called fiom the drive outside the house. I knew the
voice directly. Sergeant Cuff had returned fiom Frizinghall
CHAPTER XVIII
GOING down to the front-door I met the Sergeant on the
steps.
It went against the grain with me, after what had passed
between us, to show him that I felt any sort of interest in
his proceedings. In spite of myself, however, I felt an interest that there was no resisting. My sense of dignity sank
from under me, and out came the words: "What news from
Frizinghall?"
" I have seen the Indians," answered Sergeant Cuff. "And
I have found out what Rosanna bought privately in the
town on Thursday last.  The Indians will be set free on
Wednesday in next week. There isn't a doubt on my mind,
and there isn't a doubt on Mr. Murthwaitc's mind, that they
came to this place to steal the Moonstone. Their calculations were all thrown out, of course, by what happened in
the house on Wednesday night; and they have no more to
do with the actual loss of the jewel than you have. But I
can tell you one thing, Mr. Betteredge-if we don't find the
Moonstone, they will. You have not heard the last of the
three jugglers yet."
Mr. Franklin came back from his walk as the Sergeant
said those startling words. Governing his curiosity better
than I had governed mine, he passed us without a word, and
went on into the house.
As for me, having already dropped my dignity, I deter,
mined to have the whole benefit of the sacrifice. " So much
for the Indians," I said. "What about Rosanna, next?"
Sergeant Cuff shook his head.
"The mystery in that quarter is thicker than ever," he
said. "I have traced her to a shop at Frizinghall, kept by
a linen-draper named Maltby. She bought nothing whatever at any of the other drapers' shops, or at any milliners'
or tailors' shops; and she bought nothing at Maltby's but a
piece of long cloth. She was very particular in choosing a




168                 THE MOONSTONE.
certain quality. As to quantity, she bought enough to make
a night-gown."
" Whose night-gown?" I asked.
" Her own, to be sure. Between twelve and three, on the
Thursday morning, she must have slipped down to your
young lady's room to settle the hiding of the Moonstone,
while all the rest of you were in bed. In going back to her
own room her night-gown must have brushed the wet paint
on the door. She couldn't wash out the stain; and she
couldn't safely destroy the night-gown-without first providing another like it, to make the inventory of her linen
complete."
" What proves that it was Rosanna's night-gown?" I objected.
"The material she bought for making the substitute dress,"
answered the Sergeant. "If it had been Miss Verinder's
night-gown, she would have had to buy lace, and frilling, and
Lord knows what besides; and she wouldn't have had time
to make it in one night. Plain long cloth means a plain
servant's night-gown. No, no, Mr. Betteredge-all that is
clear enough. The pinch of the question is-why, after having provided the substitute dress, does shehlide the smeared night-gown, instead of destroying it? If the girl won't
speak out, there is only one way of settling the difficulty.
The hiding-place at the Shivering Sand must be searchedand the true state of the case will be discovered there."
" How arc you to find the place?" I inquired.
" I am sorry to disappoint you," said the Sergeant-" but
that's a secret which I mean to keep to myself."
(Not to irritate your curiosity, as he irritated mine, I may
here inform you that he had come back from Frizinghall,
provided with a search-warrant. His experience in such
matters told him that Rosanna was in all probability carrying about her a memorandum of the hiding-place to guide
her, in case she returned to it, under changed circumstances
and after a lapse of time. Possessed of this memorandum,
the Sergeant would be furnished with all that he could desire.)
"Now, Mr. Betteredge," he went on, "suppose we drop
speculation, and get to business. I told Joyce to have an
eye on Rosanna. Where is Joyce?"
Joyce was the Frizinghall policeman, who had been left
by Superintendent Seegrave at Sergeant Cuff's disposal.
The clock struck two as he put the question, and, punctual
to the moment, the carriage came round to take Miss Rachel
to her aunt's.
"One thing at a time," said the Sergeant, stopping me as




THE MOONSTONE.                 169
I was about to send in search of Joyce. "I must attend to
Miss Verinder first."
As the rain was still threatening, it was the close carriage
that had been appointed to take Miss Rachel to Frizinghall.
Sergeant Cuff beckoned Samuel to come down to him from
the rumble behind.
" You will see a friend of mine waiting among the trees,
on this side of the lodge-gate," he said. " My friend, without stopping the carriage, will get up into the rumble with
you. You have nothing to do but to hold your tongue, and
shut your eyes. Otherwise, you will get into trouble."
With that advice he sent the footman back to his place.
What Samuel thought, I don't know. It was plain, to my
mind, that Miss Rachel was to be privately kept in view
from the time she left our house - if she did leave it. A
watch set on my young lady! A spy behind her in the rumble of her mother's carriage! I could have cut my own
tongue out for having forgotten myself so far as to speak to
Sergeant Cuff.
The first person to come out of the house was my lady.
She stood aside, on the top step, posting herself there to see
what happened. Not a word did she say, either to the Sergeant or to me. With her lips closed, and her arms folded
in the light garden-cloak which she had wrapped round her
on coming into the air, there she stood, as still as a statue,
waiting for her daughter to appear.
In a minute more Miss Rachel came down stairs, very
nicely dressed in some soft yellow stuff that set off her dark
complexion, and clipped her tight (in the form of a jacket)
round the waist. She had a smart little straw-hat on her
head, with a white veil twisted round it. She had primrosecolored gloves that fitted her hands like a second skin. Her
beautiful black hair looked as smooth as satin under her hat.
Her little ears were like rosy shells-they had a pearl dangling from each of them. She came swiftly out to us, as
straight as a lily on its stem, and as lithe and supple in
every movement she made as a young cat. Nothing that I
could discover was altered in her pretty face but her eyes and
her lips. Her eyes were brighter and fiercer than I liked to
see; and her lips had so completely lost their color and their
smile that I hardly knew them again. She kissed her mother in a hasty and sudden manner on the cheek. She said,
" Try to forgive me, mamma-" and then pulled down her
veil over her face so vehemently that she tore it. In another
moment she had run down the steps, and had rushed into the
carriage as if it was a hiding-place.




170                 THE MOONSTONE.
Sergeant Cuff was just as quick on his side. He put Samnel back, and stood before Miss Rachel, with the open carriage-door in his hand, at the instant when she settled herself in her place.
" What do you want?" says Miss Rachel, fiom behind her
veil.
"I want to say one word to you, miss," answered the Sergeant, " before you go. I can't presume to stop your paying
a visit to your aunt. I can only venture to say that your
leaving us, as things are now, puts an obstacle in the way of
my recovering your Diamond. Please to understand that;
and now decide for yourself whether you go or stay."
Miss Rachel never even answered him.  "Drive on,
James!" she called out to the coachman.
Without another word the Sergeant shut the carriagedoor.  Just as he closed it Mr. Franklin came running
down the steps.  "Good-bye, Rachel," he said, holding out
his hand.
"Drive on!" cried Miss Rachel, louder than ever, and taking no more notice of Mr. Franklin than she had taken of
Sergeant Cuff.
Mr. Franklin stepped back, thunderstruck, as well he might
be. The coachman, not knowing what to do, looked toward
my lady, still standing immovable on the top step. My
lady, with anger and sorrow and shame all struggling together in her face, made him a sign to start the horses, and
then turned back hastily into the house. Mr. Franklin, recovering the use of his speech, called after her, as the carriage drove off,"Aunt! you were quite right.  Accept my
thanks for all your kindness-and let me go."
My lady turned as though to speak to him. Then, as if
distrusting herself, waved her hand kindly. "Let me see
you before you leave us, Franklin," she said, in a broken
voice-and went on to her own room.
" Do me a Lst favor, Betteredge," says Mr. Franklin, turning to me, with the tears in his eyes. "Get me away to the
train as soon as you can!
He too went his way into the house. For the moment
Miss Rachel had completely unmanned him. Judge from
that how fond he must have been of her!
Sergeant Cuff and I were left face to face at the bottom
of the steps. The Sergeant stood with his face set toward a
gap in the trees, commanding a view of one of the windings
of the drive which led from the house. He had his hands in
his pockets, and he was softly whistling the Last Rose of
Summer to himself.




THE MOONSTONE.                  171
"There's a time for every thling," I said, savagely enough.
"This isn't a time for whistling."
At that moment the carriage appeared in the distance,
through the gap, on its way to the lodge-gate. There was
another man besides Samuel plainly visible in the rumble
behind.
"All right!" said the Sergeant to himself. He turned
round to me. "It's no time for whistling, Mr. Betteredge,
as you say. It's time to take this business in hand now
without sparing any body. We'll begin with Rosanna
Spearman. Where is Joyce?"
We both called for Joyce, and received no answer. I sent
one of the stable-boys to look for him.
"You heard what I said to Miss Verinder?" remarked the
Sergeant, while we were waiting. "And you saw how she
received it? I tell her plainly that her leaving us will be
an obstacle in the way of my recovering her Diamond-and
she leaves, in the face of that statement! Your young lady
has got a traveling companion in her mother's carriage, Mr.
Betteredge-and the name of it is, The Moonstone."
I said nothing. I only held on like death to my belief in
Miss Rachel.
The stable-boy came back, followed-very unwillingly, as
it appeared to me-by'Joyce.
" Where is Rosanna Spearman?" asked Sergeant Cuff.
" I can't account for it, sir," Joyce began; " and I am very
sorry. But somehow or other-"
" Before I went to Frizinghall," said the Sergeant, cutting
him short, "I told you to keep your eye on Rosanna Spearman, without allowing her to discover that she was being
watched. Do you mean to tell me that you have let her
give you the slip?"
"I am afraid, sir," says Joyce, beginning to tremble, "that
I was perhaps a little too careful not to let her discover me.
There are such a many passages in the lower parts of this
house-"
"How long is it since you missed her?"
"Nigh on an hour since, sir."
"You can go back to your regular business at Frizinghall," said the Sergeant, speaking just as composedly as ever,
in his usual quiet and dreary way. "I don't think your
talents are at all in our line, Mr. Joyce. Your present form
of employment is a trifle beyond you. Good-morning."
The man slunk off. I find it very difficult to describe how
I was affected by the discovery that Rosanna Spearman was
missing. I seemed to be in fifty different minds about it,




172                 THE MOONSTONE.
all at the sdme time. In that state I stood staring at Sergeant Cuff-and my powers  f language quite faile me.
" No, Mr. Betteredge," said the Sergeant, as if he had discovered the uppermost thought in me, and was picking it
out to be answered, before all the rest. "Your young fiiend,
Rosanna, won't slip through my fingers so easily as you
think. As long as I know where Miss Verinder is, I have
the means at my disposal of tracing Miss Verinder's accomplice. I prevented them fiom communicating last night.
Very good. They will get together at Frizinghall instead
of getting together here. The present inquiry must be
simply shifted (rather sooner that I had anticipated) from
this house to the house at which Miss Verinder is visiting.
In the mean time, I'm afraid I must trouble you to call the
servants together again."
I went round with him to the servants' hall. It is very
disgraceful, but it is none the less true, that I had another
attack of the detective-fever when he said those last words.
I forgot that I hated Sergeant Cuff. I seized him confidentially by the arm. I said, "For goodness' sake, tell us what
you are going to do with the servants now?"
The great Cuff stood stock-still, and addressed himself in
a kind of melancholy rapture to the empty air.
"If this man," said the Sergeant (apparently meaning
me), "only understood the growing of roses, he would be
the most completely perfect character on the face of creation!"  After that strong expression of feeling he sighed,
and put his arm through mine. "This is how it stands," he
said, dropping down again to business. "Rosanna has done
one of two things. She has either gone direct to Frizinghall (before I can get there), or she has gone first to visit
her hiding-place at the Shivering Sand. The first thing to
find out is, which of the servants saw the last of her before
she left the house."
On instituting this inquiry, it turned out that the last
person who had set eyes on Rosanna was Nancy, the kitchen-maid.
Nancy had seen her slip out with a letter in her hand,
and stop the butcher's man, who had just been delivering
some meat at the back-door. Nancy had heard her ask the
man to post the letter when he got back to Frizinghall.
The man had looked at the address, and had said it was a
roundabout way of delivering a letter, directed to Cobb's
Hole, to post it at Frizinghall-and that, moreover, on a Saturday, which would prevent the letter from getting to its
destination until Monday morning. Rosanna had answered




THE MOONSTONE.                   173
that the delivery of the letter being delayed till Monday
was of no importance. The only thing she wished to be
sure of was that the man would do what she told him. The
man had promised to do it and had driven away. Nancy
had been called back to her work in the kitchen. And no
other person had seen any thing afterward of Rosanna
Spearman.
" Well?" I asked, when we were alone again.
"Well," says the Sergeant. "I must go to Frizinghall."
"About the letter, sir?"
"Yes. The memorandum of the hiding-place is in that
letter. I must see the address at the post-office. If it is the
address I suspect, I shall pay our friend Mrs. Yolland another visit on Monday next."
I went with the Sergeant to order the pony-chaise. In
the stable-yard we got a new light thrown on the missing
girl.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE news of Rosanna's disappearance had, as it appeared,
spread among the outdoor servants. They too had made
their inquiries; and they had just laid hands on a quick
little imp, nicknamed "Duffy "-who was occasionally employed in weeding the garden, and who had seen Rosanna
Spearman as lately as half an hour since. Duffy was certain that the girl had passed him in the fir-plantation, not
walking, but running, in the direction of the sea-shore.
" Does this boy know the coast hereabouts?" asked Sergeant Cuff.
"He has been born and bred on the coast," I answered.
"Duffy!" says the Sergeant, "do you want to earn a shilling?  If you do, come along with me. Keep the ponychaise ready, Mr. Betteredgc, till I come back."
He started for the Shivering Sand at a rate that my legs
(though well enough preserved for my time of life) had no
hope of matching. Little Duffy, as the way is with the
young savages in our parts when they are in high spirits,
gave a howl, and trotted off at the Sergeant's heels.
Here, again, I find it impossible to give any thing like a
clear account of the state of my mind in the interval after
Sergeant Cuff had left us. A curious and stupefying restlessness got possession of me. I did a dozen different needless things in -and out of the house, not one of which I can
now remember. I don't even know how long it was after




.14               THE MOONSTONE.
the Sergeant had gone to the sands when Duffy came running back with a message for me. Sergeant Cuff had given
the boy a leaf torn out of his pocket-book, on which was
written in pencil, "Send me. one of Rosanna Spearman's
boots, and be quick about it."
I dispatched the first woman-servant I could find to Rosanna's room; and I sent the boy back to say that I myself
would follow him with the boot.
This, I am well aware, was not the quickest way to take
of obeying the directions which I had received. But I was
resolved to see for myself what new mystification was going
on, before I trusted Rosanna's boot in the Sergeant's hands.
My old notion of screening the girl if I could seemed to have
come back on me again at the eleventh hour. This state
of feeling (to say nothing of the detective-fever) hurried me
off, as soon as the boot was put in my hands, at the nearest
approach to a run which a man turned seventy can reasonably hope to make.
As I got near the shore the clouds gathered black and the
rain came down, drifting in great white sheets of water before the wind. I heard the thunder of the sea on the sandbank, at the mouth of the bay. A little farther on I passed
the boy crouching for shelter under the lee of the sand-hills.
Then I saw the raging sea, and the rollers tumbling in on
the sand-bank, and the driven rain sweeping over the waters
like a flying garment, and the yellow wilderness of the beach
with one solitary black figure standing on it-the figure of
Sergeant Cuff.
He waved his hand toward the north when he first saw
me. "Keep on that side!" he shouted. "And come on
down here to me!"
I went down to him, choking for breath, with my heart
leaping as if it was like to leap out of me. I was past speaking. I had a hundred questions to put to him; and not one
of them would pass my lips. His face frightened me. I
saw a look in his eyes which was a look of horror. He
snatched the boot out of my hand, and set it in a foot-mark
on the sand, bearing south from us as we stood, and pointing
straight toward the rocky ledge called the South Spit. The
mark was not yet blurred out by the rain-and the girl's
boot fitted it to a hair.
The Sergeant pointed to the boot in the foot-mark, without saying a word.
I caught at his arm and tried to speak to him, and failed
as I had failed when I tried before. He went on, following
the footsteps down and down to where the rocks and the




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THE MOONSTONE.                   1 7
sand joined. The South Spit was just awash with the flowing tide; the waters heaved over the hidden face of the
Shivering Sand. Now this way and now that, with an obstinate silence that fell on you like lead, with an obstinate
patience that was dreadful to see, Sergeant Cuff tried the
boot in the footsteps, and always found it pointing the same
way-straight to the rocks. Hunt as he might, no sign
could he find anywhere of the footsteps walking from them.
He gave it up at last.  He looked again at me; and then
he looked out at the waters before us, heaving in deeper and
leeper over the hidden face of the Shivering Sand. I looked
Avhere he looked-and I saw his thought inl his face. A
Ireadful dumb trembling crawled all over me on a sudden.
I fell upon my knees on the sand.
" She has been back at the hiding-place," I heard the Sergeant say to himself. "Some fatal accident has happened
to her on those rocks."
The girl's altered looks, and words, and actions —the
numbed, deadened way in which she listened to me and
spoke to me, when I had found her sweeping the corridor
but a few hours since, rose up in my mind and warned me,
even as the Sergeant spoke, that his guess was wide of the
dreadful truth. I tried to tell him of the fear that had fiozen
me up. I tried to say, "The death she has died, Sergeant,
was a death of her own seeking." No! the words wouldn't
come. The dumb trembling held me in its grip. I couldn't
feel the driving rain. I couldn't see the rising tide. As in
the vision of a dream the poor lost creature came back before me. I saw her again as I had seen her in the past time
-on the morning when I went to fetch her into the house.
I heard her again, telling me that the Shivering Sand seemed
to draw her to it against her will, and wondering whether
her grave was waiting for her there. The horror of it struck
at me, in some unfathomable way, through my own child.
My girl was just her age.  My girl, tried as Rosanna was
tried, might have lived that miserable life, and died this
dreadful death.
The Sergeant kindly lifted me up and turned me away
from the sight of the place where she had perished.
With that relief I began to fetch my breath again, and to
see things about me as things really were. Looking toward
the sand-hills, I saw the men-servants fiom out-of-doors, and
the fisherman named Yolland, all running down to us together; and all havinig taken the alarm, calling out to know
if the girl had been found.  In the fewest words the Sergeant showed them the evidence of the foot-marks. and tol?
12




178               THE MOONSTONE.
them that a fatal accident must have happened to her. He
then picked out the fisherman from the rest, and put a question to him, turning about again toward the sea: "Tell me
this," he said. "Could a boat have taken her off from that,
ledge of rock where her foot-marks stop?"
The fisherman pointed to the rollers tumbling in on the
sand-bank, and to the great waves leaping up in clouds of
foam against the headlands on either side of us.
" No boat that ever was built," he answered," could have:
got to her through that."
Sergeant Cuff looked for the last time at the foot-marks or,
the sand, which the rain was now fast blurring out.
"There," he said, "is the evidence that she can't have left,
this place by land. And here," he went on, looking at th(e
fisherman, " is the evidence that she can't have got away by
sea."  He stopped and considered for a minute.  "She was
seen running toward this place, half an hour before I got
here from the house," he said to Yolland. "Some time has
passed since then. Call it altogether an hour ago. How
high would the water be at that time on this side of the
rocks?" He pointed to the south side-otherwise, the side
which was not filled up by the quicksand.
"As the tide makes to-day," said the fisherman, "there
wouldn't have been water enough to drown a kitten on that
side of the Spit an hour since."
Sergeant Cuff turned about northward toward the quicksand.
"How much on this side?" he asked.
"Less still," answered Yolland. "The Shivering Sand
would have been just awash, and no more."
The Sergeant turned to me, and said that the accident
must have happened on the side of the quicksand.  My
tongue was loosened at that. "No accident!" I told him.
"When she came to this place she came, weary of her life,
to end it here."
He started back from me.  "How do you know?" he
asked. The rest of them crowded round. The Sergeant recovered himself instantly. He put them back from me; he
said I was an old man; he said the discovery had shaken
me; he said," Let him alone a little," Then he turned to
Yolland and asked, " Is there any chance of finding her when
the tide ebbs again?" And Yolland answered, "None.
What the Sand gets the Sand keeps forever." Having said
that, the fisherman came a step nearer and addressed himself to me.
"Mr. Betteredge," he said," I have a word to say to you




THE MOONSTONE.                  179
about the young woman's death. Four foot out, broadwise,
along the side of the Spit, there's a shelf of rock about half
fathom down under the sand. My question is-why didn't
she strike that? If she slipped, by accident, fiom off the
Spit, she fell in, where there's foothold at the bottom, at a
depth that would barely cover her to the waist. She must
have waded out, or jumped out, into the Deeps beyond-or
she wouldn't be missing now. No accident, sir! The Deeps
of the Quicksand have got her. And they have got her by
her own act."
After that testimony from a man whose knowledge was
to be relied on the Sergeant was silent. The rest of us, like
him, held our peace. With one accord we all turned back
up the slope of the beach.
At the sand-hillocks we were met by the under-groom,
running to us from the house. The lad is a good lad, and
has an honest respect for me. He handed me a little note,
with a decent sorrow in his face. "Penelope sent me with
this, Mr. Betteredge," he said. "She found it in Rosanna's
room."
It was her last farewell word to the old man who had
done his best-thank God, always done his best-to befriend
her.
"You have often forgiven me, Mr. Betteredge, in past
times. When you next see the Shivering Sand, try to forgive me once more. I have found my grave where my grave
was waiting for me. I have lived, and died, sir, grateful for
your kindness."
There was no more than that. Little as it was, I hadn't
manhood enough to hold up against it. Your tears come
easy, when you're young, and beginning the world. Your
tears come easy, when you're old, and leaving it. I burst
out crying.
Sergeant Cuff took a step rnarer to me-meaning kindly,.
I don't doubt. I shrank back fiom him. " Don't touch me,"
I said. "It's the dread of you that has driven her to it."
"You are wrong, Mr. Betteredge," he answered, quietly.
"But there will be time enough to speak of it when we are
all indoors again."
I followed the rest of them with the help of the undergroom's arm. Through the driving rain we went back-to
meet the trouble and the terror that were waiting for us at
the house.




180                 THE MOONSTONE.
CHAPTER XX.
THOSE in front had spread the news before us. We found
the servants in a state of panic. As we passed my lady's
door it was thrown open violently from the inner side. My
mistress came out among us (with Mr. Franklin following
and trying vainly to compose her), quite beside herself with
the horror of the thing.
" You are answerable for this!" she cried out, threatening
the Sergeant wildly with her hand. "Gabriel! give that
wretch his money-and release me from the sight of him!"
The Sergeant was the only one among us who was fit to
cope with her-being the only one among us who was in
possession of himself.
" I am no more answerable for this distressing calamity,
my lady, than you are," he said. " If in half an hour fiom
this, you still insist on my leaving the house, I will accept
your ladyship's dismissal, but not your ladyship's money."
It was spoken very respectfully, but very firmly at the
same time —and it had its effect on my mistress as well as
on me. She suffered Mr. Franklin to lead her back into the
room. As the door closed on the two, the Sergeant, looking
about among the women-servants in his observant way, noticed that, while all the rest were merely frightened, Penelope was in tears. "When your father has changed his wet
clothes," he said to her," come and speak to us in your father's room."
Before the half hour was out I had got my dry clothes on,
and had lent Sergeant Cuff such change of dress as he 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 oi my bosom, and put her arms
round my neck-and we waited a little while in silence.
The poor dead girl must have been at the bottom  of it, I
think, with my daughter and with me. The Sergeant went
to the window and stood there looking out. I thought it
right to thank him for considering us both in this way-and
I did.
People in high life have all the luxuries to themselvesamong others the luxury of indulging their feelings. Peo



THE MOONSTONB.
pie in low life have no such privilege. Necessity, which
spares our betters, has no pity on usj We learn to put our
feelings back into ourselves, and to jog on with our duties
as patiently as may be. I don't complain of this-I only notice it. Penelope and I were ready for the Sergeant 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.
At the end of the half hour my mistress's bell rang.
On my way to answer it, I met Mr. Franklin coming out
of his aunt's sitting-room. He mentioned that her ladyship
was ready to see Sergeant Cuff-in my presence as beforeand he added that he'himself wanted to say two words to
the Sergeant first. On our way back to my room he stopped
and looked at the railway time-table in the hall.
"Are you really going to leave us, sir?" I asked. " Miss Rachel will surely come right again, if you only give her time."
"She will come right again," answered Mr. Franklin,
" when she hears that I have gone away, and that she will
see me no more."
I thought he spoke in resentment of my young lady's 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 mention of him was enough to set Miss Rachel's
temper in a flame. He had been too fond of his cousin to
like to confess this to himself, until the truth had been forced
on him when she drove off to her aunt's. His eyes once
opened in that cruel way which you know of, Mr. Franklin
had taken his resolution-the one resolution which a man of
any spirit could take-to leave the house.
What he had to say to the Sergeant was spoken in my
presence. He described her ladyship as willing to acknowledge that she had spoken overhastily. And he asked if Sergeant Cuff would consent-in that case-to accept his fee,
and to leave the matter of the Diamond where the matter




,,.;&  ~      THE MOONSTONE.
stood now. The Sergeant answered, "No, sir. My fee is
paid me for doing my duty. I decline to take it until my
duty is done."
"I don't understand you," says Mr. Franklin.
"I'll explain myself, sir," says the Sergeant. "When I
came here I undertook to throw the necessary light on the
matter of the missing Diamond. I am now ready, and waiting, to redeem my pledge. When I have stated the case to
Lady Verinder as the case now stands, and when I have told
her plainly what course of action to take for the recovery
of the Moonstone, the responsibility will be off my shoulders.
Let her ladyship decide, after that, whether she does, or does
not, allow me to go on. I shall then have done what I undertook to do-and I'll take my fee."
In those words Sergeant Cuff reminded us that, even in
the Detective Police, a man may have a reputation to lose.
The view he took was so plainly the right one that there
was no more to be said. As I rose to conduct him to my
lady's room, he asked if Mr. Franklin wished to be present.
Ir. Franklin answered, "Not unless Lady Verinder desires
it." He added, in a whisper to me, as I was following the
Sergeant out, "I know what that man is going to say about
Rachel; and I am too fond of her to hear it and keep my
temper. Leave me by myself."
I left him, miserable enough, leaning on the sill of my 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 illused 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 overwilling to lift her eyes from the book which she
had on the table. On this occasion there was a change fbr
the better. She met the Sergeant's eye with an eye that
was as steady as his own. The family spirit showed itself
in every line of her face; and I knew that Sergeant Cuff
would meet his match when a woman like my mistress was
strung up to hear the worst he could say to her.
The first words, when we had taken our seats, were spoken
by my lady.




THE MOONSTONE.                   183
"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 himself-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 any thing that could
alarm Rosanna Spearman. He appealed to me to testify
whether he had, or had not, carried that object out. I could,
and did, bear witness that he had. And there, as I thought,
the matter might have been judiciously left to come to an
end.
Sergeant Cuff, however, took it a step farther, evidently
(as you shall now judge) with the purpose of forcing the
most painful of all possible explanations to take place between her ladyship and herself.
" I have heard a motive assigned for the young woman's
suicide," said the Sergeant, "which may possibly be the
right one. It is a motive quite unconnected with the case
which I am conducting here. I am bound to add, however,
that my own opinion points the other way. Some unbearable anxiety, in connection 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?" my mistress asked, after waiting a little.
"The person has left the house, my lady."
That answer pointed as straight to Miss Rachel as straight
could be. A silence dropped on us which I thought would
never come to an end. Lord! how the wind howled, and
how the rain drove at the window, as I sat there waiting for
one or more of them to speak again!
" Be so good as to express yourself plainly," said my lady.
"Do you refer to my daughter?"
"I do," said Sergeant Cuff, in so many words.
My mistress had her check-book on the table when we entered the room-no doubt to pay the Sergeant his fee. She




184                THE MOONSTONE.
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 forever!
"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 probably said something of this before you came
into my room?"
"Mr. Blake gave his message, my lady. And I gave Mr.
Blake a reason-"
" It is needless to tell me your reason. After what you
have just said, you know as well as I do that you have gone
too far to go back. I owe it to myself, and I owe it to my
child, to insist on your remaining here, and to insist on your
speaking out."
The Sergeant looked at his watch.
" If there had been time, my lady," he answered, " I should
have preferred writing my report, instead of communicating
it by word of mouth. But, if this inquiry is to go on, time
is of too much importance to be wasted in writing. I am
ready to go into the matter at once. It is a very painful
matter for me to speak of, and for you to hear-"
There my mistress stopped him once more.
"I may possibly make it less painful to you, and to my
good servant and friend here," she said, "if I set the example
of speaking boldly on my side. You suspect Miss Verinder
of deceiving us all by secreting the Diamond for some 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. State your suspicion of her as strongly as you please
-it is impossible that you can offend me by doing so. I am
sure, beforehand, that (with all your experience) the circumstances have fatally misled you in this case. Mind! I am in
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




THE MOONSTONE.                  185
silence. "You may go on," she said, facing the Sergeant
again as steadily as ever.
Sergeant Cuff bowed. My mistress had produced but one
effect on him. His hatchet-face softened for a moment, as if
he was sorry for her. As to shaking him in his own 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 Rachel's character in these words:
" I must ask your ladyship," he said, "to look this matter
in the face, from my point of view as well as from yours.
Will you please to suppose yourself coming down here, in
my place, and with my experience? and will you allow me
to mention very briefly what that experience has been?"
My mistress signed to him that she would do this. The
Sergeant went on:
" 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 position do occasionally have private debts which they dare not acknowledge to
their nearest relatives and friends. Sometimes the milliner
and jeweler are at the bottom of it. Sometimes the money
is wanted for purposes which I don't suspect in this case,
and which I won't shock you by mentioning. Bear in mind
what I have said, my lady-and now let us see how events
in this house have forced me back on my own experience,
whether I liked it or not!"
He considered with himself for a moment, and went onwith a horrid clearness that forced you to understand him;
with an abominable justice that favored nobody.
"My first information relating to the loss of the Moonstone," said the Sergeant, "came to me from Superintendent Seegrave. He proved to my complete satisfaction that
he was perfectly incapable of managing the case. The one
thing he said which struck me as worth listening to was this
-that Miss Verinder had declined to be questioned by him,
and had spoken to him with a perfectly incomprehensible
rudeness and contempt. I thought this curious-but I attributed it mainly to some clumsiness on the Superintendent's
part which might have offended 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,




186                 THE MOONSTONE.
were pieces of the same puzzle. So far, if I suspected any
thing, 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 appearances 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 Seegrave.
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 inform me, who is of an impetuous temperament. Under these circumstances, and with that character,
what does she do? She betrays an incomprehensible resentment against Mr. Blake, Mr. Superintendent, and myselfotherwise, the very three people who have all, in their different ways, been trying to help her to recover her lost jewel.
Having brought my inquiry to that point-then, my lady, and
not till then, I begin to look back into my own mind for my
own experience. My own experience explains Miss Verinder's otherwise incomprehensible conduct. It associates her
with those other young ladies that I know of. It tells me she
has debts she daren't acknowledge, that must be paid. And
it sets me asking myself, whether the loss of the Diamond
may not mean-that the Diamond must be secretly pledged
to pay them. That is the conclusion which my experience
draws from plain facts. What does your ladyship's experience say against it?"
"What I have said already," answered my mistress.
" The circumstances have misled you."
I said nothing on my side. Robinson Crusoe-God knows
how-had got into my muddled old head. If Sergeant Cuff
had found himself, at that moment, transported to a desert
island, without a man Friday to keep him company, or a ship
to take him off, he would have found himself exactly where
I wished him to be! (Nota bene:-I am an average good
Christian, when you don't push my Christianity too far.
And all the rest of you-which is a great comfort-are, in
this respect, much the same as I am.)
Sergeant Cuff went on:
"Right or wrong, my lady," he said, " having drawn my
conclusion, the next thing to do was to put it to the test. I
suggested to your ladyship the examination of all the wardrobes in the house. It was a means of finding the article of
dress which had, in all probability, made the smear; and it




THE MOONSTONE.                  187
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 refusing 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 recovering her jewel. You saw yourselves
that she drove off in the face of that statement. You saw
yourselves that, so far from forgiving Mr. Blake for having
done more than all the rest of you to put the clue into my
hands, she publicly insulted Mr. Blake, on the steps of her
mother's house. What do these things mean? If Miss Verinder is not privy to the suppression of the Diamond, what
do these things mean?"
This time he looked my way. It was downright frightful
to hear him piling up proof after proof against Miss Rachel,
and to know, while one was longing to defend her, that there
was no disputing the truth of what he said. I am (thank
God!) constitutionally superior to reason. This enabled me
to hold firm to my lady's view, which was my view also.
This roused my spirit, and made me put a bold face on it before Sergeant Cuff. Profit, good friends, I beseech you, by
my example. It will save you from many troubles of the
vexing sort. Cultivate a superiority to reason, and see how
you pare the claws of all the sensible people when they try
to scratch you for your own-good!
Finding that I made no remark, and that my mistress
made no remark, Sergeant Cuff proceeded. Lord! how it
did enrage me to notice that he was not in the least put out
by our silence!
"There is the case, my lady, as it stands against Miss Verinder alone," he said. "The next thing is to put the case
as it stands against Miss Verinder and the deceased Rosanna Spearman, taken together. We will go back for a moment, if you please, to your daughter's refusal to let her
wardrobe be examined. My mind being made up after
that 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 office, a highly irregular manner.
For this reason: I had a family scandal to deal with, which




188                 THE MOONSTONE.
it was my business to keep within the family limits. The
less noise made, and the fewer strangers employed to help
me, the better. As to the usual course of taking people in
custody on suspicion, going before the magistrate, and all
the rest of it — nothing of the sort was to be thought of,
when your ladyship's daughter was (as I 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 honor of the family at heart-would be safer to take as an assistant than any other person whom I could lay my hand
on. I should have tried Mr. Blake as well-but for one obstacle in the way. He saw the drift of my proceedings at a
very early date; and, with his interest in Miss Verinder, any
mutual understanding was impossible between him and me.
I trouble your ladyship with these particulars to show you
that I have kept the family secret within the family circle.
I am the only outsider who knows it-and my professional
existence depends on holding my tongue."
Here I felt that my professional existence depended on
not holding 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 bear.
"I beg to'inform your ladyship," I said, " that I never, to
my knowledge, helped this abominable detective business, in
any way, from first to last; and I summon Sergeant Cuff to
contradict me, if he dares!"
Having given vent in those words, I felt greatly relieved.
Her ladyship honored me by a little friendly pat on the shoulder. I looked with righteous indignation at the Sergeant to
see what he thought of such a testimony as that! The Sergeant looked back like a 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 believed to be my interest. I
am ready to hear what you have to say next."
"What I have to say next," answered Sergeant Cuff, " relates to Rosanna Spearman. I recognized the young woman, as your ladyship may remember, when she brought
the washing-book into this room. Up to that time I was inclined to doubt whether Miss Verinder had trusted her secret to any one. When I saw Rosanna I altered my mind.
I suspected her at once of being privy to the suppression of
the Diamond. The poor creature has met her death by a
dreadful end, and I don't want your ladyship to think, now




THE MOONSTONE.                189
she's gone, that I was unduly hard on her. If this had been
a common case of thieving, I should have given Rosanna the
benefit of the doubt just as freely as I should have given it
to any of the other servants in the house. Our experience
of the reformatory women is, that when tried in serviceand when kindly and judiciously treated-they prove themselves in the majority of cases to be honestly penitent, and
honestly worthy of the pains taken with them. But this
was not a common case of thieving. It was a case-in my
mind-of a deeply planned fraud, with the owner of the
Diamond at the bottom of it. Holding this view, the first
consideration which naturally presented itself to me, in connection with Rosanna, was this. Would Miss Verinder be
satisfied (begging your ladyship's pardon) with leading us
all to think that the Moonstone was merely lost? Or would
she go a step farther, and delude us into believing that the
Moonstone was stolen? In the latter event, there was Rosanna Spearman-with the character of a thief-ready to
her hand; the person of all others to lead your ladyship of,
and to lead me off, 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 possible, as you shall now see.
"I had another reason for suspecting the deceased woman," he said, "which appears to me to have been stronger
still. Who would be the very person to help Miss Verinder in raising money privately on the Diamond? Rosanna 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 house-maid
was at the top of her profession when she was a thief. She
had relations, to my certain knowledge, with one of the few
men in London (in the money-lending line) who would advance a large sum on such a notable jewel as the Moonstone, without asking awkward questions, or insisting on
awkward conditions. Bear this in mind, my lady; and now
let me show you how my suspicions have been justified by
Rosanna's own acts, and by the plain inferences to be drawn
from them."
He thereupon passed the whole of Rosanna's proceedings
under review. You are already as well acquainted with
those proceedings as I am; and you will understand how
unanswerably this part of his report fixed the guilt of being concerned in the disappearance of the Moonstone on
thp memory of the poor dead girl. Even my mistress was




190                THE MOONSTONE.
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.
"Thank you," said the Sergeant. "We'll begin with the
certainty, as your ladyship is so good as to leave it to me.
Whether Miss Verinder remains at Frizinghall, or whether
she returns here, I propose, in either case, to keep a careful
watch on all her proceedings-on the people she sees, on the
rides or walks she may take, and on the letters she may write
or receive."
" What next?" asked my mistress.
" I shall next," answered the Sergeant, " request your 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?" 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 Miss 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,
sQMIp^uno,^ 44me3 t        hea  iS. - is  sk9 s h^~b,'u4
she decides on sending it away, then we have our man
ready, and we meet the Moonstone on its arrival in London."
To hear her own daughter made the subject of such a pro.
posal as this stung my mistress into speaking angrily for the
first time.
" Consider your proposal declined, in every particular," she
said. "And go on to your other way of bringing the inquiry
to an end."'My other way," said the Sergeant, going on as easy as




THE MOONSTONE.                   191
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 temperament. 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 which will touch her to the quick. In plain
English, I want to tell Miss Verinder, without a word of
warning, of Rosanna's death, on the chance that her own
better feelings will hurry her into making a clean breast of
it. Does your ladyship accept that alternative?"
My mistress astonished me beyond all power of expression. She answered him on the instant:
"Yes; I do."
"The pony-chaise is ready," said the Sergeant. "I wish
your ladyship good-morning."
My lady held up her hand, and stopped him at the door.
"My daughter's better feelings shall be appealed to, as
you propose," she said.  "But I claim  the right, as her
mother, of putting her to the test myself. You will remain
here, if you please; and I will go to Frizinghall."
For once in his life the great Cuff stood speechless with
amazement, like an ordinary man.
My mistress rang the bell and ordered her water-proof
things. It was still pouring with rain; and the close carriage had gone, as you know, with Miss Rachel to Frizinghall. I tried to dissuade her ladyship from facing the severity of the weather. Quite useless! I asked leave to go
with her and hold the umbrella. She wouldn't hear of it.
The pony-chaise came round, with the groom  in charge.
"You may rely on two things," she said to Sergeant Cuff,
in the hall: "I will try the experiment on Miss Verinder as
boldly as you could try it yourself. And I will inform you
of the result, either personally or by letter, before the last
train leaves for London to-night."
With that she stepped into the chaise, and, taking the
reins herself, drove off to Frizinghall.




192                 THE MOONSTONE.
CHAPTER XXI.
MY mistress having left us, I had leisure to think of Sergeant Cuff. I found him sitting in a snug corner of the halt
consulting his memorandum-book, and curling up viciously
at the corners of the lips.
"Making notes of the case?" I asked.
" No," said the Sergeant. "Looking to see what my next
professional engagement is."
"Oh!" I said. "You think it's all over, then, here?"
"I think," answered Sergeant Cuff," that Lady Verindet
is one of the cleverest women in England. I also think a
rose much better worth looking at than a diamond. Where
is the gardener, Mr. Betteredge?"
There was no getting a word more out of him on the mat
ter of the Moonstone. He had lost all interest in his owe
inquiry; and he would persist in looking for the gardener.
An hour afterward I heard them at high words in the conservatory, with the dog-rose once more at the bottom of the
dispute.
In the mean time it was my business to find out whether
Mr. Franklin 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
ordinary people, would have led to nothing in particularproved, in Mr. Franklin's case, to have one objectionable result. It left him unsettled, with a legacy of idle time on his
hands, and in so doing it let out all the foreign sides of his
character, one on the top of another, like rats out of a bag.
Now as an Italian-Englishman, now as a German-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 Rachel's treatment of him; and with nobody to
address himself 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, Betteredge; but what am I to do with them now?
I am full of dormant good qualities, if Rachel would only




TUHi MOONSTONE.                 193
have helped me to bring them out!" He was so eloquent in
drawing the picture of his own neglected merits, and so pathetic in lamenting over it when it was done, that I felt quite
at my wit's end how to console him, when it suddenly occurred to me that here was a case for the wholesome 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
Istared at the map of Modern Italy.
I tried the drawing-room. There was his handkerchief on
the floor, to prove that he had drifted in. And there was
the empty room, to prove that he had drifted out again.
I tried the dining-room, and discovered Samuel with a
biscuit and a glass of sherry, silently investigating the empty air. A minute since Mr. Franklin had rung furiously for
a little light refieshment. On its production, in a violent
hurry, by Samuel, Mr. Franklin had vanished before the bell
down stairs had quite done ringing with the pull he had
given to it.
I tried the morning-room, and found him at last. There
he was at the window, drawing hieroglyphics with his finger
in the damp on the glass.
" Your sherry is waiting for you, sir," I said to him. I
might as well have addressed myself to one of the four walls
of the room; he was down in the bottomless deep of his own
meditations, past all pulling up.  "How  do you explain
Rachel's conduct, Betteredge?" 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?" he said, as if I had personally objected 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 Objective view first, and the Subjective view
next, and the Objective-Subjective view to wind up with.
What do we know? We know that the loss of the Moonstone, on Thursday morning last, threw her into a state of
nervous 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 might otherwise have behaved to any of the
13




194                 THE MOONSTONE.
people about her? Arguing in this way, from within-out
ward, what do we reach?  We reach the Subjective view.
I defy you to controvert the Subjective view. Very well,
then-what follows?  Good Heavens! the Objective-Subjective explanation follows, of course!  Rachel, properly
speaking, is not Rachel, but Somebody Else. Do I mind
being cruelly treated by Somebody Else? You are unreasonable enough, Betteredge; but you can hardly accuse me
of that. Then how does it end? It ends, in spite of your
confounded English narrowness and prejudice, in my being
perfectly happy and comfortable. Where's the sherry."
My head was by this time in such a condition that I was
not quite sure whether it was my own head or Mr. 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, lie found his way to the offices
next, smelled my pipe, and was instantly reminded that he
had been simple enough to Cvic up smoking for Miss Rachel's sake. In the twinkling of an eye he burst in on me
with his cigar-case, and came out strong on the one everlasting subject in his neat, witty, unbelieving, French way.
"Give me a light, Betteredgc. Is it conceivable that a man
can have smoked as long as I have, without discovering that
there is a complete system for the treatment of women at
the bottom of his cigar-case? Follow me carefully, and I'll
prove it in two words. You choose a cigar, you try it, and
it disappoints you. What do you do upon that? You
throw it away and try another. Now observe the application! You choose a woman, you try her, and she breaks
your heart.  Fool! take a lesson from  your cigar-case.
Throw her away and try another!"
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 on with my young master
and me; and so (while the Sergeant and the gardener were




THE MOONSTONE.                  195
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 check,
which dropped out when I opened it, informed me (before I
had mastered the contents) that Sergeant Cuff's dismissal
from the inquiry after the Moonstone was now a settled
thing.
I sent to the conservatory to say that I wished to speak
to the Sergeant directly.  He appeared, with his mind full
of the gardener and the dog-rose, declaring that the equal of
Mr. Begbie for obstinacy never had existed yet, and never
would exist again. I requested him to dismiss such wretched
trifling as this from our conversation, and to give his best
attention to a really serious matter. Upon that he exerted
himself sufficiently to notice the letter in my hand. "Ah!"
he said in a weary way, "you have heard from her ladyship.
Have I any thing to do with it, Mr. Betteredge?"
"You shall judge for yourself, Sergeant."  I thereupon
read him the letter (with my best emphasis and discretion),
in the following words:
"MY GOOD GABRIEL,-I request you will inform Sergeant
Cuff that I have performed the promise I made to him; with
this result, so far as Rosanna Spearman is concerned. Miss
Verinder solemnly declares that she has never spoken a word
in private to Rosanna, since that unhappy woman first entered my house. They never met, even accidentally, on the
night when the Diamond was lost; and no communicatior
of any sort whatever took place between them, from the
Thursday morning when the alarm was first raised in the
house, to this present Saturday afternoon, when Miss Verinder left us. After telling my daughter, suddenly and in so
many words, of Rosanna Spearman's suicide-this is what
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 opinion," an



196                 THE MOONSTONE.
swered the Sergeant.  "Go on, Mr. Betteredge," he said,
with the most exasperating resignation; " go on."
When I remembered that this man had had the audacity
to complain of our gardener's obstinacy, my tongue itched
to " go on" in other words than my mistress's. This time,
however, my Christianity held firm. I proceeded steadily
with her ladyship's letter:
"Having appealed to Miss Verinder in the manner which
the officer thought most desirable, I spoke to her next in the
manner which I myself thought most likely to impress her.
On two different occasions, before my daughter left my roof,
I privately warned her that she was exposing herself to suspicion of the most unendurable and most degrading kind.
I have now told her, in the plainest terms, that my apprehensions have been realized.
" Her answer to this, on her own solemn affirmation, is as
plain as words can be. In the first place, she owes no money privately to any living creature. In the second place,
the Diamond is not now, and never has been, in her possession, since she put it into her cabinet on Wednesday night.
"The confidence which my daughter has placed in me
goes no further than this.  She maintains an obstinate silence when I ask her if she can explain the disappearance
of the 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 check
which I inclose. In resigning all further claim on his services, I have only to say that I am convinced of his honesty
and his intelligence; but I am more firmly persuaded than
ever that the circumstances, in this case, have fatally misled
him."
There the letter ended.  Before presenting the check, I
asked Sergeant Cuff if he had any remark to make.
"It's no part of my duty, Mr. Betteredge," he answered,
"to make remarks on a case when I have done with it."
I tossed the check across the table to him. " Do you believe in that part of her ladyship's letter?" I said, indignantly




THE MOONSTONE.                  197
The Sergeant looked at the check, and lifted his dismai
eyebrows in acknowledgment of her ladyship's liberality.
"This is such a generous estimate of the value of my
time," he said, " that I feel bound to make some return for
it. I'll bear in mind the amount in this check, Mr. Betteredge, when the time comes round for remembering it."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Her ladyship has smoothed matters over for the present
very cleverly," said the Sergeant. " But this family scandal
is of the sort that bursts up again when you least expect it.
We shall have more detective business on our hands, sir, before the Moonstone is many months older."
If those words meant any thing, and if the manner in
which he spoke them  meant any thing -it came to this:
My mistress's letter had proved, to his mind, that Miss
Rachel was hardened enough to resist the strongest appeal
that could be addressed to her, and that she had deceived
her own mother (good God, under what circumstances!) by
a series of abominable lies. How other people, in my place,
might have replied to the Sergeant I don't know.  I answered what he had said in these plain terms:
" Sergeant Cuff, I consider your last observation as an 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 court-yard but Mr.
Begbie, the gardener, waiting outside to continue the dogrose controversy with Sergeant Cuff.
"My compliments to the Sergeant," said Mr. Begbie, the
moment he set eyes on me. " If he's minded to walk to the
station, I'm agreeable to go with him."
" What!" cries the Sergeant, behind me, " are you not convinced yet?"
"The deil a bit I'm convinced!" answered Mr. Begbie.
"Then I'll walk to the station!" says the Sergeant.
"Then I'll meet you at the gate!" says Mr. Begbie.
I was angry enough, as you know-but how was any
man's anger to hold out against such an interruption as
this? Sergeant Cuff noticed the change in me, and encouraged it by a word in season. "Come! come!" he said,
" why not treat my view of the case as her ladyship treats
it?  Why not say, the circumstances have fatally misled
me?"




198                 THE MOONSTONE.
To take any thing as her ladyship took it was a privilege
worth enjoying-even with the disadvantage of its having
been offered to me by Sergeant Cuff. I cooled slowly down
to my customary level. I regarded any other opinion of
Miss Rachel than my lady's opinion or mine with a lofty
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 tender place still tingled for all that. The
end of it was that I perversely led him back to the subject
of her ladyship's letter.  "I am quite satisfied myself;" I
said. "But never mind that! Go on as if I was still open
to conviction. You think Miss Rachel is not to be believed
on her word; and you say we shall hear of the Moonstone
again.  Back your opinion, Sergeant," I concluded, in an
airy way.  " Back your opinion."
Instead of taking offense, Sergeant Cuff seized my hand
and shook it till my fingers ached again.
"I declare to Heaven," says this strange officer, solemnly,
"I would take to domestic service to-morrow, Mr. Betteredge, if I had a chance of being employed along with You!
To say you are as transparent as a child, sir, is to pay the
children a compliment which nine out of ten of them don't
deserve. There! there! we won't begin to dispute again.
You shall have it out of me on easier terms than that. I
won't say a word more about her ladyship or about Miss Verinder-I'll only turn prophet, for once in a way, and for
your sake. I have warned you already that you haven't
done with the Moonstone yet. Very well. Now I'll tell
you, at parting, of three things which will happen in the future, and which, I believe, will force themselves on your attention, whether you like it or not."
" Go on!" I said, quite unabashed, and just as airy as ever.
"First," said the Sergeant," you will hear something from
the Yollands -when the postman delivers Rosanna's letter
at Cobb's Hole on Monday next."
If he had thrown a bucket of cold water over me, I doubt
if I could have felt it much more unpleasantly than I felt
those words. Miss Rachel's assertion of her innocence had
left Rosanna's conduct —the making the new night-gown,
the hiding the smeared night-gown, and all the rest of itentirely without explanation. And this had never occurred
to me till Sergeant Cuff forced it on my mind all in a moment!




THE MOONSTONE.                  199
"In the second place," proceeded the Sergeant, "you will
hear of the three Indians again. You will hear of them in
the neighborhood, if Miss Rachel remains in the neighborhood. 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 o mymy young lady's innocence,
I took this second prophecy easily enough. "So much for
two of the three things that are going to happen," I said.
"Now for the third!"
"Third, and last," said Sergeant Cuff, " you will, sooner or
later, hear something of that money-lender in London, whom
I have twice taken the liberty of mentioning already. Give
me your pocket-book, and I'll make a note for you of his
name and address-so that there may be no mistake about
it if the thing really happens."
He wrote accordingly on a blank leaf: "Mr. Septimus
Luker, Middlesex Place, Lambeth, London."
"There," he said, pointing to the address, "are the last
words, on the subject of the Moonstone, which I shall trouble you with for the present. Time will show whether I am
right or wrong. In the mean while, sir, I carry away with
me a sincere personal liking for you, which I think does
honor 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 deil a bit ye'll 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 everlasting Mr.
Begbie, too eager for the controversy to wait any longer at
the gate. The Sergeant wrung my hand, and darted out
into the court-yard, hotter still on his side. "Ask him about
the moss-rose, when he comes back, and see if I have left
him a leg to stand on!" cried the great Cuff, hailing me
through the window in his turn. " Gentlemen both," I 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." I might as well (as the Irish
say) have whistled jigs to a mile-stone. Away 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!




200                 THE MOONSTONE.
well! I own I couldn't help liking the Sergeant-though I
hated him all the time.
Explain that state of mind if you can. You will soon be
rid now of me and my contradictions. When I have reported Mr. Franklin's departure, the history of the Saturday's
events will be finished at last. And when I have next described certain strange things that happened in the course
of the new week, I shall have done my part of the Story, and
shall hand over the pen to the person who is appointed to
follow my lead. If you are as tired of reading this narrative
as I am of writing it-Lord, how we shall enjoy ourselves on
both sides a few pages further on!
CHAPTER XXI.
I 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 down stairs by Mr. Franklin
himself, informed 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?" I said, as
we met in the hall. "Why not wait a day or two longer,
and give Miss Rachel another chance?"
The foreign varnish appeared to have all worn off Mr.
Franklin, now that the time had come for saying good-bye.
Instead of replying to me in words, he put the letter which
her ladyship had addressed to him into my hand. The greater part of it said over again what had been said already in
the other communication received by me. But there was a
bit about Miss Rachel added at the end which will account
for the steadiness of Mr. Franklin's determination, if it accounts for nothing else.
"You will wonder, I dare say" (her ladyship wrote), "at
my allowing my own daughter to keep me perfectly in the
dark. A Diamond worth twenty thousand pounds has been
lost-and I am left to infer that the mystery of its disappearance is no mystery to Rachel, and that some incomprehensible obligation of silence has been laid on her, by some person
or persons utterly unknown to me, with some object in view
at which I can not even guess. Is it conceivable that I should
allow myself to be trifled with in this way? It is quite conceivable, in Rachel's present state. She is in a condition of
nervous agitation pitiable to see. I dare not approach the




THE MOONSTONE.                  201
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 officer. The mystery which baffles us bai
fles him too. This is not a matter in which any stranger can
help us. He adds to what I have to suffer; and he maddens
Rachel if she only hears his name.
"My plans for the future are as well settled as they can
be. My present idea is to take Rachel to London-partly
to relieve her mind by a complete change, partly to try what
may be done by consulting the best medical advice. Can I
ask you to meet us in town? My dear Franklin, you, in your
way, must imitate my patience, and wait, as I do, for a fitter
time. The valuable assistance which you rendered to the inquiry after the lost jewel is still an unpardoned offense, 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 which holds you responsible
fbr 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 are now."
Mr. Franklin folded up his aunt's letter, without appearing
to be much comforted by the remark which I had ventured
on addressing to him.
" When I came here from London with that horrible 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 dreamed of!"
With that he shook me by the hand, and went out to the
pony-chaise.
I followed him down the steps. It was very miserable to




202                 THE MOONSTONE.
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 happened in the house) came round crying to bid
him good-bye. Mr. Franklin kissed her. I waved my hand
as much as to say, " You're heartily welcome, sir." Some of
the other female servants appeared, peeping after him round
the corner. He was one of those men whom the women all
like.  At the last moment I stopped the pony-chaise and
begged as a favor that he would let us hear from him by
letter. He didn't seem to heed what I said-he was looking
round from one thing to another, taking a sort of farewell
of the old house and grounds.  "Tell us where you are goi:ng to, sir!" I said, holding on by the chaise, and trying to
get at his future plans in that way. Mr. Franklin pulled his
hat down suddenly over his eyes.  "Going?" says he, echoing the word after me. "I am going to the devil!"  The
pony started at the word as if he felt a Christian horror of
it. "God bless you, sir, go where you may!" was all I had
time to say before he was out of sight and hearing. A sweet
and pleasant gentleman!  With all his faults and follies, a
sweet and pleasant gentleman! He left a sad gap behind
him when he left my lady's house.
It was dull and dreary enough when the long summer
evening closed in on that Saturday night.
I kept my spirits from sinking by sticking fast to my pipe
and my Robinson Crusoe. The women (excepting Penelope)
beguiled the time by talking of Rosanna's suicide. They
were all obstinately of opinion that the poor girl had stolen
the Moonstone, and that she had destroyed herself in terror
of being found out. My daughter, of course, privately held
fast to what she had said all along.  Her notion of the motive which was really at the bottom of the suicide failed,
oddly enough, just where my young lady's assertion of her innocence failed also. It left Rosanna's secret journey to Frizinghall, and Rosanna's proceedings in the matter of the
nightgown, entirely unaccounted for. There was no use in
pointing this out to Penelope; the objection made about as
much impression on her as a shower of rain on a water-proof
coat. The truth is, my daughter inherits my superiority to
reason-and, in respect to that accomplishment, has got a
long way ahead of her own father.
On the next day (Sunday) the close-carriage, which had
been kept at Mr. Ablewhite's, came back to us empty. The
coachman brought a message for me, and written instructions
for my lady's own maid and for Penelope.




THE MOONSTONE.                  203
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
servants were to follow. My lady had found Miss Rachel so
unwilling to return to the house, after what had happened in
it, that she had decided on going to London direct from Frizinghall. I was to remain in the country, until further orders, to look after things indoors and out. The servants left
with me were to be put on board wages.
Being reminded by all this of what Mr. Franklin had said
about our being a scattered and disunited household, my
mind was led naturally to Mr. Franklin himself. The more
I thought of him the more uneasy I felt about his future proceedings. It ended in my writing, by the Sunday's post, to
his father's valet, Mr. Jeffco (whom I had known in former
years), to beg he would let me know what Mr. Franklin had
settled to do on arriving in London.
The Sunday evening was, if possible, duller even than the
Saturday evening. We ended the day of rest as hundreds
of thousands of people end it regularly, once a week, in these
islands-that is to say, we all anticipated bed-time, and fell
asleep in our chairs.
How the Monday affected the rest of the household 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 Yollands-came true on that
day.
I had seen Penelope and my lady's maid off in the railway
with the luggage for London, and was pottering about the
grounds, when I heard my name called. Turning round, I
found myself face to face with the fishlerman's daughter,
Limping Lucy. Bating her lame foot and her leanness (this
last a horrid drawback to a woman, in my opinion), the girl
had some pleasing qualities in the eye of a man. A dark,
keen, clever face, and a nice clear voice, and a beautiful brown
head of hair, counted among her merits. A crutch appeared
in the list of her misfortunes. And a temper reckoned high
in the sum total of her defects.
" Well, my dear," I said, " what do you want with me?"
"Where's the man you call Franklin Blake?" says the
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,"




204                 THB MOONSTONE.
I answered. "If you wish to inquire for my lady's nephew,
you will please mention him as Mr. Franklin Blake."
She limped a step nearer to me, and looked as if she could
have eaten me alive. "Mr. Franklin Blake?" she repeated
after me. "Murderer Franklin Blake would be a fitter name
for him."
My practice with the late Mrs. Betteredge came in handy
here. Whenever a woman tries to put you out of temper,
turn the tables, and put her out of temper instead. They are
generally prepared for every effort you can make in your
own defense but that. One word does as well as a hundred;
and one word did it with Limping Lucy. I looked her
pleasantly in the face; and I said-"Pooh!"
The girl's temper flamed out directly. She poised herself
on her sound foot, and she took her crutch and beat it 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!" She screamed that answer out r t the
top of her voice. One or two of the people at work in the
grounds near us looked up-saw it was Limping Lucyknew what to expect fiom that quarter-and looked away
again.
"He has been the death of Rosanna Spearman?" I repeated. "What makes you say that, Lucy?"
"What do you care? What does any man care? Oh!
if she had only thought of the men as I think, she might have
been living now!"
"She always thought kindly of me, poor soul," I said;
"and, to the best of my ability, I always tried to act kindly
by her."
I spoke those words in as comforting a manner as I could.
The truth is, I hadn't the heart to irritate the girl by another of my smart replies. I had only noticed her temper at
first. I noticed her wretchedness now-and wretchedness
is not uncommonly insolent, you will find, in humble life.
My 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-vile 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 spoiled it
all. He bewitched her. Don't tell me he didn't mean it,
and didn't know it. He ought to have known it. He ought
to have taken pity on her.'I can't live without him-and,




THE MOONSTONE.                  205
oh Lucy, he never even looks at me.' That's what she said.
Cruel, cruel, cruel! I said,' No man is worth fretting for in
that way.' And she said,' There are men worth dying for,
Lucy, and he is one of them.' I had saved up a little money.
I had settled things with father and mother. I meant to
take her away from the mortification she was suffering here.
We should have had a little lodging in London, and lived
together like sisters. She had a good education, sir, as you
know, and she wrote a good hand. She was quick at her
needle. I have a good education, and I write a good hand.
I am not as quick at my needle as she was-but I could have
done.  We might have got our living nicely.  And, oh!
what happens this morning? what happens this morning 
Her letter comes, and tells me she has done with the burden
of her life. Her letter comes, and bids me good-bye forever.
Where is he?" cries the girl, lifting her head from the crutch,
and flaming out again through her tears.  " Where's this
gentleman that I mustn't speak of, except with respect?
Ha, Mr. Betteredge, the day is not far off when the poor will
rise against the rich. I pray Heaven they may begin with
him. I pray Heaven they may begin with him."
Here was another of your average good Christians, and
here was the usual break-down, consequent on that same average Christianity being pushed too far! The parson 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 Mr. Franklin Blake?" I asked.
"I want to see him."
"For any thing particular?"
" I have got a letter to give him."
" From Rosanna Spearman?"
" Yes."
"Sent to you in your own letter?"
" Yes."
Was the darkness going to lift? Were all the discoveries
that I was dying to make, coming and offering themselves
to me of their own accord? I was obliged to wait a moment. Sergeant Cuff had left his infection behind him. Certain signs and tokens, personal to myself, warned me that the
detective-fever was beginning to set in again.
"You can't see Mr. Franklin," I said.
"I must and will see him."
"He went to London last night."
Limping Lucy looked me hard in the face, and saw that I




206                THE MOONSTONE.
was speaking the truth. Without a word more she turned
about again instantly toward Cobb's Hole.
"Stop!" I said. "I expect news of Mr. Franklin Blake
to-morrow. Give me your letter and I'll send it on to him
by the post."
Limping Lucy steadied herself on her crutch and looked
back at me over her shoulder.
"I am to give it from my hands into his hands," she said.
"And I am to give it to him in no other way."
"Shall I write and tell him what you have said?"
"Tell him I hate him. And you will tell him the truth."
"Yes, yes. But about the letter-?"
"If he wants the letter, he must come back here and get
it from Me."
With those words she limped off on the way to Cobb's
Hole. The detective-fever burned up all my dignity on the
spot. I followed her and tried to make her talk. All in
vain. It was my misfortune to be a man-and Limping
Lucy enjoyed disappointing me. Later in the day I tried
my luck with her mother. Good Mrs. Yolland could only
cry and recommend a drop of comfort out of the Dutch bottle. I found the fisherman on the beach. He said it was
" a bad job," and went on mending his net. Neither father
nor mother knew more than I knew. The one chance left to
try was the chance, which might come with the morning, of
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 other, from Mr. Jeffco, informed me that
his master's son had left England already.
On reaching the metropolis, Mr. Franklin had, it appeared,
gone straight to his father's residence. He arrived at an
awkward time. Mr. Blake, the elder, was up to his eyes in
the business of the House of Commons, and was amusing
himself at home that night with the favorite parliamentary
plaything which they call "a private bill."  Mr. Jefito himself showed Mr. Franklin into his father's study. " My dear
Franklin! why do you surprise me in this way? Any thing
wrong?"  "Yes; something wrong with Rachel; I am
dreadfully distressed about it." "Grieved to hear it. But
I can't listen to you now."  " When can you listen?"  "My
dear boy! I won't deceive you. I can listen at the end of
the session, not a moment before. Good-night." "Thank
you, sir. Good-night."




THE MOONSTONE.                  207
Such was the conversation inside the study, as reported to
me by Mr. Jeffco. The conversatiom outside the study was
shorter still. "Jeffco, see what time the tidal train starts tomorrow morning."  "At six-forty, Mr. Franklin."  "Have
me called at five."  "Going abroad, sir?"  "Going, Jeffco,
wherever the railway chooses to take me."  "Shall I tell
your father, sir?"  " Yes; tell him at the end of the session."
The next morning 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 divided as possible, in Mr. Jeffco's opinion,
among the four quarters of the globe.
This news-by closing up all prospect of. my bringing
Limping Lucy and Mr. Franklin together-at once stopped
any further progress of mine on the way to discovery. Penelope's belief that her fellow-servant had destroyed herself
through unrequited love for Mr. Franklin Blake was confirmed-and that was all. Whether the letter which Rosanna had left to be given to him after her death did, or did not,
contain the confession which Mr. Franklin had suspected her
of trying to make to him in her lifetime, it was impossible to
say. It might be only a farewell word, telling nothing but
the secret. of her unhappy fancy for a person beyond her
reach. Or it might own the whole truth about the strange
proceedings in which Sergeant Cuff had detected her, from
the time when the Moonstone was lost to the time when she
rushed to her own destruction at the Shivering Sand.  A
sealed letter it had been placed in Limping Lucy's hands,
and a sealed letter it remained to me and to every one about
the girl, her own parents included. We'all suspected her of
having been in the dead woman's confidence; we all tried to
make her speak; we all failed. Now one, and now another,
of the servants-still holding to the belief that Rosanna had
stolen the Diamond and had hidden it-peered and poked
about the rocks to which she had been traced, and peered
and poked in vain. The tide ebbed, and the tide flowed;
the summer went on, and the autumn came. And the Quicksand, which hid her body, hid her secret too.
The news of Mr. Franklin's departure fiom 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 produced a second budget of news from Penelope.




208                 THE MOONSTONE.
My girl's letter informed me that some great London doetor had been consulted about her young lady, and had earned
a guinea by remarking that she had better be amused. Flower-shows, operas, balls-there was a whole round of gayeties
in prospect; and Miss Rachel, to her mother's astonishment,
eagerly took to it all. Mr. Godfrey had called; evidently as
sweet as ever on his cousin, in spite of the reception he bad
met with, when he tried his luck on the occasion of the birthday. To Penelope's great regret, he had been most graciously received, and had added Miss Rachel's name to one of his
Ladies' Charities on the spot. My mistress was reported to
be out of spirits, and to have held two long interviews with
her lawyer. Certain speculations 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 that Miss Clack had not
called yet. Surely she would not be long before she fastened herself on my lady as usual!-and so on, and so on, in
the way women have of girding at each other, on, and off,
paper.. This would not have beeneworth mentioning but for
one reason. I hear you are likely to meet with Miss Clack.
In that case, don't believe what she says of me.
On Friday nothing happened-except that one of the dogs
showed signs of a breaking-out behind the ears. I gave him
a dose of sirup of buckthorn, and put him on a diet of potliquor and vegetables till further orders. Excuse my'mentioning this. It has slipped in somehow. Pass it over,
please.  I am  fast coming to the end of my offenses
against your cultivated modern taste.  Besides, the dog
was a good creature, and deserved a good physicking; he
did indeed.
Saturday, the last day of the week, is also the last day in
my narrative.
The morning's post brought me a surprise in the shape of
a London newspaper. The handwriting on the direction
puzzled me. I compared it with the money-lender's name
and address as recorded in my pocket-book, and identified it
at once as the writing of Sergeant Cuff.
Looking through the paper eagerly enough, after this discovery, I found an ink-mark drawn round one of the police
reports. Here it is at your service. Read it as I read it,
and you will set the right value on the Sergeant's polite attention in sending me the news of the day:




THE MOONSTONE.                              209
" LAMBETH. — Shortly before the closing of the court, Mr. Septimus Liuker
the well-known dealer in ancient gems, carvings, intagli, etc.. etc., applied to
the sitting magistrate for advice.  The applicant stated that he had been anaoyed, at intervals throughout the day, by the proceedings of some of those
strolling Indians who infest the streets.  The persons complained of were
bhree in number.  After having been sent away by the police, they had returned again and again, and had attempted to enter the house on pretense of
asking for charity.  Warned off in the front, they had been discovered again
at the back of the premises.  Besides the annoyance complained of, Mr.
Luker expressed himself as being under some apprehension that robbery
might be contemplated.  His collection contained many unique gems, both
classical and Orienetal, of the highest value.  He had only the day before
been compelled to dismiss a skilled workman in ivory carving fiom  his en:ployment (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 migrt be their object to collect a crowd, and create a disturibance in the street, and, in the
confusion thus caused, to obtain access to the house, In,reiply to the magistrate, Mr. Luker admitted that he had no evidence to produce of any attempt
at robbery being in contemplation.   Ie could speak positively to the annovance and interruption caused by the Indians, but not to any thing else.  The
magistrate remarked that, if the annoyance were repeated, the applicant could
summon the Indians to that court, where they might easily be dealt with under the Act.  As to the valuables in Mr. Luker's possession, Mr. Luker himself must take the best measures for theilr safe custody.  He would do well,
perhaps, to communicate with the police, and to adopt sucl additional precautions as their experienee migiht suggest.  The applicant thanked his worship
and withdrew."
One of the wise ancients is reported (I forget on what occasion) as.having recommended his fellow-creatures to " look
t( the end."   Looking to the end of these pages of mine, and
Wotdering for some days past how I should manage to write
it  I find my plain statement of facts comnin   to a conclusion,
most appropriately, of its own self.  We have gone on, in
this matter of the Moonstone, firom  one marvel to another;
and here we end  with  the greatest marvel of all-namely,
the accomplishment of Sergeant Cuffs 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 fiom  London —Miss Rachel herself, remember, being  also in London  at the  time.  You see, I put things at
their worst, even when they tell dead against my own view.
If you desert me, and side with the Sergeant, on the evidence
before you-if the only rational explanation you can see is,
that Miss Rachel and Mr. Luker must have got together, and
that the Moonstone must be now  in pledge in the moneylender'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,
14




210                   THE MOONSTONi:E
Why compelled   it may be asked.  Why not take the
persons who have gone along with me so f1ir up into those
regions of superior enlightenment in which I sit myself?
In answer to this I can only state that I am acting under
orders, and that those orders have been given to me (as I
understand) in the interests of truth.  I am forbidden to tell
more in this narrative than I knew myself at the time.  Or,
to put it plainer, I am to keep strictly within the limits of
my own experience, and am not to intorm you of what other
persons told me-for the very suteicient reason that you are
tN hlave the information firom those other persons themselves
at first hand. In this matter of the Moonstone the plan is,
not to present reports, but to produce witnesses.  I picture
to myself a member of the family reading these pages fifty
years hence.  Lord! what a compliment he will feel it, to be
asked to take nothing on hearsay, and to be treated in all
respects like a Judge on the Bench.
At this place, then, we part for the present, at least-after
longo journeying together, with a companionable feeling, I
hope, on both sides.  The devil's dance of the Indian Diamond has threaded its way to London; and to London you
must go after it, leaving me at the country house. Please
to excuse the faults of this composition-my talking so much
of myself, and being too familiar, I am  afraid, with you. I
mean no harm; and I drink most respectfully (haviig just
done dinner) to your health and prosperity, in a tankard of
her ladyship's ale. May you find in these leaves of my writing what R}obinson 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.
TH3E  END OF THE FIRST PERIOD.




THE MOONSTONE.
SECOND PERIOD. THE DISCOVERY OP THE TRUTH.
(1848-1849.)
The Events related in several Narratiwea.
iirst Narrative.
Contributed by Miss Clack, Niece of the late Sir John Verinder.
CHAPTER L
I AM indebted to my dear parents (both now in heaven)
for having had habits of order and regularity instilled into
me at a very early age.
In that happy by-gone time I was taught to keep my hair
tidy at all hours of the day and night, and to fold up every
article of my clothing carefully, in the same order, on the
same chair, in the same place at the foot of the bed, before
retiring to rest. An entry of the day's events in my little diary invariably preceded the folding up. The Evening
Hymn (repeated in bed) invariably followed the folding up.
And the sweet sleep of childhood invariably followed the
Evening Hymn.
In later life (alas!) the Hymn has been succeeded by sad
and bitter meditations; and the sweet sleep has been but
ill exchanged for the broken slumbers which haunt the uneasy pillow of care. On the other hand, I have continued to
fold my clothes, and to keep my little diary. The former
habit links me to my happy childhood-before papa was
ruined. The latter habit-hitherto mainly useful in helping
me to discipline the fallen nature which we all inherit from
Adam-has unexpectedly proved important to my humble
interests in quite another way. It has enabled poor Me to
serve the caprice of a wealthy member of our family. I am
fortunate enough to be useful (in the worldly sense of the
word) to Mr. Franklin Blake.
I have been cut off from all news of the prosperous branch
of the family for some time past. When we are isolated and
poor we are not infrequently forgotten. I am now living,
for economy's sake, in a little town in Brittany, inhabited by




THE MOONSTONE.
Jt circle of serious English friends, and possessed of the
antages of a Protestant clergyman and a cheap market.
In this retirement-a Patmos amidst the howling ocean
of popery that surrounds us-  a letter from  England has
reached me at last.  I find my insignificant existence suddenly remembered by Mr. Franklin Blake.  My wealthy relative-would that I could add my spiritually-wealthy 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 during my sojourn at Aunt Verinder's house in London.
Pecuniary remuneration is offered to me-with the want of
feeling peculiar to the rich. I am to re-open wounds that
Time has barely closed; I am  to recall the most intensely
painful remembrances-and this done, I am  to feel myself
compensated by a new laceration, in the shape of Mr. Blake's
check.  My nature is weak.  It cost me a hard struggle, before Christian humility conquered sinful pride, and selt-denial
accepted the check.
Without my diary, I doubt-pray let me express it in the
grossest terms!-if I could have honestly earned my money.
With my diary, the poor laborer (who forgives Mr. Blake for
insulting her) is worthy of her hire. Nothing escaped me
at the time when I was staying with dear Aunt Verinder.
Every thing was entered (thanks to my early training) day
by day as it happened; and every thing, 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 suppress what may not prove to be
sufficiently flattering in these pages to the person chiefly concerned in them. He had purchased my time; but not even
his wealth can purchase my conscience too.*
My diary ilnFormns me that I was accidentally passing
* NOTE. Added by Franklin Blake.-Miss Clack may make her mind
quite easy on this point. Nothing will be added, altered, or removed, in her
manuscript, or in any of the other manuscripts which pass through my hands.
Whatever opinions any of the writers may express, whatever peculiarities of
treatment may mark, and perhaps, in a literary sense, disfigure the narratives
which I am now collecting, not a line will be tampered with anywhere, from
first to last. As genuine documents they are sent to me-and as genuine
documents I shall preserve them, indorsed by the attestations of witnesses
who can speak to the facts. It only remains to be added, that " the person
chiefly concerned" in Miss Clack's narrative is happy enough at the present
moment not only to brave the smartest exercise of Miss Clack's pen, but even
to recognize its unquestionable value as an instrument for the exhibition of
Miss Clack's character.




THE MOONSTONE.                   213
Aunt Verinder's house in Montagu Square, on Monday, 3d
July, 1848.
Seeing the shutters opened, and the blinds drawn up, I
felt that it would be an act of polite attention to knock and
make inquiries. The person who answered the door informed
me that my aunt and her daughter (I really can not call her
my cousin!) had arrived from the country a week since, and
meditated making some stay in London. I sent up a 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 message in
insolent silence, and left me standing in the hall. She is the
daughter of a heathen old man named Betteredge-long, too
long, tolerated in my aunt's family. I sat down in the hall
to wait for my answer-and having always a few tracts in
my bag, I selected one which proved to be quite providentially 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 addressed to young women on the sinfulness of
dress. In style it was devoutly familiar. Its title was, "A
Word With You On Your Cap-Ribbons."
"My lady is much obliged, and begs you will come and
lunch to-morrow at two."
I passed over the manner in which she gave her message,
and the dreadful boldness of her look. I thanked this young
castaway; and I said, in a tone of Christian interest, "Will
you favor me by accepting a tract?"
She looked at the title. "Is it written by a man or a
woman, miss? If it's written by a woman, I had rather not
read it on that account. If it's written by a man, I beg to
inform him that he knows nothing about it." She handed
me back the tract and opened the door. We must sow the
good seed somehow. I waited till the door was shut on
me, and slipped the tract into the letter-box. When I had
dropped another tract through the area railings, I felt relieved, in some small degree, of a heavy responsibility toward others.
We had a meeting that evening of the Select Committee of the Mothers'-Small-Clothes-Conversion-Society. The
object of this excellent Charity is-as all serious people
know-to rescue unredeemed fathers' trowsers firom  the
pawnbroker, and to prevent their resumption, on the part
of the irreclaimable parent, by abridging themt immediately
to suit the proportions of the innocent son. I was a mem



214                THE MOONSTONE.
ber, at that time, of the select committee; and I mention
the Society here, because my precious and admirable friend,
Mr. Godfiey Ablewhite, was associated with our work of
moral and material usefulness. I had expected to see him
in the board-room on the Monday evening of which I am
now writing, and had purposed to tell him when we met of
dear Aunt Verinder's arrival in London. To my great disappointment, he never appeared. On my expressing a feeling of surprise at his absence, my sisters of the Committee
all looked up together from their 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 narrative. On the
previous Friday two gentlemen-occupying 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 Ablewhite.
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. Godfrey 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. Every thing
shall be put neatly, and every thing shall be put in its place.
These lines are written by a poor weak woman. From a
poor weak woman who will be cruel enough to expect more?
The date-thanks to my dear parents, no dictionary that
ever was written can be more particular than I am about
dates-was Friday, June 30, 1848.
Early on that memorable day our gifted Mr. Godfrey happened to be cashing a check at a banking-house in Lombard
Street. The name of the firm is accidentally blotted in my
diary, and my sacred regard for truth forbids me to hazard
a guess in a matter of this kind. Fortunately, the name of
the firm doesn't matter. What does matter is a 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 momentary 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;




THIE JMOONSTONE.                215
Mr. Godfrey said a few civil words; they bowed, and parted
in the street.
Thoughtless and superficial people may say, Here is surely a very trumpery little incident related in an absurdly circumstantial manner. Oh, my young fiiends and fellow-sinners! beware of presuming to exercise your poor carnal reason. Oh, be morally tidy! Let your faith be as your stockings, and your stock;ngs as your faith. Both ever spotless,
and both ready to put on at a moment's notice!
I beg a thousand pardons. I have fallen insensibly into
my Sunday-school style. Most inappropriate in such a record as this. Let me try to be worldly-let me say that trifles, in this case as in many others, led to terrible results.
Merely premising that the polite stranger was MrI. 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 intrusted
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 subject of
the Mothers'-Small-Clothes-Conversion-Society, and the information 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
philanthropist whom she addressed.
Ordinary people might have hesitated before setting aside
their own engagements to suit the convenience of a stranger.
The Christian Hero never hesitates where good is to be
done. Mr. Godfrey instantly turned back, and proceeded to
the house in Northumberland Street. A most respectable
though somewhat corpulent man answered the door, and,
on hearing Mr. Godfrey's name, immediately conducted him
into an empty apartment at the back, on the drawing-room
floor. He noticed two unusual things on entering the room.
One of them was a faint odor of musk and camphor. The




216                 THE MOONSTONE.
other was an ancient Oriental manuscript, richly illuminated
with Indian figures and devices, that lay open to inspection
on a table.
He was looking at the book, the position of which caused
him to stand with his back turned toward the closed foldingdoors communicating with the fiont-room, when, without the
slightest previous noise to warn him, he felt himself suddenly seized round the neck from behind. He had just time to
notice that the arm round his neck was naked and of a tawny-brown color, before his eyes were bandaged, his mouth
was gagged, and he was thrown helpless on the floor by (as
he judged) two men. A third rifled his pockets, and-if, as
a lady, I may venture to use such an expression-searched
him, without ceremony, through and through to his skin.
Here I should greatly enjoy saying a few cheering words
on the devout confidence which could alone have sustained
Mr. Godfrey in an emergency so terrible as this. Perhaps,
however, the position and appearance of my admirable friend
at the culminating period of the outrage (as above described)
are hardly within the proper limits of female discussion.
Let me pass over the next few moments, and return to Mr.
Godfiey 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 terms 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
felt the air flowing in fiom the open door, listened and felt
persuaded that he was alone again in the room.
An interval elapsed, and he heard a sound below like the
rustling sound of a woman's dress.  It advanced up the
stairs, and stopped. A female scream rent the atmosphere
of guilt. A man's voice below exclaimed, "Halloo!"  A
man's feet ascended the stairs. Mr. Godfrey felt Christian
fingers 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 you."
The inevitable explanation followed. No! Let me be
scrupulously particular.  Sal volatile and water followed,
to compose dear Mr. Godfrey's nerves.  The explanation
came next.
It appeared, from the statement of the landlord and land



THE MOONSTONE.                 217
lady of the house (persons of good repute in the neighborhood), 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 described as answering the door to Mr. Godfrey's
knock. The gentleman had paid the week's rent and all the
week's extras in advance, stating that the apartments were
wanted for three Oriental noblemen, fiiends 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 respectable 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.
An investigation was next made in the room. Dear Mr.
Godfrey's property was found scattered in all directions.
When the articles were collected, however, nothing was
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 noblemen had removed their own
illuminated manuscript, and had removed nothing else.
What did it mean? Taking the worldly point of view, it
appeared to mean that Mr. Godfrey had been the victim of
some incomprehensible error, committed by certain unknown
men. A dark conspiracy was on foot in the midst of us;
and our beloved and innocent friend had been entangled in
its meshes. When the Christian hero of a hundred charitable victories plunges into a pitfall that has been dug for him




218                 THE MOONSTONE.
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 relative's check —
henceforth the incubus of my existence-warns me that I
have not done with this record of violence yet. We must
leave Mr. Godfrey to recover in Northumberland Street, and
must follow the proceedings of Mr. Luker, at a later period
of the day.
After leaving the bank, Mr. Luker had visited various
parts of London on business errands. Returning to his own
residence, he found a letter waiting for him, which was described as having been left a short time previously by a boy.
In this case, as in Mr. Godirey'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 unexpectedly summoned to London. He
had just established himself in lodgings in Alfied 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 wean ourselves from the worship of Mammon!
Mr. Luker called a cab, and drove off instantly to his liberal
patron.
Exactly what had happened to Mr. Godfiey in Northumberland Street now happened to Mr. Luker in Alfred Place.
Once more the respectable man answered the door, and showed the visitor up stairs into the back drawing-room. There,
again, Nay thne Yltuminated manuscript on a table. Mr. Luker's attention was absorbed, as Mr. Godfiey'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




THE MOONSTONE.                  219
Place now gave to Mr. Luker. Both had been imposed on
in the same way by the plausible address and the well-filled
purse of the respectable stranger, who introduced himself as
acting for his foreign fiiends. The one point of difference
between the two cases occurred when the scattered contents
of Mr. Luker's pockets were being collected from the floor.
His watch and purse were safe, but (less fortunate than Mr.
Godfrey) one of the loose papers that he carried about him
had been taken away. The paper in question acknowledged
the receipt of a valuable of great price which Mr. Luker had
that day left in the care of his bankers. This document
would be useless for purposes of fraud, inasmuch as it provided that the valuable should only be given up on the personal application of the owner. As soon as he recovered
himself; Mr. Luker hurried to the bank, on the chance that
the thieves who had robbed him might ignorantly present
themselves with the receipt.  Nothing had been seen of
them when he arrived at the establishment, and nothing was
seen of them afterward. Their respectable English friend
had (in the opinion of the bankers) looked the receipt over
before they attempted to make use of it, and had given them
the necessary warning in good time.
Information of both outrages was communicated to the police, and the needful investigations were pursued, I believe,
with great energy. The authorities held that a robbery had
been planned, on insufficient information received by the
thieves. They had been plainly not sure whether Mr. Luker had, or had not, trusted the transmission of his precious
gem to another person, and poor polite Mr. Godfrey had
paid the penalty of having been seen accidentally speaking
to him. Add to this, that Mr. Godfrey's absence from our
Monday evening meeting had been occasioned by a consultation of the authorities, at which he was requested to assist
-and all the explanations required being now given, I may
proceed with the simpler story of my own little personal experiences in Montagu Square.
I was punctual to the luncheon-hour on Tuesday. Reference to my diary shows this to have been a checkered day
-much in it to be devoutly regretted, much in it to be devoutly 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 direction of her daughter. I never see
Rachel myself without wondering how it can be that so in



220                 THE MOONSTONE.
si5gigficant-looking a person should be the child of such distinguished 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 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."
"I'll 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 preferred keeping
silence on the subject. But when her own servants all knew
of the loss of the Moonstone, and when some of the circumstances had actually found their way into the newspaperswhen strangers were speculating whether there was any
connection between what had happened at Lady Verinder's
country house, and what had happened in Northumberland
Street and Alfred Place-concealment was not to be thought
of; and perfect frankness became a necessity as well as a
virtue.
Some persons, hearing what I now heard, would have been
probably overwhelmed with astonishment.  For my own
part, knowing Rachel's spirit to have been essentially unregenerate from  her childhood upward, I was prepared for
whatever my aunt could tell me on the subject of her
daughter. It might have gone on from bad to worse till
it ended in Murder; and I should still have said to myself,
The natural result! oh, dear, dear, the natural result! The
one thing that did shock me was the course my aunt had
taken under the circumstances. Here surely was a case for
a clergyman, if ever there was one yet! Lady Verinder
bad thought it a case for a physician. All my poor aunt's
early life had been passed in her father's godless household.




THE MOONSTONE.                  221
The natural result again! Oh, dear, dear, the natural result
again!
"The doctor recommends plenty of exercise and amusement for Rachel, and strongly urges me to keep her mind
as much as possible from dwelling on the past," said Lady
Verinder.
"Oh, what heathen advice!" I thought to myself. "In
this Christian country, what heathen advice!"
My aunt went on: " I do my best to carry out the doctor's instructions. But this strange adventure of Godfrey's
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 Rachel's part.
She is keeping a sinful secret from you and from every body.
May there not be something in these recent events which
threatens her secret with discovery?"
" Discovery?" repeated my aunt. " What can you possibly mean?  Discovery through Mr. Luker?  Discovery
through my nephew?"
As the word passed her lips a special providence occurred.
The servant opened the door, and announced Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite.
CHAPTER II.
MR. GODFREY followed the announcement of his nameas Mr. Godfrey does every thing else-exactly at the right
time. He was not so close on the servant's heels as to startle us. He was not so far behind as to cause us the double
inconvenience of a pause and an open door. It is in the
completeness of his daily life that the true Christian appears.
This dear man was very complete.
"Go to Miss Verinder," said my aunt, addressing the
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 Dast week. With perfect tact he contrived




222                 THE MOONSTONE.
to answer us at the same moment. Lady Verinder had his
reply in words. I had his charming smile.
"What," he cried, with infinite tenderness, "have I done
to deserve all this sympathy? My dear aunt! my dear Miss
Clack! T have merely been mistaken for somebody else. 1
have only been blindfolded; I have only been strangled; I
have only been thrown flat on my back, on a very thin carpet covering a particularly hard floor.  Just think how
much worse it might have been! I might have been murdered; I might have been robbed.  What have I lost?
Nothing but Nervous Force-which the law doesn't recognize as property; so that, strictly speaking, I have lost nothing at all. If I could have had my own way I would have
kept my adventure to myself-I shrink from  all this fuss
and publicity. But Mr. Luker made his injuries public, and
my injuries, as the necessary consequence, have been proclaimed in their turn. I have become the property of the
newspapers until the gentle reader gets sick of the subject.
I am very sick indeed of it myself. May the gentle reader
soon be like me! And how is dear Rachel? Still enjoying
the gayeties of London? So glad to hear it! Miss Clack,
I need all your indulgence. I am sadly behindhand with
my Committee Work and my dear Ladies. But I really do
hope to look in at the Mothers'-Small-Clothes next week.
Did you make cheering progress at Monday's Committee?
Was the Board hopeful about future prospects? And are
we nicely off for Trowsers?"
The heavenly gentleness of his smile made his apologies
irresistible. The richness of his deep voice added its own
indescribable charm to the interesting business question
which he had just addressed to me. In truth, we were almost too nicely off for Trowsers; we were quite overwhelmed by them. I was just about to say so, when the
door opened again, and an element of worldly disturbance
entered the room in the person of Miss Verinder.
She approached dear Mr. Godfiey at a most unlady-like
rate of speed, with her hair shockingly untidy, and her face,
what I should call, unbecomingly flushed.
"I am charmed to see you, Godfiey," 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; its all that a wellregulated mind like Miss Clack's most instinctively shudders
at. Never mind that. Tell me the whole of the Northum'




THE MOONSTONE.                   223
berland Street story directly. I know the newspapers have
left some of it out."
Even dear Mr. Godfrey partakes of the fallen nature which
we all inherit from Adam-it is a very small share of our
human legacy, but, alas! he has it. I confess it grieved me
to see him take Rachel's hand in both of his own hands, and
lay it softly on the left side of his waistcoat. It was a direct encouragement to her reckless way of talking, and her
insolent reference to me.
"Dearest Rachel," he said, in the same voice which had
thrilled me when he spoke of our prospects and our trowsers, "the newspapers have told you every thing-and they
have told it much better than I can."
" Godfrey thinks we all make too much of the matter,"
my aunt remarked.  "He has just been saying that he
doesn't care to speak of it."
"Why?"
She put the question with a sudden flash.in her eyes,
and a sudden look up into Mr. Godfiey's face.  On his
side, he looked down at her with an indulgence so injudicious and so ill-deserved that I really felt called on to interfere.
"Rachel, darling!" I remonstrated, gently, "true great
ness and.true courage are ever modest."
"You are a very good fellow in your way, Godfrey," she
said-not taking the smallest notice, observe, of me, and still
speaking to her cousin as if she was one young man addressing another.  "But I am quite sure you are not great; I
don't believe you possess any extraordinary courage; and I
am firmly persuaded-if you ever had any modesty-that
your lady-worshipers relieved you of that virtue a good many
years since. You have some private reason for not talking
of your adventure in Northumberland Street; and I mean
to know it."
" My reason is the simplest imaginable and the most easily
acknowledged," he answered, still bearing with her. "I am
tired of the subject."' You are tired of the subject? My dear Godfrey, I am
going to make a remark."
"What is it?"
"You live a great deal too much in the society of women.
And you have contracted two very bad habits in consequence. You have learned to talk nonsense seriously, and
you have got into a way of telling fibs for the pleasure of
telling them.. You can't go straight with your lady-worshipers. I mean to make you go straight with me. Come




224                THE MOONSTONE.
and sit down. I am brimful of downright questions; and I
expect you to be brimful of downright answers."
She actually dragged him across the room to a chair by
the window, where the light would fall on his face. I deeply feel being obliged to report such language and to describe
such conduct. But, hemmed in as I am, between Mr. Franklin Blake's check on one side and my own sacred regard for
truth on the other, what am I to do? I looked at my aunt.
She sat unmoved; apparently in no way disposed to 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
-Mr. Godfrey.  She began the string of questions with
which she had threatened him, taking no more notice of
her mother or of myself than if we had not been in the
room.
" Have the police done any thing, Godfrey?"
"Nothing whatever."
"It is certain, I suppose, that the three men who laid the
trap for youwere the same three men who afterward laid
the trap for Mr. Luker?"
"Humanly speaking, my dear Rachel, there can be no
doubt of it."
"And not a trace of them has been discovered?"
"Not a trace."
"It is thought-is it not?-that these three men are the
three Indians who came to our house in the country."
"Some people think so."
"Do you think so?"
" My dear Rachel, they blindfolded me before I could see
their faces. I know nothing whatever of the matter. How
can I offer any opinion on it?"
Even the angelic gentleness of Mr. Godfrey was, you see,
beginning to give way at last under the persecution inflicted on him. Whether unbridled curiosity, or ungovernable
dread, dictated Miss Verinder's questions, I do not presume
to 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




THE MOONSTONE.                  225
judge others.  My Christian friends, indeed, indeed, indeed,
we must not judge others!
She went on with her questions, unabashed. Earnest Biblical students will perhaps be reminded-as I was reminded
-of the blinded children of the devil, who went on with
their orgies, unabashed, in the time before the Flood.
"I want to know something about Mr. Luker, Godfrey."
"I am again unfortunate, Rachel. No man knows less of
Mr. Luker than I do."
"You never saw him before you and he met accidentally
at the bank?"
" Never."
" You have seen him since?"
"Yes. We have been examined together, as well as 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 be given up on Mr. Luker's personal application. That was the form, and that is
all I know about it."
She waited a moment after he had said that. She looked
at her mother and sighed. She looked back again at Mr.
Godfiey, and went on.
"Some of our private affairs, at home," she said, "seem to
have got into the newspapers?"
"I grieve to say, it is so."
"And some idle people, perfect strangers to us, are trying
to trace a connection between what happened at our house
in Yorkshire and what has happened since here in London?"
"The public curiosity, in certain quarters, is, I fear, taking
that turn."
"The people who say that the three unknown men who illused you and Mr. Luker are the three Indians, also say that
the valuable gem-"
There she stopped. She had become gradually, within
the last few moments, whiter and whiter in the face. The
extraordinary blackness of her hair made this paleness, by
15




226                THE MOONSTONE.
contrast, so ghastly to look at that we all thought she would
faint at that moment when she checked herself in the middle
of her question. Dear Mr. Godfrey made a second attempt
to leave his chair. My aunt entreated her to say no more.
I followed my aunt with a modest medicinal peace-offering
in the shape of a bottle of salts. We none of us produced
the slightest 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 had never even heard of the Moonstone. And these
vile people reply, without a shadow of proof to justify them,
He has his reasons for concealment; we decline to believe
him on his oath. Shameful! shameful!"
Rachel looked at him very strangely-I can't well describe how-while he was speaking. When he had done,
she said:
" Considering that Mr. Luker is only a chance acquaintance
of yours, you take up his cause, Godfrey, rather warmly."
My gifted friend made her one of the most truly evangelical answers I ever heard in my life.
"I hope, Rachel, I take up the cause of all oppressed people rather warmly," he said.
The tone in which those words were spoken might have
melted a stone. But, oh dear, what is the hardness of stone?
Nothing compared to the hardness of the unregenerate hu



THE MOONSTONE.                  227
man heart! She sneered. I blush to record it-she sneered
at him to his face.
" Keep your beautiful language for your Ladies' Committees, Godfiey. I am certain that the scandal which has assailed Mr. Luker has not spared You."
Even my aunt's torpor was roused by those words.
"My dear Rachel," she remonstrated, " you have really no
right to say that!"
"I mean no harm, mamma-I mean good. Have a moment's patience with me, and you will see."
She looked back at Mr. Godfrey with what appeared to be
a sudden pity for him. She went the length-the very unlady-like length-of taking him by the hand.
"I am certain," she said, "that I have found out the true
reason of your unwillingness to speak of this matter before
my mother and before me. An unlucky accident has associated you in people's minds with Mr. Luker. You have
told me what scandal says of him. What does scandal say
of you Y"
Even at the eleventh hour, dear Mr. Godfrey —always
ready to return good for evil-tried to spare her.
"Don't ask me!" he said. "It's better forgotten, Rachel
-it is indeed."
" I will hear it!" she cried out, fiercely, at the top of her
voice.
" Tell her, Godfrey!" entreated my aunt. "Nothing can
do her such harm as your silence is doing now!"
Mr. Godfrey's fine eyes filled with tears. He cast one last
appealing look at her-and then he spoke the fatal words:
" If you will have it, Rachel-scandal says that the 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 backward and forward 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!"
My aunt half rose from her chair, then suddenly sat down
again. She called to me faintly, and pointed to a little phial
in her work-box.




228                THE MOONSTONE.
"Quick!" she whispered. "Six drops, in water. Don't
let Rachel see."
Under other circumstances I should have thought this
strange. There was no time now to think-there was only
time to give the medicine. Dear Mr. Godfrey unconsciously assisted me in concealing what I was about from Rachel
by speaking composing words to her at the other end of the
room.
"Indeed-indeed you exaggerate," I heard him say. " My
reputation stands too high to be destroyed by a miserable
passing scandal like this. It will be all forgotten in another
week. Let us never speak of it again."
She was perfectly inaccessible even to such generosity as
this. She went on from bad to worse.
" I must and will stop it," she said. "Mamma! hear what
I say.  Miss Clack! hear what I say.  I know the hand
that took the Moonstone. I know "-she laid a strong emphasis on the words; she stamped her foot in the rage that
possessed her —" I know that Godfrey Ablewhite is innocent!
Take me to the magistrate, Godfrey! Take me to the magistrate, and I will swear it!"
My aunt caught me by the hand and whispered, "Stand
between us for a minute or two. Don't let Rachel see me.".I noticed a bluish tinge in her face which alarmed me. She
saw I was startled. " The drops will put me right in a minute or two," she said, and so closed her eyes and waited a
little.
While this was going on I heard dear Mr. Godfrey still
gently remonstrating.
"You must not appear publicly in such a thing as this,"
he said. " Your reputation, dearest Rachel, is something too
pure and too sacred to be trifled with."
"My reputation!"  She burst out laughing. "Why, I
am accused, Godfrey, as well as you. The best detective officer in England declares that I have stolen my own Diamond. Ask him what he thinks, and he will tell you that
I have pledged the Moonstone to pay my private debts!"
She stopped-ran across the room-and fell on her knees at
her mother's feet.  "Oh, mamma! mamma! mamma!  I
must be mad-mustn't I?-not to own the truth now "
She was too vehement to notice her mother's condition-she
was on her feet again and back with Mr. Godfrey in an instant. " I won't let you-I won't let any innocent man-be
accused and disgraced through my fault. If you won't take
me before the magistrate, draw out a declaration of your innocence on paper, and I will sign it. Do as I tell you, God



-~'~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ir'B~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  








THE MOONSTONE.                  231
frey, or I'll write it to the newspapers-I'll go out and cry it
in the streets!"
We will not say this was the language of remorse- we
will say it was the language of hysterics. Indulgent Mr.
Godfrey pacified her by taking a sheet of paper and drawing out the declaration. She signed it in a feverish hurry.
"Show it everywhere-don't think of 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 unselfishyou are a better man than I believed you to be. Come here
when you can, and I will try and repair the wrong I have
done you."
She gave him her hand. Alas for our fallen nature! Alas
for Mr. Godfrey! He not only forgot himself so far as to
kiss her hand-he adopted a gentleness of tone in answering
her which, in such a case, was little better than a compromise with sin. "I will come, dearest," he said, " on condition
that we don't speak of this hateful subject again." Never
had I seen and heard our Christian Hero to less advantage
than on this occasion.
Before another word could be said by any body a 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 powdered footman, and three of the most audaciously-dressed women I ever beheld in my life.
Rachel started and composed herself. She crossed the
room to her mother.
"They have come to take me to the flower-show," she
said. "One word, mamma, before I go. I have not distressed you, have I?"
(Is the bluntness of moral feeling which could ask such a
question as that, after what had just happened, to be pitied
or condemned? I like to lean toward mercy. Let us pity it.)
The drops had produced their effect. My poor aunt's
complexion was like itself again. "No, no, my dear," she
said. "Go with our friends and enjoy yourself."
Her daughter stooped and kissed her. I had left the 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 offense.
" What do you mean by pitying me?" she asked, in a bitter
whisper, as she passed to the door. "Don't you see how
happy I am? I'm going to the flower-show, Clack; and I've




232                 THE MOONSTONE.
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 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!" 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 before I leave the house?"  He kindled a match,
and lighting the paper laid it to burn in a plate on the table.
"Any trifling inconvenience that I may suffer is as nothing," he remarked, " compared with the importance of preserving that pure name from the contaminating contact of
the world. There! We have reduced it to a little harmless heap of ashes,and our dear impulsive Rachel will never
know what we have done! How do you feel?-my precious
friends, how do you feel? For my poor part, I am as lighthearted as a boy!"
He beamed on us with his beautiful smile; he held out a
hand to my aunt and a hand to me. I was too deeply affected by his noble conduct to speak. I closed my eyes; I
put his hand, in a kind of spiritual self-forgetfulness, to my
lips. He murmured a soft remonstrance. Oh, the ecstasy,
the pure, unearthly ecstasy of that moment! I sat-I hardly know on what-quite lost in my own exalted feelings.
When I opened my eyes again it was like descending fiom
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 unrelenting
pecuniary pressure of Mr. Blake's check obliges me to tell.
The painful disclosures which were to reveal themselves in
my presence during that Tuesday's visit to Montagu Square
were not at an end yet.




THE MOONSTONE.                     233
Finding myself alone with Lady Verinder, 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, fiom the observation
of her daughter.
My aunt's reply greatly surprised me.
" Drusilla," she said (if I have not already mentioned that
my Christian name is Drusilla, permit me to mention it now),
"you are touching-quite innocently, I know —on a very
distressing subject."
I rose immediately.  Delicacy left me but one alternative
-the alternative, after first making my apologies, of taking
my leave.  Lady Verinder stopped me and insisted on my
sitting down again.
"You have surprised a secret," she said, " which I had
confided to my sister, Mrs. Ablewhbite, and to my lawyer, Mr.
Bruff, and to no one else.  I can trust in their discretion;
and I am sure, when I tell you the circumstances, I can trust
in yours. Have you any pressing engagement, Drusilla? or
is your time your own this atternloon?"
It is needless to say that my time was entirely at my
aunt's disposal.
" Keep me company, then," she said, " for another hour. I
have something to tell you which I believe you will be sorry to hear. And I shall have a service to ask of you afterward, if you don't object to assist me."
It is again needless to say that, so far from  objecting, I
was all eagerness to assist her.
" You can wait here," she went on," till Mr. Bruff comes
at five. And you can be one of the witnesses, Drusilla, when
I sign my Will."
Her Will! I thought of the drops which I had seen in
her work-box.  I thought of the bluish tinge which I had
noticed in her complexion.  A light which was not of this
world —a light shining prophetically from an unmade grave
-dawned solemnly on my mind. My aunt's secret was a
secret no longer.
CHAPTER III.
CONSIDERATION for poor Lady Verinder forbade me even
to hint that I had guessed the melancholy truth before she
opened her lips; I waited her pleasure in silence; and, having privately arranged to say a few sustaining words at the




234                 THE MOONSTONE.
first convenient opportunity, felt prepared for any duty that
could claim me,no matter how painful it might be.
"I have been seriously ill, Drusilla, for some time past,"
my aunt began. "And strange to say,without knowing it
myself."
I thought of the thousands on thousands of perishing hu.
man creatures who were all at that moment spiritually ill,
without knowing it themselves. 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 medical
advice," she went on. "I thought it right to consult two
doctors."
Two doctors! And, oh me (in Rachel's state), not one
clergyman! " Yes, dear," I said once more. " Yes?"
"One of the two medical men," proceeded my aunt," was
a stranger to me. The other had been an old friend of my
husband's, and had always felt a sincere interest in me for
my husband's sake. After prescribing for Rachel, he said
he wished to speak to me privately in another room. I expected, of course, to receive some special directions for the
management of my daughter's health. To my surprise, he
took me gravely by the hand, and said,' I have been looking
at you, Lady Verinder, with a professional as well as a personal interest. You are, I am afraid, far more urgently in
need of medical advice than your daughter.' He put some
questions to me which I was at first inclined to treat lightly
enough, until I observed that my answers distressed him. It
ended in his making an appointment to come and see me, accompanied by a medical friend, on the next day, at an hour
when Rachel would not be at home. The result of that visit-most kindly and gently conveyed to me-satisfied both
the physicians that there had been precious time lost which
could never be regained, and that my case had now passed
beyond the reach of 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 foi some months,
or I may die before another day has passed over my headthe doctors can not, and dare not, speak more positively than
this. It would be vain to say, my dear, that I have not had
some miserable moments since my real situation has been
made known to me. But I am more resigned than I was,
and I am doing my best to set my worldly affairs in order.
My one great anxiety is that Rachel should be kept in ignorance of the truth. If she knew it, she would at once attrib



THE MOONSTONE.                   235
ute 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 emotions to expect from a Christian Englishwoman anchored firmly on her
faith!
Little did my poor aunt imagine what a gush of devout
thankfulness thrilled through me as she approached the close
of her melancholy story.  Here was a career of usefilness
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 now with any
thing less than an embrace. "Oh!" I said to her, fervently,
" the indescribable interest with which you inspire me! Oh!
the good I mean to do you, dear, before we part!"  After
another word or two of earnest prefatory warning, I gave
her her choice of three precious friends, all plying the work
of mercy from morning to night in her own neighborhood;
all equally inexhaustible in exhortation; all affectionately
ready to exercise their gifts at a word from me. Alas! the
result was far fiom  encouraging.  Poor Lady Verinder
looked puzzled and frightened, and met every thing I could
say to her with the purely worldly objection that she was
not strong enough to face strangers. I yielded-for the moment only, of course. My large experience (as Reader and
Visitor, under not less, first and last, than fourteen beloved
clerical friends) informed me that this was another case for
preparation by books. I possessed a little library of works,
all suitable to the present emergency, all calculated to arouse,
convince, prepare, 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?
Turned down at all the right places, aunt. And marked in
pencil where you are to stop and ask yourself,' Does this apply to me?"' Even that simple appeal-so absolutely heam
thenizing 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 instructive




236                 THE MOONSTONE.
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 myself with a first series of selected readings (say a dozen only), and to return in time to
meet the lawyer, and witness Lady Verinder's Will. Promising faithfully to be back by five o'clock, I left the house on
my errand of mercy.
When no interests but my own are involved, I am humbly
content to get from place to place by the omnibus. Permit
me to give an idea of my devotion to my aunt's interests by
recording that, on this occasion, I committed the prodigality
of taking a cab.
I drove home, selected and marked my first series of readings, and drove back to Montagu Square with a dozen works
in a carpet-bag, the like of which, I firmly believe, are not to
be found in the literature of any other country in Europe.
I paid the cabman exactly his fare. He received it with an
oath; upon which I instantly gave him a tract. If I had
presented a pistol at his head this abandoned wretch could
hardly have exhibited greater consternation.  He jumped
up on his box, and, with profane exclamations of dismay,
drove 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. Bruff, 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 world. A man
who, in his hours of business, was 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 worldly 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."




THE MOONSTONE.                   237
"Ay? ay? Well, Miss Clack, you will do. You are ovel
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 itmy enemies might have doubted the motive which had loaded me with the choicest treasures of my library, and had
drawn upon my failing resources for the prodigal expenses
of a cab. Not the cruelest 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 ih Lhe charitable
circles?  How is your friend, Mr. Godfiey Ablewhite, after
the mauling he got fiom  the rogues in Northumberland
Street? Egad! they're telling a pretty story about that
charitable gentleman at my club!"
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. Godfiey was too much for my forbearance. 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 include in the accomplishnient of this righteous
purpose a stinging castigation in the case of Mr. Bruff.
"I live very much out of the world," I said; " and I don't
possess the advantage, sir, of belonging to a club. But I 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. Appearances are dead against him. He was
in the house when the Diamond was lost. And he was the
first person in the house to go to London afterward. Those
are ugly circumstances, ma'am, viewed by the light of later
events."
I ought, I know, to have set him right before he went any
further. I ought to have told him that he was speaking in




238                THE MOONSTONE.
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 appearance 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.
"What do the Indians do the moment they are let out of
the prison at Frizinghall? They go straight to London and
fix on Mr. Luker. What does Mr. Luker say when he first
applies to the magistrates for protection? He owns to suspecting a foreign workman in his establishment of collusion
with the Indians. Can there be plainer moral evidence, so
far, that the rogues had found an accomplice among the pereons in Mr. Luker's employment, and that they knew the
Moonstone to be in Mr. Luker's house? Very well. What
follows? Mr. Luker feels alarmed (and with good reason)
for the safety of the jewel which he has got in pledge. He
lodges it 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 Diamond is being shifted from one place to
another; and they hit on a singularly bold and complete
way of clearing those suspicions up. Whom do they seize
and search? Not Mr. Luker only-which would be intelligible enough-but Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite as well. Why?
Mr. Ablewhite's explanation is, that they acted on blind suspicion, after seeing him accidentally speaking to Mr. Luker.
Absurd! Halfa dozen other people spoke to Mr. Luker that
morning. Why were they not followed home too, and decoyed into the trap? No! no! The plain inference is, that
Mr. Ablewhite had his private interest in the Moonstone as
well as Mr. Luker, and that the Indians were so uncertain as
to which of the two had the disposal of the jewel that there
was no alternative but to search them both. Public opinion
says that, Miss Clack. And public opinion, on this occasion,
is not easily refuted."
He said those last words looking so wonderfully wise in
his own worldly conceit that I really (to my shame be it
spoken) could not resist leading him on a little further still
before I overwhelmed him with the truth.
"I don't presume to argue with a clever lawyer like you,"
I said. "But is it quite fair, sir, to Mr. Ablewhite to pass
over the opinion of the famous London police officer who in



THE MOONSTONE.                   239
vestigated this case? Not the shadow of a suspicion rested
on any body but Miss Verinder, in the mind of Sergeant
Cuff."
"Do you mean to tell me, Miss Clack, that you agree with
the Sergeant?"
"I judge nobody, sir, and I offer no opinion."
"And I commit both those enormities, ma'am. I judge
the Sergeant to have been utterly wrong; and I offer the
opinion that, if he had known Rachel's character as I know
it, he would have suspected every body in the house before
he suspected her. I admit that she has her faults-she is
secret, and self-willed; odd, and wild, and unlike other girls
of her age. But true as steel, and high-minded and generous
to a fault. If the plainest evidence in the world pointed one
way, and if nothing but Rachel's word of honor pointed the
other, I would take her word before the evidence, lawyer as
I am! Strong language, Miss Clack; but I mean it."
"Would you object to illustrate your meaning, Mr. Bruff,
so that I may be sure I understand it? Suppose you found
Miss Verinder quite unaccountably interested in what has
happened to Mr. Ablewhite and Mr. Luker?  Suppose she
asked the strangest questions about this dreadful scandal,
and displayed the most ungovernable agitation when she
found out the turn it was taking?"
"Suppose any thing you please, Miss Clack, it wouldn't
shake my belief in Rachel Verinder by a hair's-breadth."
" She is so absolutely to be relied on as that?"
"So absolutely to be relied on as that."
"Then permit me to inform you, Mr. Bruff, that Mr. Godfiey Ablewhite was in this house not two hours since, and
that his entire innocence of all concern in the disappearance
of the Moonstone was proclaimed by Miss Verinder herself,
in the strongest language I ever heard used by a young lady
in my life."
I enjoyed the triumph-the unholy triumph, I fear, I must
admit-of seeing Mr. Bruff utterly confounded and overthrown by a few plain words from Me. He started to his
feet and stared at me in silence. I kept my seat, undisturbed,
and related the whole scene exactly as it had occurred. "And
what do you say about Mr. Ablewhite, now?" I asked, with
the utmost possible gentleness, as soon as I had done.
"If Rachel has testified to his innocence, Miss Clack, I
don't scruple to say that I believe in his innocence as firmly
as you do. I have been misled by appearances, like the rest
of the world; and I will make the best atonement I can, by
publicly contradicting the scandal which has assailed your




240                 THE MOONSTONE.
friend wherever I meet with it. In the mean time, allow me
to congratulate you on the masterly manner in which you
have opened the full fire of your batteries on me at the moment when I least expected it. You would have done great
things in my profession, ma'am, if you had happened to be a
man."
With those words he turned away from me, and began
walking irritably up and down the room.
I could see plainly that the new light I had thrown on the
subject had greatly surprised and disturbed him. Certain
expressions dropped from his lips as he became more and
more absorbed in his own thoughts, which suggested to my
mind the abominable view that he had hitherto taken of the
mystery of the lost Moonstone. He had not scrupled to suspect dear Mr. Godfrey of the infamy of taking the Diamond,
and to attribute Rachel's conduct to a generous resolution to
conceal the crime.  On Miss Verinder's own authority-a
perfectly unassailable authority, as you are aware, in the estimation of Mr. Bruff-that explanation of the circumstances
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 fiom notice.
"What a case!" I heard him say to himself, stopping at the
window in his walk, and drumming on the glass with his fingers. "It not only defies explanation, it's even beyond conjecture!"
There was nothing in those words which made any reply
at all needful on my part — and yet I answered them! It
seems hardly credible that I should not have been able to
let Mr. Bruff alone, even now. It seems almost beyond mere
mortal perversity that I should have discovered, in what he
had just said, a new opportunity of making myself personally disagreeable to him. But-ah, my friends! nothing is beyond mortal perversity; and any thing is credible when our
fallen natures get the better of us!
"Pardon me for intruding on your reflections," I said to
the unsuspecting Mr. Bruff.  "But surely there is a conjecture to make which has not occurred to us yet?"
"Maybe, Miss Clack. I own I don't know what it is."
"Before I was so fortunate, sir, as to convince you of Mr.
Ablewhite's innocence, you mentioned it as one of the 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




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THE MOONSTONE.                  243
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, Miss Clack- it really won't do a second
time. Franklin Blake is a prime favorite of mine, as you
are well aware. But that doesn't matter. I'll adopt your
view, on this occasion, before you have time to turn round
on me. You're quite right, ma'am. I have suspected Mr.
Ablewhite, on grounds which abstractedly justify suspecting
Mr. Blake too. Very good-let's suspect him together. It's
quite in his character, we will say, to be capable of stealing
the Moonstone. The only question is, whether it was his interest to do it."
" Mr. Franklin Blake's debts," I remarked, "are matters
of family notoriety."
"And Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's debts have not arrived at
that stage of development yet. Quite true. But there 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 Franklin 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 Moonstone?"
" The human heart is unsearchable," I said, gently. " Who
is to fathom it?"
"In other words, ma'am-though he hadn't the shadow
of a reason for taking the Diamond-he might have taken it.
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."




244                 THE MOONSTONE.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Clack-I'll be more careful i.
my choice of language for the future. All I meant to ask
was this. Why-even supposing he did take the Diamond
-should Franklin Blake make himself the most prominent
person in the house, in trying to recover it? You may tell
me he cunningly did that to divert suspicion from himself.
I answer that he had no need to divert suspicion-because
nobody suspected him. He first steals the Moonstone (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 disappearance of the Moonstone with Franklin Blake. No, no,
Miss Clack! After what has passed here to-day, between us
two, the dead-lock in this case is complete. Rachel's own
innocence is (as her mother knows, and as I know) beyond a
doubt. Mr. Ablewhite's innocence is equally certain -or
Rachel would never have testified to it. And Franklin
Blake's innocence, as you have just seen, unanswerably 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 Moonstone to London, and
that Mr. Luker, or his banker, is in private possession of it
at this moment. What is the use of my experience, what is
the use of any person's experience, in such a case as that?
It baffles me; it baffles you; it baffles every body."
No-not every body. It had not baffled Sergeant Cuff.
I was about to mention this with all possible mildness, and
with every necessary protest against being supposed to cast
a slur upon Rachel —when the servant came in to say that
the doctor had gone, and that my aunt was waiting to receive us.
This stopped the discussion. Mr. Bruff collected his papers, looking a little exhausted by the demands which our
conversation had made on him. I took up my bagful of precious publications, feeling as if I could have gone on talking for hours. We proceeded in silence to Lady Verinder's
room.
Permit me to add here, before my narrative advances to
other events, that I have not described what passed between
the lawyer and me without having a definite object in view.
I am ordered to include in my contribution to the shocking
story of the Moonstone a plain disclosure not only of the
turn which suspicion took, but even of the names of the per



THE MOONSTONE.                  245
sons on whom suspicion rested at the time when the Indian
Diamond was known 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 purpose-while, at
the same time, it possessed the great moral advantage of
rendering a sacrifice of sinful self-esteem essentially necessary on my part. I have been obliged to acknowledge that
my fallen nature got the better of me. In making that humiliating confession I get the better of my fallen nature.
The moral balance is restored; the spiritual atmosphere feels
clear once more. Dear friends, we may go on again.
CHAPTER IV.
THE signing of the Will was a much shorter matter than
I had anticipated. It was hurried over, to my thinking, in
indecent haste. Samuel, the footman, was sent for to act as
second witness-and the pen was put at once into my aunt's
hand. I felt strongly urged to say a few appropriate words
on this solemn occasion. But Mr. Bruffs manner convinced
me that it was wisest to check the impulse while he was in
the room. In less than two minutes it was all over-and
Samuel (unbenefited by what I might have said) had gone
down stairs again.
Mr. 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 filfill, and my bag of precious publications ready on my
lap. He might as well have expected to move St. Paul's
Cathedral by looking at it as to move Me. There was one
merit about him (due no doubt to his worldly training) which
I have no wish to deny. He was quick at seeing things. I
appealed to produce 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 field.
As soon as we were alone my aunt reclined on the sofa,
and then alluded, with some appearance of confusion, to the
subject of her Will.
"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 on the spot.
In other words, I instantly opened my bag and took out the




246                THE MOONSTONE.
top publication. It proved to be an early edition-only the
twenty-fifth-of the famous anonymous work (believed to
be by precious Miss Bellows), entitled "The Serpent at
Home."  The design of the book-with which the worldly
reader may not be acquainted-is to show how the Evil One
lies in wait for us in all the most apparently innocent actions of our daily lives. The chapters best adapted to female perusal are, "Satan in the Hair-Brush;" "Satan behind
the Looking-Glass;" "Satan under the Tea-Table;" "Satan
out of the Window" —and many others.
"Give your attention, dear aunt, to this precious bookand you will give me all I ask." With those words, I handed it to her open, at a marked passage —one continuous
burst of burning eloquence! Subject: Satan among the
Sofa-Cushions.
Poor Lady Verinder (reclining thoughtlessly on her own
sofa-cushions) glanced at the book, and handed it back to
me looking more confused than ever.
"I'm afraid, Drusilla," she said, "I must wait till I am a
little better, before I can read that. The doctor-"
The moment she mentioned the doctor's name I knew
what was coming. Over and over again, in my past experience among my perishing fellow-creatures, the members of
the notoriously infidel profession of Medicine had stepped
between me and my mission of mercy-on the miserable
pretense that the patient wanted quiet, and that the disturbing influence of all others which they most dreaded, was the
influence of Miss Clack and her Books. Precisely the same
blinded materialism (working treacherously behind my back)
now sought to rob me of the only right of property that my
poverty could claim-my right of spiritual property in my
perishing aunt.
" The doctor tells me," my poor misguided relative went
on, "that I am not so well to-day. He forbids me to see
any strangers; and he orders me, if I read at all, only to
read the lightest and the most amusing books.'Do nothing,
Lady Verinder, to weary your head, or to quicken your pulse'
-those were his last words, Drusilla, when he left me to-day."
There was no help for it but to yield again-for the 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 practice on the human weakness of his
patient, and to threaten to throw up the case. Happily,
there are more ways than one of sowing the good seed, and
few persons are better versed in those ways than myself.




THE MOONSTONE.                 247
"You might feel stronger, dear, in an hour or two," I said.
"Or you might wake to-morrow morning with a sense of
something wanting, and even this unpretending volume
might be able to supply it. You will let me leave the book,
aunt? The doctor can hardly object to that!"
I slipped it under the sofa-cushions, half in, half out, close
by her handkerchief and smelling-bottle. Every time her
hand searched for either of these it would touch the book;
and, sooner or later (who knows?), the book might touch
her. After making this arrangement, I thought it wise to
withdraw. "Let me leave yor, to repose, dear aunt; I will
call again to-morrow."  I looked accidentally toward the
window as I said that. It was full of flowers, in boxes and
pots. Lady Verinder was ext:avagantly 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. s" Oh! may I take a flower?"
I said-and got to the windc w, unsuspected, in that way.
Instead of taking away a flower I added one, in the shape
of another book from my bs 4, which I left to surprise my
aunt, among the geraniums and roses. The happy thought
followed, " Why not do the same for her, poor dear, in every
other room that she enters? I immediately said good-bye;
and, crossing the hall, slipped into the library. Samuel,
coming up to let me out, and supposing I had gone, went
down stairs again. On the library table I noticed two of
the "amusing books" which the infidel doctor had recommended. I instantly covered them from sight with two of
my own precious publications. In the breakfast-room I
found my aunt's favorite canary singing in his cage. She
was always in the habit of feeding the bird herself. Some
groundsel was strewed on a table which stood immediately
under the cage. I put a book among the groundsel. In the
drawing-room I found more cheering opportunities of emptying my bag. My aunt's favorite musical pieces were on the
piano. I slipped in two more books among the music. I
disposed of another in the back drawing-room, under some
unfinished 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 off by a curtain instead of a
door. My aunt's plain old-fashioned fan was on the chimneypiece. I opened my ninth book at a very special passage, and
put the fan in as a marker, to keep the place. The question
then came, whether I should go higher still, and try the bedroom floor-at the risk, undoubtedly, of being insulted, if the
person with the cap-ribbons happened to be in the upper re



248                 THE MOONSTONE.
gions of the house, and to find me out. But oh, what of
that? It is a poor Christian that is afraid of being insulted.
I went up stairs, prepared to bear any thing. All was silent and solitary —~it was the servants' tea-time, I suppose.
My aunt's room was -in front.  The miniature of my late
dear uncle, Sir John, hung on the wall opposite the bed. It
seemed to smile at me; it seemed to say, "Drusilla! deposit
a book." There were tables on either side of my aunt's bed.
She was a bad sleeper, and wanted, or thought she wanted,
many things at night. I put a book near the matches on
one side, and a book under the box of chocolate drops on the
other. Whether she wanted a light, or whether she wanted
a drop, there was a precious publication to meet her eye, or
to meet her hand, and to say with silent eloquence, in either
case, "Come, try me! try ma!"  But one book was now
left at the bottom of my bag, and but one apartment was
still unexplored - the bath-room, which opened out of the
bedroom. I peeped in; and the holy inner voice that never
deceives whispered to me, "Y ou have met her, Drusilla, everywhere else; meet her at th. bath, and the work is done."
I observed a dressing-gown thrown across a chair. It had
a pocket in it, and in that pocket I put my last book. Can
words express my requisite sense of duty done, when I had
slipped out of the house, unsuspected by any of them, and
when I found myself in the street with my empty bag under my arm?  Oh, my worldly friends, pursuing the phantom. Pleasure, through the guilty mazes of Dissipation, how
easy it is to be happy, if you will only be good!
When I folded up my things that night-when I reflected
on the true riches which I had scattered with such a lavish
hand, from top to bottom of the house of my wealthy auntI 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 were capable of dwelling on the concerns of my own perishable body. But I am not capable-and I add nothing.
Toward luncheon-time-not for the sake of the creaturecomforts, but for the certainty of finding dear aunt-I put
on my bonnet to go to Montagu Square.  Just as I was
ready the maid at the lodgings in which I then lived put her
head in at the door, and said, "Lady Verinder's servant, to
see Miss Clack."




THI  MOONSTONR.                  249
I occupied the parlor floor at that period of my residence
in London. The front parlor was my sitting-room. Very
small, very low in the ceiling, very poorly furnished-but
oh, so neat! I looked into the passage to see which of Lady
Verinder's servants had asked for me. It was the young
footman, Samuel-a civil, fiesh-colored person, with a teachable look and a very obliging manner. I had always felt a
spiritual interest in Samuel, and a wish to try him with a
few serious words. On this occasion I invited him into my
sitting-room.
He came in, with a large parcel under his arm. When he
put the parcel down it appeared to frighten him. "My
lady's love, miss; and I was to say that you would find a
letter inside."  Having given that message, the fiesh-colored
young footman surprised me by looking as if he would have
liked to run away.
I detained him to make a few kind inquiries.  Could I see
my aunt, if I called in Montagu Square? No: she had gone
out for a drive.  Miss Rachel had gone with her, and Mr.
Ablewhite had taken a seat in the carriage too. Knowing
how sadly dear Mr. Godfrey's charitable work was in arrear,
I thought it odd that he should be going out driving, like an
idle man. I stopped Samuel at the door, and made a few
more kind inquiries.  Mliss Rachel was going to a ball that
night, and Mr. Ablewhite had arranged to come to coffee
and go with her. There was a morning concert advertised
for to-morrow, and Samuel was ordered to take places for a
large party, including a place for Mr. Ablewhite.  "All the
tickets may be gone, miss," said this innocent youth, "if I
don't run and get them  at once!"  He ran as he said the
words-and I found myself alone again, with some anxious
thoughts to occupy me.
We Lad a special meeting of the Mothers'-Small-ClothesConversion-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 Trowsers which had quite prostrated our little community, he had arranged to take coffee in Montagu Square,
and to go to a ball afterward! The afternoon of the next
day had been selected for the Festival of the British-Ladies'Servants'-Sunday-Sweetheart-Supervision-Society.  Instead
of being present, the life and soul of that struglgling 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




200                THE MOONSTONE.
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 naturally turned my
attention to the parcel which appeared to have so strangely
intimidated the fresh-colored young footman. Had my aunt
sent me my promised legacy? and had it taken the form of
cast-off clothes, or worn-out silver spoons, or unfashionable
jewelry, or any thing of that sort? Prepared to accept all,
and to resent nothing, I opened the parcel-and what met
my view? The twelve precious publications which I had
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 consequence of a mission; riots may be the consequence of a mission; wars may be the consequence of a
mission: we go on with our work, irrespective of every human consideration which moves the world outside us. We
are above reason; we are beyond ridicule; we see with nobody's eyes, we hear with nobody's ears, we feel with nobody's hearts but our own.. Glorious, glorious privilege!
And how is it earned?  Ah, my friends, you may spare
yourselves the useless inquiry! We are the only people
who can earn it -for we are the only people who are always right.
In the case of my misguided aunt, the form which pious
perseverance was next to take revealed itself to me plainly
enough.
Preparation by clerical friends had failed, owing to Lady
Verinder's own reluctance. Preparation by books had failed,
owing to the doctor's infidel obstinacy.  So be it! What
was the next thing to try? The next thing to try wasPreparation 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  n




THE MOONSTONE.                  251
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?" etc. "Dear
aunt, I was reading last night, and I chanced on the following passage," etc. Other letters were written for me, by my
valued fellow-workers, the sisterhood at the Mothers'-SmallClothes. "Dear madam, pardon the interest taken in you
by a true, though humble, friend."  "Dear madam, may a
serious person surprise you by saying a few cheering words?"
Using these and other similar forms of courteous appeal, we
reintroduced all my precious passages under a form which
not even the 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 post, and six I kept in my pocket for
personal distribution in the house the next day.
Soon after two o'clock I was again on the field of pious
conflict, addressing more kind inquiries to Samuel at Lady
Verinder's door.
My aunt had had a bad night. She was again in the room
in which I had witnessed her Will, resting on the sofa, and
trying to get a little sleep. I said I would wait in the library, on the chance of seeing her. In the fervor of my zeal
to distribute the letters, it never occurred to me to inquire
about Rachel. The house was quiet, and it was past the
hour at which the musical performance began. I took it for
granted that she and her party of pleasure-seekers (Mr. Godfrey, alas! included) were all at the concert, and eagerly devoted myself to my good work, while time and opportunity
were still at my own disposal.
My aunt's correspondence of the morning —including the
six awakening letters which I had posted overnight-was
lying unopened on the library table. She had evidently not
felt herself equal to dealing with a large mass of lettersand she might be daunted by the number of them, if she entered the library later in the day. I put one of rry second
set of six letters on the chimney-piece by itself; leaving it
to attract her curiosity, by means of its solitary position,
apart from the rest. A second letter I put purposely on the
floor in the breakfast-room. The first servant who went in
after me would conclude that my aunt had dropped it, and
would be specially careful to restore it to her. The field
thus sown on the basement story, I ran lightly up stairs to
scatter my mercies next over the drawing-room floor.




252                 THE MOONSTONE.
Just as I entered the front-room I heard a double knock
at the street door-a soft, fluttering, considerate little knock.
Before I could think of slipping back to the library (in
which I was supposed to be waiting) the active young footman was in the hall, answering the door. It mattered little,
as I thought. In my aunt's state of health visitors in general were not admitted. To my horror and amazement the
performer of the soft little knock proved to be an exception
to general rules. Samuel's voice below me (after apparently answering some questions which I did not hear) said, unmistakably, "Up stairs, if you please, sir."  The next moment I heard footsteps-a man's footsteps-approaching the
drawing-room floor. Who could this favored 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 I should have allowed
myself to be discovered in the drawing-room. There would
have been nothing out of the common in my having got
tired of the library, and having gone up stairs for a change.
But my own self-respect stood in the way of my meeting the
person who had insulted me by sending me back my books.
slipped into the little third room, which I have mentioned
as communicating with the back drawing-room, and dropped
the curtains which closed the open door-way. If I only waited there for a minute or two, the usual result in such cases
would take place. That is to say, the doctor would be conducted to his patient's room.
I waited a minute or two, and more than a minute or two.
I heard the visitor walking restlessly backward and forward.
I also heard him talking to himself. I even thought I recognized the voice. Had I made a mistake? Was it not the
doctor, but somebody else? Mr. Bruff, for instance? No!
an unerring instinct told me it was not Mr. Bruff. Whoever
he was, he was still talking to himself. I parted the heavy
curtains the least little morsel in the world, and listened.
The words I heard were, "I'll do it to-day!" And the
voice that spoke them was Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's.
CHAPTER V.
MY hand dropped from the curtain. But don't supposeoh, don't suppose-that the dreadful embarrassment of my
situation was the uppermost idea in my mind! So fervent




THl MOONSTONE.                  253
still was the sisterly interest I felt in Mr. Godfrey that I
never stopped to ask myself why he was not at the concert
No! I thought only of the words —the startling wordswhich had just fallen from hir; lips. He would do it to-day.
He had said, in a tone of terrible resolution, he would do it
to-day. What, oh what, would he do! Something even
more deplorably unworthy of him than what he had done
already? Would he apostatize from the faith? Would he
abandon us at the Mothers'-Small - Clothes?  Had we seen
the last of his angelic smile in s:h  committee-room? Had
we heard the last of his unrivaled elocuencc at Exeter Hall?
I was so wrought up by the bare idea of filch awful eventualities as these, in connection with such a man, that I believe
I should have rushed from my place ot concealment, and implored him in the name of all tae 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 war bold, it was wanting in every female charm.
The voice of Rachel Verinderl
"Why have you come lip here, Godfrey?" she asked.
" Why didn't you go into the library?"
He laughed softly, and answered, "Miss 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 extremely cold now, and
felt no doubt whatever. To show myself after what I had
heard, was impossible. To retreat-except into the fire-place
-was equally out of the question. A martyrdom was before me. In justice to myself, I noiselessly arranged the curtains so that I could both see and bear. And then I met my
martyrdom with the spirit of a primitive Christian.
"Don't sit on the ottoman," the young lady proceeded.
"Bring a chair, Godfrey. I like people to be opposite to
me when I talk to them."
He took the nearest seat. It was a low chair. He was
very tall, and many sizes too large for it. I never saw his
legs to such disadvantage before.
"Well?" she went on. "What did you say to them?"
"Just what you said, dear Rachel, to me."
"That mamma was not at all well to-day?  And that I
didn't quite like leaving her to go to the concert?"
" Those were the words. They were grieved to lose you
at the concert, but they quite understood. All sent their




254                THE MOONSTONE.
love; and all expressed a cheering belief that Lady Verinder's indisposition would soon pass away."
" You don't think it's serious, do you, Godfrey?"
" Far from it! In a few days, I feel quite sure, all will be
well again."
"I think so too. I was a little frightened at first, but I
think so too. It was very kind to go and make my excuses
for me to people who are almost strangers to you. But why
not have gone with them to the concert? It seems very
hard that you should miss the music, too."
"Don't say that, Rachel! If you only knew how much
happier I am-here, with you!"
He clasped his hands, and looked at her. In the position
which he occupied, when he did that, he turned my way.
Can words describe how I sickened when I noticed exactly
the same pathetic expression on his face, which had charmed
me when he was pleading for destitute millions of his fellowcreatures 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 compliments-do, to
please me."
"I never paid you a compliment, Rachel, in my life. Successful love may sometimes use the language of flattery, I
admit. But hopeless love, dearest, always speaks the truth."
He drew his chair close, and took her hand, when he said
"hopeless love." There was a momentary silence. He who
thrilled every body had doubtless thrilled her. I thought I
now understood the words which had dropped from him
when he was alone in the drawing-room. "I'll do it to-day."
Alas! the most rigid propriety could hardly have failed to
discover that he was doing it now.
"Have you forgotten what we agreed on, Godfrey, when
you spoke to me in the country? We agreed that we were
to be cousins, and nothing more."
"I break the agreement, Rachel, every time I see you."
"Then don't see me."
" Quite useless! I break the agreement every time I think
of you. Oh, Rachel! how kindly you told me, only the other
day, that my place in your estimation was a higher place
than it had ever been yet I 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!"
His voice trembled, and he put his white handkerchief to
his eyes. Exeter Hall again! Nothing wanting to comn



THE MOONSTONE.                  255
plete the parallel but the audience, the cheers, and the glass
of water.
Even her obdurate nature was touched. I saw her lean a
little nearer to him. I heard a new tone of interest in her
next words.
"Are you really sure, Godfrey, that you are as fond of me
as that?"
"Sure! You know what I was, Rachel. Let me tell you
what I am. I have lost every interest in life, but my interest in you. A transformation has come over me which I
can't account for, myself. Would you believe it? My charitable business is an unendurable nuisance to me; and when
I see a Ladies' Committee now, I wish myself at the uttermost ends of the earth!"
If the annals of apostasy offer any thing comparable to
such a declaration as that, I can only say that the case in
point is not producible from the stores of my reading. I
thought of the Mothers'-Small-Clothes. I thought of the,
Sunday-Sweetheart-Supervision. I thought of the other 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 businesslife through the nostrils of Mr. Godfrey-of that same Mr.
Godfiey who had just reviled our good work as a "nuisance "-and just declared that he wished he was at the uttermost ends of the earth when he found himself in our company! My young female friends will feel encouraged to
persevere, when I mention that it tried even my discipline
before I could devour my own righteous indignation in silence. At the same time, it is only justice to myself to add,
that I didn't lose a syllable of the conversation.  Rachel
was the next to speak.
"You have made your confession," she said. "I wonder
whether it would cure you of your unhappy attachment to
me, if I made mine?"
He started. I confess I started too. He thought, and I
thought, that she was about to divulge the mystery of the
Moonstone.
" Would you think, to look at me," she went on, " that I
am the wretchedest girl living? It's true, Godfrey. What
greater wretchedness can there be than to live degraded in
your own estimation? That is my life now."
"My dear Rachel! it's impossible you can have any reason to speak of yourself in that way!"
" How do you know I have no reason?"
"Can you ask me the question! I know it, because I




256                THE MOONSTONE.
know you. Your silence, dearest, has never lowered you in
the estimation of your true friends. The disappearance of
your precious birthday gift may seem strange; your unexplained connection with that event may seem  stranger
still "
"Are you speaking of the Moonstone, Godfrey?"
"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 responsibility; it will be known that I involved
myself in the keeping of a miserable secret-but it will be
as clear as the sun at noonday that I did nothing mean!
You have misunderstood me, Godfiey. It's my fault for not
speaking more plainly. Cost me what it may, I will be
ilainer now. Suppose you were not in love with me? Sup-pose you were in love with some other woman?"
"Yes?"
"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 a feeling
not to be hidden? Suppose the love this wretch had inspired in you-? Oh, how can I find words to say it in!
How can I make a man understand that a feeling which
horrifies me at myself can be a feeling that fascinates me at
the same time? It's the breath of my life, Godfrey, and it's
the poison that kills me-both in one! Go away! I must
be out of my mind to talk as I am talking now. No! you
mustn't leave me-you mustn't carry away a wrong impression. I must say what is to be said in my own defense. Mind
this! He doesn't know-he never will know, what I have
told you. I will never see him-I don't care what happens
-I will never, never, never see him again! Don't ask me
his name! Don't ask me any more! Let's change the subject. Are you doctor enough, Godfrey, to tell me why I
feel as if I was stifling for want of breath? Is there a form
of hysterics that bursts into words instead of tears? I dare
say! What does it matter? You will get over any trouble
I have caused you, easily enough now. I have dropped to




THE MOONSTONE.                  257
my right place in your estimation, haven't I? Don't notice
me! Don't pity me! For God's sake, go away!"
She turned round on a sudden, and beat her hands wildly
on the back of the ottoman. Her head dropped on the cushions; and she burst out crying. Before I had time to feel
shocked at this, I was horror-struck by an entirely unexpected proceeding on the part of Mr. Godfrey. Will it be
credited that he fell on his knees at her feet?-on both
knees, I solemnly declare! May modesty mention that he
put his arms round her next?  And may reluctant admiration acknowledge that he electrified her with two words?
" Noble creature!"
No more than that! But he did it with one of the bursts
which have made his fame as a public speaker. She sat,
either quite thunderstruck, or quite fascinated-I don't
know which-without even making an effort to put his arms
back where his arms ought to have been. As for me, my
sense of propriety was completely bewildered. I was so
painfully uncertain whether it was my first duty to close my
eyes, or to stop my ears, that I did neither. I attribute my
being still able to hold the curtain in the right position for
looking and listening, entirely to suppressed hysterics. In
suppressed hysterics, it is admitted even by the doctors, that
one must hold something.
" Yes," he said, with all the fascination of his evangelical
voice and manner, "you are a noble creature! A woman
who can speak the truth, for the truth's own sake-a woman who will sacrifice her pride, rather than sacrifice an honest man who loves her-is the most priceless of all treasures.
When such a woman marries, if her husband only wins her
esteem and regard, he wins enough to ennoble his whole life.
You have spoken, dearest, of your place in my estimation.
Judge what that place is-when I implore you on my knees,
to let the cure of your poor wounded heart be my care. Rachel! will you honor me, will you bless me, by being my
wife?"
By this time I should certainly have decided on stopping
my ears, if Rachel had not encouraged me to keep them
open, by answering him in the first sensible words I had ever
i eard fall from her lips.
"Godfrey I" she said, " you must be mad!"
"I never spoke more reasonably, dearest-in your interests,
as well as in mine. Look for a moment to the future. Is
your happiness to be sacrificed to a man who has never
known how you feel toward him, and whom you are resolved
never to see again? Is it not your duty to yourself to for17




258                 THE MOONSTONE.
get this ill-fated attachment? and is forgetfulness to be
found in the life you are leading now?  You have tried that
life, and you are wearying of it already. Surround yourself
with nobler interests than the wretched interests of the world.
A heart that loves and honors you; a home whose peaceful
claims and happy duties win gently on you day by daytry 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 bringing-up she
must have had! Oh, how differently I should have acted in
her place!
"Don't tempt me, Godfrey," she said; "I am wretched
enough and reckless enough as it is. Don't tempt me to be
more wretched and more reckless still!"
" One question, Rachel. Have you any personal objection
to me?"
"I! I always liked you. After what you have just said
to me, I should be insensible indeed if I didn't respect and
admire you as well."
"Do you know many wives, my dear Rachel, who respect
and admire their husbands?  And yet they and their husbands get on very well. How manyprdes  to bthe altar
with hearts that. wouldLear "Inspection by the   iw   ta,.
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, farimore numerously
than thev 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 admiration above the love of any other woman
on the face of the earth."
"Gently, Godfrey! you are putting something into my
head which I never thought of before. You are tempting
me with a new prospect, when all my other prospects are
closed before me. I tell you again, I am miserable enough
and desperate enough, if you say another word, to marry
you on your own terms. Take the warning, and go!"
"I won't even rise from my knees till you have said yee!"




THE MOONSTONE.                   259
"If I say yes you will repent, and I shall repent when it
is too late!"
"We shall both bless the day, darling, when I pressed,
and when you yu  ielded."
"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 together?"
"Far from it-so far as I can see."
"When my mother was a girl, Rachel (it is no secret in
the family), she had loved as you love-she had given her
heart to a man who was unworthy of her. She married my
father, respecting him, admiring him, but nothing more.
Your own eyes have seen the result. Is there no encouragement in it for you and for me?"*
" You won't hurry me, Godfiey?"
" 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!"
In those two words she accepted him!
He had another burst —a burst of unholy rapture this
time. He drew her nearer and nearer to him till her face
touched his; and then-  No! I really can not prevail upon
myself to carry this shocking disclosure any farther. Let
me only say that I tried to close my eyes before it happened,
and that I was just one moment too late. I had calculated,
you see, on her resisting.  She submitted. To every rightfeeling 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, however, judging by Mr. Godfrey's next words, to
be one more trifling formality which it was necessary 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 now, and come back this evening. We have beer
here alone together quite long enough."
* See Betteredge's Narrative. Chapter VIII., page 68.




260                 TBa   MOONSTONE,
She rose, and, in rising, looked for the first time toward
the little room in which my martyrdom was going on.
"Who has drawn those curtains?" she exclaimed. "The
room is close enough as it is, without keeping the air out of
it in that way."
She advanced to the curtains. At the moment when she
laid her hand on them-at the moment when the discovery
of me appeared to be quite inevitable-the voice of the freshcolored young footman, on the stairs, suddenly suspended
any further proceedings on her side or on mine. It was unmistakably the voice of a man in great alarm.
"Miss Rachel!" he called out, "where are you, Miss Rachel?"
She sprang back from the curtains and ran to the door.
The footman came just inside the room. His ruddy color
was all gone. He said, " Please come down stairs, miss! My
lady has fainted, and we can't bring Ler to again."
In a moment more I was alone, and free to go down stairs
in my turn, quite unobserved.
Mr. Godfrey passed me in the hall, hurrying out, to fetch
the doctor. " Go in, and help them!" he said, pointing to
the room. I found Rachel on her knees by the sofa, with
her mother's head on her bosom. One look at my aunt's
face (knowing what I knew) was enough to warn me of the
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 skepticism, 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 opening one of the letters which I had addressed to her. I was so shocked at this
that it never occurred to me, until some days afterward, that
she had also died without giving me my little legacy.
CHAPTER VI
(1.) "Miss CLACK presents her compliments to Mr. Franklin Blake; and, in sending him the fifth chapter of her humble narrative, begs to say that she feels quite unequal to enlarge as she could wish on an event so awful, under the circumstances, as Lady Verinder's death. She has, therefore,




THE MOONSTONE.
attached to her own manuscript copious Extracts from pre
Pious 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 reBpected kinsman, Mr. Franklin Blake."
(2.) " Mr. Franklin Blake presents his compliments to Miss
Clack, and begs to thank her for the fifth chapter of her
narrative.  In returning the extracts sent with it, he will
refrain from mentioning any personal objection which he
may entertain to this species of literature, and will merely
say that the proposed additions to the manuscript are not
necessary to the fulfillment of the purpose that he has in
view."
(3.) "Miss Clack begs to acknowledge the return of her
Extracts.  She 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
ieepest interest in Mr. Blake, and pledges herself, on the
irst occasion when sickness may lay him low, to offer him
the use of her Extracts for the second time. In the mean
while she would be glad to know, before beginning the next
and last chapter of her narrative, whether she may be permitted to make her humble contribution complete by availing herself of the light which later discoveries have thrown
nn the mystery of the Moonstone."
(4.) " Mr. Franklin Blake is sorry to disappoint Miss Clack.
He can only repeat the instructions which he had the honor
of giving her u hen she began her narrative. She is requested
to limit herself to her own individual experience of persons
and events, as recorded in her Diary. Later discoveries she
will be good enough to leave to the pens of those persons
who can write in the capacity of actual witnesses."
(5.) "Miss Clack is extremely sorry to trouble Mr. Franklin Blake with another letter. Her extracts have been returned, and the expression of her matured views on the subject of the Moonstone has been forbidden.  Miss Clack is
painfully conscious that she ought (in the worldly phrase) to
feel herself put down. But, no-Miss C. has learned Perseverance in the School of Adversity. Her object in writing
is to know whether Mr. Blake (who prohibits every thing
else) prohibits the appearance of the present correspondence
in Miss Clack's narrative?  Some explanation of the position in which Mr. Blake's interference has placed her as an
authoress, seems due on the ground of common justice.
And Miss Clack, on her side, is most anxious that her letters
should be produced to speak for themselves."




THE MOONSTONE.
(6.) " Mr. Franklin Blake agrees to Miss Clack's proposal
on the understanding that she will kindly consider this in
timation of his consent as closing the correspondence be
tween them."
(7.) "Miss Clack feels it an act of Christian duty (befor
the correspondence closes) to inform Mr. Franklin Blake thai
his last letter- evidently intended to offend her - has nol
succeeded in accomplishing the object of the writer. Sh(
affectionately requests Mr. Blake to retire to the privac3
of his own room, and to consider with himself whether th(
training which can thus elevate a poor weak woman above
the reach of insult, be not worthy of greater admiration that
he is now disposed to feel for it. On being favored with ar
intimation to that effect, Miss C. solemnly pledges herself tc
send back the complete series of her Extracts to Mr. Frank
lin Blake."
[To this letter no answer was received.  Comment iF
needless.
(Signed)              DRUSILLA CLACK.]
CHAPTER. VII.
THE foregoing correspondence will sufficiently explain
why no choice is left me but to pass over Lady Verinder'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 spending a few days under the same roof
with her. In the course of my visit something happened,
relating to her marriage engagement with Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, which is important enough to require special notice in
these pages. When this last of many painful family circumstances has been disclosed, my task will be completed; for I
shall then have told all that I know, as an actual (and most
unwilling) witness of events.
My aunt's remains were removed from London, and were
buried in the little cemetery attached to the church in her
own park. I was invited to the funeral with the rest of the
family. But it was impossible (with my religious views) to
rouse myself in a few days only from the shock which this
death had caused me. I was informed, moreover, that the




THE MOONSTONE.                   283
rector of Frizinghall was to read the service. Having myself in past times seen this clerical castaway making one of
the players at Lady Verinder's whist-table, I doubt, even if
I had been fit to travel, whether I should have felt justified
in 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 those circumstances, Mr. Godfiey informed
his father, I suppose, of the new relation in which he stood
toward Rachel. At any rate,in ten days from my aunt's
death, the secret of the marriage engagement was no secret
at all within the circle of the family, and the grand question
for Mr. Ablewhite senior-another confirmed castaway!was how to make himself and his authority most agreeable
to the wealthy young lady who was going to marry his son.
Rachel gave him some trouble, at the outset, about the
choice of a place in which she could be prevailed upon to
reside. The house in Montagu Square was associated with
the calamity of her mother's death. The house in Yorkshire
was associated with the scandalous affair of the lost Moonstone. Her guardian's own residence at Frizinghall was
open to neither of these objections. But Rachel's presence
in it, after her recent bereavement, operated as a check on
the gayeties of her cousins, the Miss Ablewhites-and she
herself requested that her visit might be deferred to a more
favorable opportunity. It ended in a proposal, emanating
from old Mr. Ablewhite, to try a furnished house at Brighton.
His wife, an invalid daughter, and Rachel were to inhabit it
together, and were to expect him to join them later in the
season. They would see no society but a few old friends,
and they would have his son Godfrey, traveling backward
and forward by the London train, always at their disposal.
I describe this aimless flitting about one place of residence
to another-this insatiate restlessness of body and appalling
stagnation of soul-merely with a view of arriving at results.
The event which (under Providence) proved to be the means
of bringing Rachel Verinder and myself together again, was
no other than the hiring of the house at Brighton.
My Aunt Ablewhite is a large, silent, fair-complexioned
woman, with one noteworthy point in her character. From
the hour of her birth she has never been known to do any
thing for herself. She has gone through life accepting every
body's help, and adopting every body's opinions. A more
hopeless person, in a spiritual point of view, I have never
met with - there is absolutely, in this perplexing case, no




264i                THE MOONSTONE
obstructive material to work upon. Aunt Ablewhite would
listen to the Grand Lama of Thibet exactly as she listens to
Me, and would reflect his views quite as readily as she reflects mine. She found the furnished house at Brighton by
stopping at a hotel in London, composing herself on a sofa,
and sending for her son. She discovered the necessary 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 servants. You
are so clever-please get them for me." I looked round the
untidy room. The church bells were going for a week-day
service; they suggested a word of affectionate remonstrance
on my part. "Oh, aunt!" I said, sadly, "is this worthy of
a Christian Englishwoman?  Is the passage fiom  time to
eternity to be made in this manner?"  My aunt answered,
"I'll put on my gown, Drusilla, if you will be kind enough
to help me."  What was to be said after that? I have done
wonders with murderesses-I have never advanced an inch
with Aunt Ablewhite. "Where is the list," I asked, "of the
servants whom you require?"  My aunt shook her head;
she hadn't even energy enough to keep the list. "Rachel
has got it, dear," she said, "in the next room."  I went into
the next room, and so saw Rachel again, for the first time
since we had parted in Montagu Square.
She looked pitiably small and thin in her deep mourning.
If I attached any serious importance to such a perishable
trifle as personal appearance, I might be inclined to add that
hers was one of those unfortunate complexions which always
suffers when not relieved by a border of white next the skin.
But what are our complexions and our looks? Hinderances
and pitfalls, dear girls, which beset us on our way to higher
things! Greatly to my surprise, Rachel rose when I entered
the room, and came forward to meet me with outstretched
hand.
"I am glad to see you," she said. "Drusilla, I have been
in the habit of speaking very foolishly and very rudely to
you, on former occasions. I beg your pardon. I hope you
will forgive me."
My face, I suppose, betrayed the astonishment I felt at this.
She colored 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 fiiends too.  Now I have lost her,
my heart turns for comfort to the people she liked, She




THE MOONSTONE.                   265
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 Christian England
was a young woman in a state of bereavement, with so little
idea of where to look for true comfort, that she actually expected to find it among her mother's friends! Here was a
relative of mine, awakened to a sense of her shortcomings
toward others, under the influence, not of conviction and
duty, but of sentiment and impulse! Most deplorable to
think of-but still, suggestive of something hopeful, to a person of my experience in plying the good work. There could
be no harm, I thought, in ascertaining the extent of the change
which the loss of her mother had wrought in Rachel's character. I decided, as a useful test, to probe her on the subject
of her marriage engagement to Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.
Having first met her advances with all possible cordiality,
I sat by her on the sofa at her own request. We discussed
family 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 question,
on my part, would have been premature at this early stage
of our reconciliation. Besides, I had discovered all I wanted
to know. She was no longer the reckless, defiant creature
whom I had heard and seen on the occasion of my martyrdom in Montagu Square. This was, of itself, enough to encourage me to take her conversion in hand-beginning with
a few words of earnest warning directed against the hasty
formation of the marriage tie, and so getting on to higher
things. Looking at her now, with this new interest-and
calling to mind the headlong suddenness with which she had
met Mr. Godfrey's matrimonial views-I felt the solemn duty
of interfering, with a fervor which assured me that I should
achieve no common results. Rapidity of proceeding was, as
I believed, of importance in this case. I went back at once
to the question of the servants wanted for the furnished house.
Where is the list, dear?"
Rachel produced it.
"Cook, kitchen-maid, house-maid, and footman," I read.
"My dear Rachel, these servants are only wanted for a term
-the term during which your guardian has taken the house.
We shall have great difficulty in finding persons of character
and capacity to accept a temporary engagement of that sort,
if we try in London. Has the house at Brighton been found
yet?"




266                 THE MOONSTONE.
"Yes. Godfrey has taken it; and persons in the house
wanted him to hire them as servants.  He thought they
would hardly do for us, and came back having settled nothing."
"And you have no experience yourself in these matters,
Rachel?"
"None whatever."
"And Aunt Ablewhite won't exert herself?"
"No, poor dear.  Don't blame her, Drusilla. I think she
is the only really happy woman I have ever met with."
"There are degrees in happiness, darling. We must have
a little talk some day on that subject.  In the mean time
I will undertake to meet the difficulty about the servants
Your aunt will write a letter to the people of the house-"
" She will sign a letter if I write it for her, which comes to
the same thing."
" Quite the same thing. I shall get the letter, and I will
go to Brighton to-morrow."
"How extremely kind of you! We will join you as soon
as you are ready for us. And you will stay, I hope, as my
guest. Brighton is so lively; you are sure to enjoy it."
In those words the invitation was given, and the glorious
prospect of interference was opened before me.
It was then the middle of the week. By Saturday afternoon the house was ready for them. In that short interval
I had sifted, not the characters only, but the religious views
as well, of all the disengaged servants who applied to me,
and had succeeded in making a selection which my conscience approved. I also discovered, and called on, two serious friends of mine, residents in the town, to whom I knew
I could confide the pious object which had brought me to
Brighton.  One of them-a clerical fiiend-kindly helped
me to take sittings for our little party in the church in which
he himself ministered. The other-a single lady, like myself-placed the resources of the library (composed throughout of precious publications) entirely at my disposal. I borrowed half a dozen works, all carefully chosen with a view
to Rachel. When these had been judiciously distributed in
the various rooms she would be likely to occupy, I considered that my preparations were complete. Sound doctrine
in the servants who waited on her; sound doctrine in the
minister who preached to her; sound doctrine in the books
that lay on the table-such was the triple welcome which
my zeal had prepared for the motherless girl! A heavenly
composure filled my mind, on that Saturday afternoon, as I
sat at the window waiting the arrival of my relatives. The




THE MOONSTONE.                  267
giddy throng passed and repassed before my eyes. Alas!
how many of them felt my exquisite sense of duty done?
An awful question. Let us not pursue it.
Between six and seven the travelers arrived. To my indescribable surprise, they were escorted, not by Mr. Godfiey
(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 lhis own in view. I
had prepared quite a little Paradise for my beloved Rachel
-and here was the Serpent already!
" Godfrey was very much vexed, Drusilla, not to be able
to come with us," said my aunt Ablewhite. "There was
something in the way which kept him in town.  Mr. Bruff
volunteered to take his place, and make a holiday of it till
Monday morning. By-the-bye, 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'm sure it's fatiguing enough to look at the man."
Rachel stood silent, at a window by herself, with her eyes
fixed on the sea.
" Tired, love?" I inquired.
"No. Only a little out of spirits," she answered. "I
have often seen the sea, on our Yorkshire coast, with that
light on it. And I was thinking, Drusilla, of the days that
can never come again."
Mr. Bruff remained to dinner, and staid 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 carefillly. He maintained the same appearance
of ease, and talked the same godless gossip, hour after hour,
until it was time to take leave. As he shook hands with
Rachel I caught his hard and cunning eye resting on her for
a moment with a very peculiar interest and attention. She
was plainly concerned -in the object that he had in view.
He said nothing out of the common to her or to any one, on
leaving. He invited himself to luncheon the next day, and
then he went away to his hotel.
It was impossible, the next morning, to get my aunt Ablewhite out of her dressing-gown in time for church. Her inralid daughter (suffering from nothing, in my opinion, but




268                 THE MOONSTONE.
incurable laziness, inherited from her mother) announced
that she meant to remain in bed for the day. Rachel and I
went alone together to church. A magnificent sermon was
preached by my gifted fiiend on the heathen indifference of
the world to the sinfulness of little sins. For more than an
hour his eloquence (assisted by his glorious voice) thundered
through the sacred edifice. I said to Rachel, when we came
out, "Has it found its way to your heart, dear?" And she
answered, "No; it has only made my head ache."  This
might have been discouraging to some people. But, once
embarked on a career of manifest usefulness, nothing discourages Me.
We found Aunt Ablewhite and Mr. Bruff at luncheon.
When Rachel declined eating any thing, and gave as a reason for it that she was suffering from a headache, the lawyer's cunning instantly saw, and seized, the chance that she
had given him.
"There is only one remedy for a headache," said this horrible old man. "A walk, Miss Rachel, is the thing to cure
you. I am entirely at your service, if you will honor me by
accepting my arm."
" With the greatest pleasure. A walk is the very thing I
was longing for."
" It's past two," I gently suggested. "And the afternoon
service, Rachel, begins at three."
"How can you expect me to go to church again," she
asked, petulantly, " with such a headache as mine?"
Mr. Bruff officiously opened the door for her. In a minute more they were both out of the house. I don't know
when I have felt the solemn duty of interfering so strongly
as I felt it at that moment. But what was to be done?
Nothing was to be done but to interfere, at the first opportunity, later in the day.
On my return from the afternoon service I found that they
had just got back. One look at them told me that the lawyer had said what he wanted to say. I had never before
seen Rachel so silent and so thoughtful. I had never before
seen Mr. Bruff pay her such devoted attention, and look at
her with such marked respect. He had (or pretended that
he had) an engagement to dinner that day-and he took an
early leave of us all; intending to go back to London by
the first train the next morning.
"Are you sure of your own resolution?" he said to Rachel at the door.
"Quite sure," she answered-and so they parted.
The moment his back was turned Rachel withdrew to her




THE MOONSTONE.                  269
own room. She never appeared at dinner. Her maid (the
person with the cap-ribbons) was sent down stairs 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 precious publications huddled together on a
table in a corner. Had she chanced to look into them?-I
asked. Yes-and they had not interested her. Would she
allow me to read a few passages, of the deepest interest,
which had probably escaped her eye? No; not now-she
had other things to think of. She gave these answers, with
her attention apparently absorbed in folding and refolding
the frill of her night-gown. It was plainly necessary to
rouse her by some reference to those worldly interests which
she still had at heart.
"Do you know, love," I said, "I had an odd fancy, yesterday, about Mr. Bruff? I thought, when I saw you after
your walk with him, that he had been telling you some bad
news."
Her fingers dropped from the frilling of her night-gown,
and her fierce black eyes flashed at me.
" Quite the contrary!" she said. "It was news I was interested in hearing-and I am deeply indebted to Mr. Bruff
for telling me of it."
" Yes?" I said, in a tone of gentle interest.
Her fingers went back to the frilling, and she turned her
head sullenly away from me. I had been met in this manner, in the course of plying the good work, hundreds of times.
She merely stimulated me to try again. In my dauntless
zeal for her welfare I ran the great risk, and openly alluded
to her marriage engagement.
" News you were interested in hearing?" I repeated. " I
suppose, my dear Rachel, that must be news of Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite?"
She started up in the bed and turned deadly pale. It was
evidently on the tip of her tongue to retort on me with the
unbridled insolence of former times. She checked herselflaid her head back on the pillow-considered a minute-and
then answered in these remarkable words:
"I shal never marry Mr. Godfrey Ablewhi."
It was my turn to start at that.




270                 THE MOONSTONE.
"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 mind, 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 toward Rachel
might have been viewed as presenting difficulties of no ordinary kind. I had reckoned on leading her to higher things,
by means of a little earnest exhortation on the subject of
her marriage. And now, if she was to be believed, no such
event as her marriage was to take place at all. But ah! my
friends! a working Christian of my experience (with an
evangelizing prospect before her) takes broader views than
these. 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 depression would be the effect. Her pride would be exhausted, her stubbornness would be exhausted, by the resolute resistance which it was in her character to make under
the circumstances. She would turn for sympathy to the
nearest person who had sympathy to offer. And I was that
nearest person-brimful of comfort, charged to overflowing
with seasonable and reviving words. Never had the evangelizing prospect looked brighter, to my eyes, than it looked
now.
She came down to breakfast, but she ate nothing, and
hardly uttered a word.
After breakfast she wandered listlessly from room to room
-then suddenly roused herself and opened the piano. The
music she selected to plav was of the most scandalously profane sort, associated with performances on the stage which
it curdles one's blood to think of. It would have been premature to interfere with her at such a time as this. I privately ascertained the hour at which Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite
was expected, and then I escaped the music by leaving the
house




THE MOONSTONE.                  271
Being out alone, I took the opportunity of calling upon my
two resident friends. It was an indescribable luxury to find
myself indulging in earnest conversation with serious persons. Infinitely encouraged and refreshed, I turned my steps
back again to the house, in excellent time to await the arrival of our expected visitor. I entered the dining-room, always empty at that hour of the day-and found myself face
to face with Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite!
He made no attempt to fly the place. Quite the contrary.
He advanced to meet me with the utmost eagerness.
"Dear Miss Clack, I have been only waiting to see you!
Chance set me free of my London engagements to-day sooner than I expected- and I have got here, in consequence,
earlier than my appointed time."
Not the slightest embarrassment encumbered his 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 to that scene. But he knew, on
the other hand, that my attendances at the Mothers'-SmallClothes, and my relations with fiiends attached to other
charities, must have informed me of his shameless neglect of
his Ladies and his Poor. And yet there he was before me in
full possession of his charming voice and his irresistible smile!
" Have you seen Rachel yet?" I asked.
He sighed gently, and took me by the hand. I should
certainly have snatched my hand away, if the manner in
which he gave his answer had not paralyzed me with astonishment.
"I have seen Rachel," he said, with perfect tranquillity.
"You are aware, dear friend, that she was engaged to me?
Well, she has taken a sudden resolution to break the engagement. Reflection has convinced her that she will best
consult her welfare and mine by retracting a rash promise,
and leaving me free to make some happier choice elsewhere.
That is the only reason she will give, and the only answer
she will make to every question that I can ask of her."
" What have you done on your side?" I inquired. "Have
you submitted?"
"Yes," he said, with the most unruffled composure. "I
have submitted."
His conduct, under the circumstances, was so utterly inconceivable that I stood bewildered with my hand in his.
It is a piece of rudeness to stare at any body, and it is an
act of indelicacy to stare at a gentleman. I committed both
those improprieties. And I said, as if in a dream, "What
does it mean?"




'2 i!2 9THE MOONSTONE.
"Permit me to Sell you," he replied. "And suppose we sit
down?"
He led me to a chair. I have an indistinct remembrance
that he was very affectionate. I don't think he put his arm
round my waist to support me-but I am not sure. I was
quite helpless, and his ways with ladies were very endearing. At any rate, we sat down. I can answer for that, if I
can answer for nothing more.
"I have lost a beautiful girl, an excellent social position,
and a handsome income," Mr. Godfiey began;" and I have
submitted to it without a struggle. What can be the motive for such extraordinary conduct as that? My precious
fiiend, there is no motive."
" No motive?" I repeated.
"Let me appeal, dear Miss Clack, to your experience of
children," he went on. "A child pursues a certain course
of conduct. You are greatly struck by it, and you attempt
to get at the motive. The dear little thing is incapable of
telling you its motive. You might as well ask the grass
why it grows, or the birds why they sing. Well! in this
matter I am like the dear little thing-like the grass-like
the birds. I don't know why I made a proposal of marriage
to Miss Verinder. I don't know why I have shamefully
neglected my dear Ladies. I don't know why I have apostatized from the Mothers'-Small- Clothes. You say to the
child, Why have you been naughty? And the little angel
puts its finger into its mouth, and doesn't know. My case
exactly, Miss Clack! I couldn't confess it to any body else.
I feel impelled to confess it to you!"
I began to recover myself. A mental problem was involved here. I am deeply interested in mental problemsand 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? What do I
want with a position? I have got a position. What 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




l
I DON'T THINK HE PUT HIS ARM ROUND MY WAIST TO SUPPORT M5
12*








THE MOONSTONE.                 275
try and put that other man out of her head. What a horrid union is this! Oh, dear me, what a horrid union is this!
Such are my reflections, 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 overpowering sense of relief. A month ago
I was pressing her rapturously to my bosom. An hour ago
the happiness of knowing that I shall never press her again
intoxicates me like strong liquor. The thing seems impossible -the thing can't be. And yet there are the facts, as I
had the honor of stating them when we first sat down together in these two chairs. I have lost a beautiful girl, an
excellent social position, and a handsome income; and I
have submitted to it without a struggle. Can you account
for it, dear fiiend? 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 occasionally humbled to the level of the
most poorly-gifted people about them.  The object, no
doubt, in the wise economy of Providence, is to remind
greatness that it is mortal, and that the power which has
conferred it can also take it away. It was now-to my
mind-easy to discern one of 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 recognize the welcome re-appearance of his own finer
nature in the horror with which he recoiled from the idea
of a marriage with Rachel, and in the charming eagerness
which he showed to return to his Ladies and his Poor.
I put this view before him in a few simple and sisterly
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 exquisite triumph
of having got him back among us, I let him do what he
liked with my hands. I closed my eyes. I felt my head, in
an ecstasy of spiritual self-forgetfulness, sinking on his shoulder. In a moment more I should certainly have swooned
away in his arms, but for an interruption from the outer




276                 THE MOONSTONE.
world, which brought me to myself again. A horrid rattling of knives and forks sounded outside the door, and the
footman came in to lay the table for luncheon.
Mr. Godfrey started up, and looked at the clock on the
mantel-piece.
"How time flies with you t" 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.  "Business
obliges him to leave Frizinghall for London to-day, and he
proposes coming on here either this evening or to-morrow.
I must tell him what has happened between Rachel and me.
His heart is set on our marriage-there will be great 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!"
With those words he hurried out. In equal haste on my
side, I ran up stairs to compose myself in my own room before meeting Aunt Ablewhite and Rachel at the luncheontable.
I am well aware-to dwell for a moment yet on the subject of Mr. Godfrey-that the all-profaning opinion of the
outer world has charged him with having his own private
reasons for releasing Rachel from her engagement, at the
first opportunity she gave him. It has also reached my ears
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 coinmittee-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 experience of persons and things. In less than a month from
the time of which I am now writing events in the moneymarket (which diminished even my miserable little inoome)




THE MOONSTONE.                   277
forced me into foreign exile, and left me with nothing but a
loving remembrance of Mr. Godfrey which the slander of the
world has assailed, and assailed in vain.
Let me dry my eyes, and return to my narrative.
I went down stairs to luncheon, naturally anxious to see
how Rachel was affected by her release from her marriage
engagement.
It appeared to me-but I own I am a poor authority in
such matters-that the recovery of her freedom had set her
thinking again of that other man whom she loved, and that
she was furious with herself for not being able to control a
revulsion of feeling of which she was secretly ashamed.
Who was the man? I had my suspicions-but it was needless to waste time in idle speculation. When I had converted her, she would, as a matter of course, have no concealments from Me. I should hear all about the man; I
should hear all about the Moonstone. If I had had no higher object in stirring her up to a sense of spiritual things, the
motive of relieving her mind of its guilty secrets would have
been enough of itself to encourage me to go on.
Aunt Ablewhite took her exercise in the afternoon in an
invalid chair. Rachel accompanied her. "I wish I could
drag the chair," she broke out, recklessly. "I wish I could
fatigue myself till I was ready to drop!"
She was in the same humor in the evening. I discovered
in one of my friend's precious publications-The Life, Letters,
and Labors of Miss Jane Ann Stamper, forty-fifth editionpassages which bore with a marvelous appropriateness on
Rachel's present position. Upon my proposing to read them
she went to the piano. Conceive how. little she must have
known of serious people, if she supposed that my patience
was to be exhausted in that way! I kept Miss Jane Ann
Stamper by me, and waited for events with the most unfaltering trust in the future.
Old 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 Mit. 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 Rachel's resisting
powers would as certainly follow. I am not ignorant that
old Mr. Ablewhite has the reputation generally (especially
among his inferiors) of being a remarkably good-natured
man. According to my observation of him, he deserves his




278                THE MOONSTONE.
reputation as long as he has his own way, and not a moment
longer.
The next day, exactly as I had foreseen, Aunt Ablewhite
was as near to being astonished as her nature would permit,
by the sudden appearance of her husband. He had barely
been a minute in the house before he was followed, to my
astonishment this time, by an unexpected complication in the
shape of Mr. 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 any thing in the way of an obstructive proceeding
-capable even of keeping the peace, with Rachel for one of
the combatants!
" This is a pleasant surprise, sir," said Mr. Ablewhite, addressing himself with his deceptive cordiality to Mr. Bruff.
" When I left your office yesterday, I didn't expect to have
the honor 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 traveling."
Having given that explanation he seated himself by Rachel.
I retired modestly to a corner-with Miss Jane Ann Stamper
on my lap in case of emergency. My aunt sat at the window, placidly fanning herself as usual. Mr. Ablewhite stood
up in the middle of the room, with his bald head much pinker
than I had ever seen it yet, and addressed himself in the
most affectionate manner to his niece.
" Rachel, my dear," he said, "I have heard some very 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 honor me by showing me the way to it?"
Rachel never moved. Whether she was determined to
bring matters to a crisis, or whether she was prompted by
some private sign fiom Mr. Bruff, is more than I can tell.
She declined doing old Mr. Ablewhite the honor of conducting him to her sitting-room.
"Whatever you wish to say to me," she answered, " can
be said here -in the presence of my relatives, and in the
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. I looked at the top of his bald




THE MOONSTONE.                  279
head; having noticed, on other occasions, that the temper
which was really in him had a habit of registering itself there.
"Some weeks ago," pursued the old gentleman, " my son
informed me that Miss Verinder had done him the honor to
engage herself to marry him. Is it possible, Rachel, that he
can have misinterpreted-or presumed upon-what you really
said to him?"
"Certainly not," she replied. "I did engage myself to
marry him."
"Very fiankly answered!" said Mr. Ablewhite. "And
most satisfactory, my dear, so far. In respect to what happened some weeks since, Godfrey has made no mistake. The
error is evidently in what he told me yesterday. I begin to
see it now. You and he have had a lovers' quarrel-and my
foolish son has interpreted it seriously. Ah! I should have
known better than that, at his age."
The fallen nature in Rachel-the mother Eve, so to speak
-began to chafe at this.
"Pray let us understand each other, Mr. Ablewhite," she
said. " Nothing in the least like a quarrel took place 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 of temper. His
face was more amiable than ever-but there was the pink at
the top of his face, a shade deeper already!
"Come, come, my dear!" he said, in his most soothing
manner, "now don't be angry, and don't be hard on poor
Godfrey! He has evidently said some unfortunate thing.
He was always clumsy from a child-but he means well,
Rachel, he means well!"
"Mr. Ablewhite, I have either expressed myself very badly, or you are purposely mistaking me. Once for all, it is a
settled thing between your son and myself that we remain,
for the rest of our lives, cousins and nothing more. Is that
plain enough?"
The tone in which she said those words made it impossible,
even for old Mr. Ablewhite, to mistake her any longer. His
thermometer went up another degree, and his voice, when he
next spoke, ceased to be the voice which is appropriate to a
notoriously good-natured man.
"I am to understand, then," he said, " that your marriage
engagement is broken off?"
"You are to understand that, Mr. Ablewhite, if you
please."




280                 THE MOONSTONE.
"I am also to take it as a matter of fact that the proposal
to withdraw fiom the engagement came, in the first instance,
from you?"
"It came, in the first instance,'romrn me. And it met, as I
have told you, with your son's consent and approval."
The thermometer went up to the top of the register. I
-nean, the pink changed suddenly to scarlet.
"My son is a mean-spirited hound!" cried this furious old
worldling.  "In justice to myself as his father-not in justice to him-I beg to ask you, Miss Verinder, what complaint
you have to make of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite?"
Here Mr. 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-preserving her composure in a manner which (having regard to her age and her sex) was simply awful to see.
"Your son put the same question to me which you have
just asked," she said. "I had only one answer for him, and
I have only one answer for you. I proposed that we should
release each other, because reflection had convinced me that
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?". persisted Mr. Ablewhite. "I
have a right to know that. What has my son done?"
She persisted just as obstinately on her side.
" You have had the only explanation which I think it 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?"
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 of tone which satisfied me that




THE MOONSTONE.                   281
the scandal of the Moonstone had been in some way recalled
to her mind. "I have no more to say," she added, wearily,
not addressing the words to any one in particular, and looking away fiom us all, out of the window that was nearest to
her.
Mr. Ablewhite got upon his feet, and pushed away his
chair so violently that it toppled over and fell on the floor.
"I have something more to say on my side," he announced,
bringing down the flat of his hand on the table with a bang.
"I have to say that if my son doesn't feel this insult I do!"
Rachel started, and looked at him in sudden surprise.
"Insult?" she repeated.  "What do you mean?"
"Insult!" 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 couldn't point to the time when the Ablewhites
hadn't a shirt to their backs, and couldn't sign their own
names. Ha! ha! I wasn't good enough for the Herncastles,
when I 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 Herneastle blood in you, my young lady! I
suspected it all along."
"A  very unworthy suspicion," remarked Mr. Bruff. "I
am astonished that you have the courage to acknowledge
it."
Before Mr. Ablewhite could find words to answer, Rachel
spoke in the tone of the most exasperating contempt.
" Surely," she said to the lawyer, " this is beneath notice.
If he can think in that way, let us leave him to think as he
pleases."
From  scarlet Mr. Ablewhite was now becoming purple.
He gasped for breath; he looked backward and forward
from Rachel to Mr. Bruff in such a fienzy 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 distressing interview, felt more
than one inward call to interfere with a few earnest words,
and had controlled myself under a dread of the possible results, very unworthy of a Christian Englishwoman who




282                 THE MOONSTONE.
looks, not to what is meanly prudent, but to what is morally right. At the point at which matters had now arrived I
rose superior to all considerations of mere expediency. If I
had contemplated interposing any remonstrance of my own
humble devising, I might possibly still have hesitated. But
"the distressing domestic emergency which now confronted
me was most marvelously 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!"
When I first attracted the attention of the company 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 fiiend," 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, with any body else.
But my voice (habitually gentle) poseesses 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 wisdom, words of love
-the blessed, blessed, blessed words of Miss Jane Ann
Stamper!"
I was stopped there by a momentary impediment of the
breath. Befbre I could recover myself, this monster in human form shouted out furiously:
" Miss Jane Ann Stamper be  -!"
It is impossible for me to write the awful word which is
here represented by a blank. I shrieked as it passed his lips;
I flew to my little bag on the side-table; I shook out all my
tracts; I seized the one particular tract on profane swearing,
entitled, " Hush, for Heaven's Sake!" I handed it to him
with an expression of agonized entreaty. He tore it in two,
and threw it back at me across the table. The rest of them
rose in alarm, not knowing what might happen next. I instantly sat down again in my corner. There had once been




THE MOONSTONE.                   283
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?"
Before Aunt Ablewhite could say a word, Rachel answered for her:
"Miss Clack is here," she said, "as my guest."
Those words had a singular effect on Mr. Ablewhite.
They suddenly changed him from a man in a state of redhot anger to a man in a state of icy-cold contempt. It was
plain to every body that Rachel had said something-short
and plain as her answer had been-which gave him the upper hand of her at last.
" Oh!" he said. "Miss Clack is here as your guest-in
my house?"
It was Rachel's turn to lose her temper at that. Her color rose, and her eyes brightened fiercely. She turned to the
lawyer, and, pointing at Mr. Ablewhite, asked, haughtily,
" What does he mean?"
Mr. Bruff interfered for the third time.
"You appear to forget," he said, addressing Mr. Ablewhite, "that vou took this house as Miss Verinder's guardian, for Miss Verinder's use."
" Not quite so fast," interposed Mr. Ablewhite. "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
interrupted us. I beg to inform you, sir, that, if my son is
not good enough to be Miss Verinder's husband, I can not
presume to consider his father good enough to be Miss 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 Rachel for refusing
to marry his son!
The instant the door closed Aunt Ablewhite exhibited a




284                 THE MOONSTONE.
phenomenon which silenced us all. She became endowed
with energy enough to cross the room!
" My dealr," she said, taking Rachel by the hand, " I should
be ashamed of my husband, if I didn't know that it is his
temper which has spoken to you, and not himself. You,"
continued Aunt Ablewhite, turning on me in my corner with
another endowment of energy, in her looks this time instead of her limbs-" you are the mischievous person who
irritated him. I hope I shall never see you or voul 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 every thing-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 mistress's bonnet and shawl. Leave
us ten minutes together," he added, in a lower tone, "and
you may rely on my setting matters right, to your satisfaction as well as to Rachel's."
The trust of the family in this man was something wonderful to see. Without a word more, on her side, Aunt Ablewhite left the room.
"Ah!" said Mr. Bruff, looking after her. "The Herncastle blood has its drawbacks, I admit. But there is something in good-breeding, after all!"
Having made that purely worldly remark, he looked hard
at my corner, as if he expected me to go. My interest in
Rachel - an infinitely higher interest than his - riveted me
to my chair.
Mr. Bruff gave it up, exactly as he had given it up at
Aunt Verinder's, in Montagu Square.  He led Rachel to a
chair by the window, and spoke to her there.
"My dear young lady," he said, " Mr. Ablewhite's conduct has naturally shocked you, and taken you by surprise.
If it was worth while to contest the question with such a
man, we might soon show him that he is not to have things
all his own way. But it isn't worth while. You were quite
right in what you said just now; he is beneath our notice."
He stopped, and looked round at my corner. I sat there
quite immovable, with my tracts at my elbow, and with
Miss Jane Ann Stamper on my lap.
"You know," he resumed, turning back again to Rachel,
"that it was part of your poor mother's fine nature always




THE MOONSTONE.                   285
to see the best of the people about her, and never the worst.
She named her brother-in-law your guardian because she be.
lieved in him, and because she thought it would please her
sister. I had never liked Mr. Ablewhite myself, and I induced your mother to let me insert a clause in the will empowering her executors, in certain events, to consult with
me about the appointment of a new guardian.  One of those
events has happened to-day; and I find myself in a position
to end all these dry business details, I hope agreeably, with
a message from my wife. Will you honor Mrs. 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?"
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 Rachel's bonnet and shawl.
Before I could interpose a word Rachel had accepted 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 thie
quite overwhelmed me. I cast the miserable trammels of
worldly discretion to the winds, and spoke with tie fervor
that filled me, in the words that came first.
"Stop!" I said-" stop! I must be heard. Mr. Bruff!
you are not related to her, and I am. I invite her —    sulmmon the executors to appoint me guardian. Rachel, dearest
Rachel, I offer you my modest home; come to London by the
next train, love, and share it with me!"
Mr. Bruff said nothing. Rachel looked at me with a cruel
astonishment which she made no effort to conceal.
"You are very kind, Drusilla," she said. "I shall hope to
visit you whenever I happen to be in London. But I have
accepted Mr. Bruff's invitation, and I think it will be best,
for the present, if I remain under 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
fervor did not communicate itself; it only alarmed her.
"Surely," she said, "this is a very unnecessary display of
agitation?  I don't understand it."
"No more do I," said Mr. Bruff.
Their hardness-their hideous, worldly hardness-revolted
Oh, Rachel! Rachel!" I burst out.  "Haven't you seen'; Oh, Rachel! Rachel!" I burst out.  " Haven't you seen




286                 THE MOONSTONE.
yet that. my heart yearns to make a Christian of you? Has
no inner voice told you that I am trying to do for you, what
I was trying to do for your dear mother when death snatched
her out of my hands?"
Rachel advanced a step nearer, and looked at me very
strangely.
"I don't understand your reference to my mother," she
said. "Miss Clack, will you have the goodness to explain
yourself?"
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 interference as
this must have roused me into testifying to the truth. I put
Mr. Bruff aside indignantly with my own hand, and, in solemn and suitable language, I stated the view with which
sound doctrine does not scruple to regard the awful calamity
of dying unprepared.
Rachel started back from me-I blush to write it-with a
scream of horror.
" Come away!" she said to Mr. Bruff. "Come away, for
God's sake, before that woman can say any more! Oh, think
of my poor'mother's harmless, useful, beautiful life! You
were at the funeral, Mr. Bruff; you saw how every body
loved her; you saw the poor helpless people crying at her
grave over the loss of their best friend. And that wretch
stands there and tries to make me doubt that my mother,
who was an angel on earth, is an angel in heaven now!
Don't stop to talk about it! Come away! It stifles me to
breathe the same air with her! It frightens me to feel that
we are in the same room together!"
Deaf to all remonstrance, she ran to the door.
At the same moment her maid entered with her bonnet
and shawl. She huddled them on any how. "Pack my
things," she said, "and bring them to Mr. Bruffs."  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 fortitude. I remember
it now with my customary superiority to all feeling of offense.
Mr. Bruff had his parting word of mockery for me, before
he too hurried out, in his turn.




THE MOONSTONE.                  287
"You had better not have explained yourself, Miss Clack,"
he 3aid, 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.  "'m only a poor servant-but I declare I'm
ashamed of you?" She too went out, and banged the door
after her.
I was left alone in the room. Reviled by them all, 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 checkered chapters in my life ends here. From that
day fbrth I never saw Rachel Verinder again. She had my
forgiveness at the time when she insulted me. She has had
my prayerful good wishes ever since. And when I die-to
complete the return on my part of good for evil-she will
have the Life, Letters, and Labor of Miss Jane Ann Stamper
left her as a legacy by my will.
Sctonb Narrative.
Contributed by Mathew Bruff, Solicitor, of Gray's Inn Square.
CHAPTER I.
MY fair friend, Miss Clack, having laid down the pen, there
are two reasons for my taking it up next, in my turn.
In the first place, I am in a position to throw the necessary
light on certain points of interest which have thus far been
left in the dark. Miss Verinder had her own private reason
for breaking her marriage engagement-and I was at the
bottom of it. Mr. Godfiey 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 involved-at the
period of which I am now writing-in the mystery of the
Indian Diamond. I had the honor of an interview, at my
own office, with an Oriental stranger of distinguished manners, who was no other, unquestionably, than the chief of




088                 THE MOONSTONI.
the three Indians. Add to this, that I met with the celeilated traveler, Mr. Murthwaite, the day afterward, and
that I held a conversation with him on the subject of the
Moonstone, which has a very important bearing on later
events. And there you have the statement of my claims to
fill the position which I occupy in these pages.
The true story of the broken marriage engagement comes
first in point of time, and must therefore take the first place
in the present narrative. Tracing my way back along the
chain of events, from one end to the other, I find it necessary
to open the scene, oddly enough as you will think, at the
4edside of my excellent client and friend, the late Sir John
Verinder.
Sir John had his share-perhaps rather a large share-of
the more harmless and amiable of the weaknesses incidental
to humanity. Among these, I may mention as applicable to
the matter in hand, an invincible reluctance-so long as he
enjoyed his usual good health-to face the responsibility of
making his will. Lady Verinder exerted her influence to
rouse him to a sense of duty in this matter; and I exerted
my influence. He admitted the justice of our views-but
he went no further than that, until he found himself afflicted
with the illness which ultimately brought him to his grave.
Then I was sent for at last, to take my client's instructions
on the subject of his will. They proved to be the simplest
instructions I had ever received in the whole of my 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 sha'n't be very
long about this. And then I'll go to sleep again."  He
looked on with great interest while I collected pens, ink,
and paper.  "Are you ready?" he asked. I bowed, and
took a dip of ink, and waited for my instructions.
" Every 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 disturb him.
" Am I to understand," I asked," that you leave the whole
of the property, of every sort and description, of which you
die possessed, absolutely to Lady Verinder?"
"Yes," said Sir John.  "Only I put it shorter.  Why
can't you put it shorter, and let me go to sleep again? Every thing to my wife. That's my Will."
His property was entirely at his own disposal, and was of




THE MOONSTONE.                  289
two kinds. Property in land (I purposely abstain from using
technical language), and property in money. In the majority of cases, I am afraid I should have felt it my duty to my
client to ask him to reconsider his Will. In the case of Sir
John, I knew Lady Verinder to be, not only worthy of the
unreserved trust which her husband had placed in her (all
good wives are worthy of that)-but to be also capable of
properly administering a trust (which, in my experience of
the fair sex, not one in a thousand of them is competent to
do). In ten minutes Sir John's Will was drawn and executed, and Sir John himself, good man, was finishing his interrupted nap.
Lady Verinder amply justified the confidence which her
husband had placed in her. In the first days of her 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 relieved of all necessity for advising her. My
responsibility began and ended with shaping her instructions into the proper legal form. Before Sir John had been
a fortnight in his grave the future of his daughter had been
most wisely and most affectionately provided for.
The Will remained in its fire-proof box at my office,
through more years than I like to reckon up. It was not till
the 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 pronounced the
sentence on poor Lady Verinder, 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 relating to
her daughter. But, in the lapse of time, her wishes in regard to certain minor legacies, left to different relatives, had
undergone some modification; and it became necessary to
add three or four Codicils to the original document. Having done this at once, for fear of accidents, I obtained her
ladyship's permission to embody her recent instructions 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 Will has been described by
Miss Clack, who was so obliging as to witness it. So far as
regards Rachel Verinder's pecuniary interests, it was, word
for word, the exact counterpart of the first Will. The only
19




290                 THE MOONSTONE.
changes introduced related to the appointment of a guardian, and to certain provisions concerning that appointment,
which were made under my advice. On Lady Verinder's
death, the Will was placed in the hands of my proctor to be
" proved " (as the phrase is) in the usual way.
In about three weeks from that time-as well as I can remember-the first warning reached me of something unusual going on under the surface. I happened to be looking in
at my fiiend the proctor's office, and I observed that he received me with an appearance of greater interest than usual.
"I have some news for you," he said. "What do you
think I heard at Doctors' Commons this morning? Lady
Verinder's Will has been asked for, and examined, already!"
This was news indeed! There was absolutely nothing
which could be contested in the Will; and there was nobody I could think of who had the slightest interest in examining it. (I shall perhaps do well if I explain in this
place, for the benefit of the few people who don't know it
already, that the law allows all Wills to be examined at
Doctors' Commons by any body who applies, on the payment of a shilling fee).
"Did you hear who asked for the Will?" I inquired.
"Yes; the clerk had no hesitation in telling me. Mr.
Smalley, of the firm of Skipp & Smalley, asked for it. The
Will has not been copied yet into the great Folio Registers.
So there was no alternative but to depart from the usual
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 answered, "before
I am a day older." With that I went back at once to my
own office.
If any other firm of solicitors had been concerned in this
unaccountable examination of my deceased client's Will I
might have found some difficulty in making the necessary
discovery. But I had a hold over Skipp & Smalley which
made my course in this matter a comparatively easy one.
My common-law clerk (a most competent and excellent man)
was a brother of Mr. Smalley's; and, owing to this sort of
indirect connection with me, Skip & 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 firm. I intended, if necessary, to remind them of that
patronage on the present occasion.




THE MOONSTONE.                  291
The moment I got back I spoke to my clerk; and after
telling him what had happened I sent him to his brother's
office, "with Mr. Bruff's compliments, and he would be glad
to know why Messrs. Skip & Smalley had found it necessary
to examine Lady Verinder's Will."
This message brought Mr. Smalley back to my office, in
company with his brother. He acknowledged that he had
acted under instructions received from a client. And then
he put it to me, whether it would not be a breach of 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 knowing more. Worse still, 1
declined to consider any additional information offered to
me, as a secret placed in my keeping: I claimed perfect freedom 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 tyrants, I carried my point. Mr. Smalley chose his
alternative, without a moment's hesitation. He smiled resignedly, and gave up the name of his client:
Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.
That was enough for me-I wanted to know no more.
Having reached this point in my narrative, it now becomes necessary to place the reader of these lines-so far as
Lady Verinder's Will is concerned-on a footing of perfect
equality, in respect of information, with myself.
Let me state, then, in the fewest possible words, that Rachel Verinder had nothing but a life-interest in the property.
Her mother's excellent sense, and my long experience, had
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
husband (if she married) could raise sixpence, either on the
property in land or on the property in money. They would
have the houses in London and in Yorkshire to live in, and
they would have the handsome income-and that was all.
When I came to think over what I had discovered, I was
sorely perplexed what to do next.
Hardly a week had passed since I had heard (to my surprise and distress) of Miss Verinder's proposed marriage. I
had the sincerest admiration and affection for her; and I
had been inexpressibly grieved when I heard that she was




292                 THE MOONSTONE.
about to throw herself away on Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite
And now, here was this man-whom I had always believed
to be a smooth-tongued impostor-justifying the very worst
that I had thought of him, and plainly revealing the mercenary 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 Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite hold to his
engagement, after what his lawyer had discovered for him?
It depended entirely on his pecuniary position, of which I
knew nothing. If that position was not a desperate one, it
would be well worth his while to marrv  Miss Verinder for
her income alone. If, on the other hand, he stood in urgent
need of realizing a large sum by a given time, then Lady
Verinder's Will would exactly meet the case, and would
preserve her daughter from falling into a scoundrel's hands.
In the latter event, there would be no neced for me to distress Miss Rachel, in the first days of her niourninig for her
mother, by an immediate revelation 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 Mrs. 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. Godfiey Ablewhite from accompanying them. I at
once proposed to take his place. When I was only thinking
of Rachel Verinder, it was possible to hesitate. When I actually saw her, my mind was made up directly, come what
might of it, to tell her the truth.
I found my opportunity, when I was out walking with her,
on the day after my arrival.
" May I speak to you," I asked, " about your marriage engagement?"
"Yes," she said, indifferently, " 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. Bruff-on tie chance of
dropping into some sort of stagnant happiness which may
reconcile me to my life."
Strong language! and suggestive of something below the




THE MOONSTONE.                     293
surface, in the shape of a romance.  But I had my own o(ject in view, and 1 declined (as we lawyers say) to pursue
the question into its side issues.' Mr. Godfirev Ablewhite cal hardly be of your way of
thinking," I said.  "His heart must be set oll the marrialg
at any rate?"
"He says so, and I suppose I ought to believe him. He
would hardly marry me, after what I have owned to him,
unless he was fond of me."
Poor thing! the bare idea of a man marrying her for his
own selfish and mercenary ends had never entered her head.
The task I had set myself began to look like a harder task
than I had bargained for.
"It sounds strangely," I went on, "in my old-fashioned
ears-"
"What sounds strangely?" she asked.
" To hear you speak of your future husband as if you were
not quite sure of the sincerity of his attachment.  Are you
conscious of any reason in your own mind for doubting
him?"
Her astonishing quickness of perception detected a change
in my voice, or my manner, when I put that question, which
warned her that I had been speaking all along with some
ulterior object in view.  She stopped, and, taking her arm
out of mine, looked me searchingly in the face.
"Mr. Bruff," she said, "you have something to tell me
about Godfiey Ablewhite. Tell it."
I knew her well enough to take her at her word. I told it.
She put her arm again into mine, and walked on with me
slowly.  I felt her hand tightening its grasp mechanically
on my arm, and I saw her getting paler and paler as I went
on-but not a word passed her lips while I was speaking.
When I had done, she still kept silence.  Her head drooped
a little, and she walked by my side, unconscious of my presence, unconscious of every thing about her; lost-buried, I
might almost say-in her own thoughts.
I made no attempt to disturb her.  My experience of her
disposition warned me, on this, as on former occasions, to
give her time.
The first instinct of girls in general, on being told of any
thing which interests them, is to ask a multitude of questions,
and then to run off, and talk it all over with some favorite"
friend.  Rachel Verinder's first instinct, under similar circumstanices, was to shut herself up in her own mind, and to
think it over by herself. This absolute self-dependence is a
great virtue in a man.  In a woman, it has the serious draw



294                 THE MOONSTONE.
back of morally separating her from the mass of her sex, and
so exposing her to misconstruction by the general opinion.
I strongly suspect myself of thinking as the rest of the world
think in this matter-except in the case of Rachel Verinder.
The self-dependence in her character was one of its virtues,
in my estimation; partly, no doubt, because I sincerely admired and liked her; partly, because the view I took of her
connection with the loss of the Moonstone was based on my
own special knowledge of her disposition. Badly as appearl
ances might look in the matter of the Diamond-shocking as
it undoubtedly was to know that she was associated in any
way with the mystery of an undiscovered theft-I was sat.
isfied, nevertheless, that she had done nothing unworthy oi
her, because I was also satisfied that she had not stirred a
step in the business, without shutting herself up in her own
mind, and thinking it over first.
We had walked on, for nearly a mile I should think, before
Rachel roused herself. She suddenly looked up at me with
a faint reflection of her smile of happier times-the most irresistible smile I had ever seen on a woman's face.
" I owe much already to your kindness," she said. "And I
feel more deeply indebted to it now than ever. If you hear
any rumors of my marriage when you go back to London,
contradict them at once, on my authority."
" Have you resolved to break your engagement?" I asked.
"Can you doubt it?" she returned, proudly, " after what
you have told me!"
" My dear Miss Rachel, you are very young-and you may
find more difficulty in withdrawing fiom 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 awkward difficulties, in
my time. But this was the first occasion on which I had
ever found myself advising a young lady how to obtain her
release from a marriage engagement. The suggestion I offered amounted briefly to this. I recommended her to tell
Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite-at a private interview, of coursethat he had, to her certain knowledge, betrayed the merce



THE MOONSTONE.                   295
nary 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. It' he
attempted to defend himself, or to deny the facts, she was,
in that event, to refer him to me.
Miss Verinder listened attentively till I had done. She
then thanked me very prettily for my advice, but informed
me at the same time that it was impossible for her to follow it.
"May I ask," I said, "what objection you see to following it?"
She hesitated-and then met me with a question on her
side.
"Suppose you were asked to express your opinion of Mr.
Godfiey Ablewhite's conduct?" she began.
"Yes?"
"What would you call it?"
"I should call it the conduct of a meanly deceitful man."
"Mr. Bruff! I have believed in that man. I have promised to marry that man. How can I tell him he is mean,
how can I tell him hel has deceived me, how can I disgrace
him in the eyes of the world, after that? I have degraded
myself by ever thinking of him as my husband.  If I say
what you tell me to say to him-I am owning that I have
degraded myself to his face. I can't do that-after what
has passed between us-I can't do that! The shame of it
would be nothing to him. But the shame of it would be
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 any thing mean,
blinding her to every consideration 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 objection in
other words.
"He has been intimate enough with me to ask me to be
his wife. He has stood high enough in my estimation to




296                 THE MOONSTONE.
obtain my consent. I can't tell him to his face that be is
the most contemptible of living creaturnes, after that!"
"But, my dear Miss Rachel," I remolnstrated, "it's equally
impossible for you to tell him that you withdraw from your
engagement, without giving some reason tor 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 reminded her that she would be exposing herself to the most odious misconstruction of her motives. "You can't brave public opinion," I said, "at the
command of private feeling."
" I can," she answered. "I have done it already."
" What do you mean?"
" You have forgotten the Moonstone, Mr. Bruff. Have I
not braved public opinion, there, with my own private reasons for it?"
Her answer silenced me for the moment. It set me trying
to trace the explanation of her conduct, at the time of the
loss of the Moonstone, out of the strange avowal which had
just escaped her. I might perhaps have done it when I was
younger. I certainly couldn't do it now.
I tried a last remonstrance, before we returned to the
house. Shewas just as immovable as ever. My mind was
in a strange conflict of feelings about her when I left her
that day. She was obstinate; she was wrong. She was interesting; she was admirable; she was deeply to be pitied.
I made her promise to write to me the moment she had any
newsto send. And I went back to my business in London,
with a mind exceedingly ill at ease.
On the evening of my return, before it was possible for
me to receive my promised letter, I was surprised by a visit
from Mr. Ablewhite the elder, and was informed that Mr.
Godfrey had got his dismissal-and had accepted it-that
very day.
With the view I already took of the case, the bare fact
stated in the words that I have underlined, revealed Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's motive for submission as plainly as if he had
acknowledged it himself. He needed a large sum of money;
and he needed it by a given time. Rachel's income, which




THE MOONSTONE.                   297
would have helped him to any thing else, would not help him
here; and Rachel had accordingly released herself, without
encountering a moment's serious opposition on his part. If
I am told that this is mere speculation, I ask, in my turn,
What other theory will account for his giving up a marriage
which would have maintained him in splendor for the rest
of his life?
Any exultation I might otherwise have felt at the lucky
turn which things had now taken was effectually checked by
what passed at my interview with old Mr. Ablewhite.
He came, of course, to know whether I could give him any
explanation of Miss Verinder's extraordinary conduct. It is
needless to say that I was quite unable to afford him the 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 Verinder
would find him a merciless man to deal with, when he joined
the ladies at Brighton the next day.
I had a restless night, considering what I ought to do
next. How many reflections ended, and how thoroughly
well founded my distrust of old Mr. Ablewhite proved to be,
are items of information which (as I am told) have already
been put tidily in their proper places by that exemplary
person, Miss Clack. I have only to add-in completion of
her narrative-that Miss Verinder found a quiet and repose
which she sadly needed, poor thing, in my house at Hampstead. She honored us by making a long stay. My wife
and daughters were charmed with her; and, when the executors decided on the appointment of a new guardian, I feel
sincere pride and pleasure in recordilg that my guest and
my family parted like old friends, on either side.
CHAPTER II.
THE next thing I have to do, is to present such 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 remarkably on events which
are still to come.
About a week or ten days after Miss Verinder had left us,
one of my clerks entered the private room at my office, with




298                 THE MOONSTONE.
a card in his hand, and informed me that a gentleman war
below who wanted to speak to me.
I looked at the card. There was a foreign name written
on it, which has escaped my memory. It was followed by a
line written in English at the bottom of the card, which I
remember perfectly well:
"Recommended by Mr. Septimus Luker."
The audacity of a person in Mr. Luker's position presuming to recommend any body to me, took me so completely
by surprise, that I sat silent for the moment, wondering
whether my own eyes had not deceived me. The clerk, observing my bewilderment, favored me with the result of his
own observation of the stranger who was waiting down
stairs.
"He's rather a remarkable looking man, sir. So dark in
the complexion that we all set him down in the office for an
Indian, or something of that sort."
Associating the clerk's idea with the very offensive line
inscribed on the card in my hand, I instantly suspected that
the Moonstone was at the bottom of Mr. Luker's 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 any
body who may read these lines, that no living person (in England, at any rate) can claim to have had such an intimate
connection with the romance of the Indian Diamond as mine
has been. I was trusted with the secret of Colonel Herncastle's plan for escaping assassination. I received the Colonel's letters, periodically reporting himself a living man.
I drew his will, leaving the Moonstone to Miss Verinder. I
persuaded his executor to act, on the chance that the jewel
might prove to be a valuable acquisition to the family. And,
lastly, I combated Mr. Franklin Blake's scruples, and induced
him to be the means of transporting the Diamond to Lady
Verinder's house. If any one can claim a prescriptive right
of interest in the Moonstone, and in every thing connected
with it, I think it is hardly to be denied that I am the man.
The moment my mysterious client was shown in I felt an
inner conviction that I was in the presence of one of the
three Indians —probably of the chief. He was carefully
dressed in European costume. But his swarthy complexion,
his long lithe figure, and his grave and gracefil politeness
of manner, were enough to betrav  his Oriental origin to any
intelligent eyes that looked at him.




THE MOONSTONE.                  299
I pointed to a chair, and begged to be informed of the nature of his business with me.
After first apologizing-in an excellent selection of English words-for the liberty which he had taken in disturbing me, the Indian produced a small parcel the outer covering of which was of cloth of gold. Removing this and a
second wrapping of some silken fabric, he placed a little box,
or casket, on my table, most beautifully and richly inlaid in
jewels, on an ebony ground.
"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 recommendation?"
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
done in all my experience of them-he respected my time."
"I am sorry," I said, "that you should have had the trouble of coming to me. Mr. Luker is quite mistaken in sending you here. I am trusted, like other men of my profession,
with money to lend. But I never lend it to strangers, and
I never lend it on such a security as you have produced."
Far from attempting, as other people would have done, to
induce me to relax my own rules, the Indian only made me
another bow, and wrapped up his box in its two coverings
without a word of protest. He rose-this admirable assassin rose to go, the moment I had answered him!
"Will your condescension toward a stranger excuse my
asking one question," he said, " before I take my leave?"
I bowed on my side. Only one question at parting! The
average in my experience was fifty.
" Supposing, sir, it had been possible (and customary) for
you to lend me the money," he said, " in what space of time




300                 THE MOONSTONE.
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 entitled to pay the money back (if you liked) in one year's time from the date at
which it was first advanced to you."
The Indian made me a last bow, the lowest of all-and
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 otherwise incomprehensible visitor
who had favored me with a call.
His face, voice, and manner-while I was in his company
-were under such perfect control that they set all scrutiny
at defiance. But he had given me one chance of looking under the smooth outer surface of him, for all that. He had not
shown the slightest sign of attempting to fix any thing that
I had said to him in his mind, until I mentioned the time at
which it was customary to permit the earliest repayment, on
the part of the debtor, of money that had been advanced as
a loan. When I gave him that piece of information, he looked
me straight in the face, while I was speaking, for the first
time. The inference I drew from this was, that he had a
special purpose in asking me his last question, and a special
interest in hearing my answer to it. The more carefully I
reflected on what had passed between us, the more shrewdly
I suspected the production of the casket, and the application
for the loan, of having been mere formalities, designed to
pave the way for the parting inquiry addressed to me.
I had satisfied myself of the correctness of this conclusion
-and was trying to get on a step farther, and penetrate the
Indian's motives next- when a letter was brought to me,
which proved to be from no less a person than Mr. Septimus
Luker himself. He asked my pardon in terms of sickening
servility, and assured me that he could explain matters to my
satisfaction, if I would honor him by consenting to a personal interview.
I made another unprofessional sacrifice to mere curiosity.
I honored him by making an appointment at my office, for
the next day.
Mr. Luker was, in every respect, such an inferior creature
to the Indian-he was so vulgar, so ugly, so cringing, and so
rosy-that he is quite unworthy of being reported, at any
length, in these pages. The substance of what he had to tell
me may be fairly stated as follows:




THE MOONSTONE.                   301
The day before I had received the visit of the Indian, Mr.
Luker had been favored with a call from that accomplished
gentleman. In spite of his European disguise, Mr. Luker had
instantly identified his visitor with the chief of the three Indians, who had formerly annoyed him by loitering about his
house, and who had left him no alternative but to consult a
magistrate. From this startling discovery he had rushed to
the conclusion (naturally enough I own) that he must certainly be in the company of one of the three men who had
blindfolded him, gagged him, and robbed him of his banker's
receipt. The result was that he became quite paralyzed with
terror, and that he firmly believed his last hour had come.
On his side, the Indian preserved the character of a perfect
stranger. He produced the little casket, and made exactly
the same application which he had afterward made to me.
As the speediest way of getting rid of him, Mr. Luker had
at once declared that he had no money. The Indian had
thereupon asked to be informed of the best and safest person
to apply to for the loan he wanted. Mr. Luker had answered
that the best and safest person, in such cases, was usually a
respectable solicitor. Asked to name some one individual
of that character and profession, Mr. Luker had mentioned
me-for the one simple reason that, in the extremity of his
terror, mine was the first name which occurred to him. " The
perspiration was pouring off me like rain, sir," the wretched
creature concluded.  "I didn't know what I was talking
about. And I hope you'll look over it, Mr. Bruff, 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 any thing noticeable at the moment of quitting
Mr. Luker's house?
Yes! The Indian had put precisely the same question to
Mr. Luker, at parting, which he had put to me; receiving of
course, the same answer as the answer which I had given to
him.
What did it mean?  Mr. Luker's explanation gave me no
assistance toward solving the problem.  My own unaided
ingenuity, consulted next, proved quite unequal to grapple
with the difficulty. I had a dinner engagement that evening; and I went up stairs in no very genial fiame of mind,
little suspecting that the way to my dressing-room, and the
way to discovery, meant, on this particular occasion, one and
the same thing.




302                 THE MOONSTONE.
CHAPTER Im.
THE prominent personage among the guests at the dinner
party I found to be Mr. Murthwaite.
On his appearance in England, some months since, society
had been grealty interested in the traveler, as a man who
had passed through many dangerous adventures, and who
had escaped to tell the tale. He had now announced his intention of returning to the scene of his exploits, and of penetrating into regions left still unexplored. This magnificent
indifference to presuming on his luck, and to placing his safety in peril for the second time, revived the flagging interest
of the worshipers in the hero. The law of chances was clearly against his escaping on this occasion. It is not every day
that we can meet an eminent person at dinner, and feel that
there is a reasonable prospect of the news of his murder being the news that we hear of him next.
When the gentlemen were left by themselves in the din.
ing-room, I found myself sitting next to Mr. Murthwaite.
The guests present being all English, it is needless to say
that, as soon as the wholesome check exercised by the presence of the ladies was removed, the conversation turned on
politics as a necessary result.
In respect to this all-absorbing national topic, I happen to
be one of the most un-English Englishmen living.  As a
general rule, political talk appears to me to be of all talk the
most dreary and the most profitless. Glancing at Mr. Murthwaite, when the bottles had made their first round of the
table, I found that he was apparently of my way of thinking.
He was doing it very dexterously-with all possible consideration for the feelings of the host-but it is not the less
certain that he was composing himself for a nap. It struck
me as an experiment worth attempting, to try whether a judicious allusion to the subject of the Moonstone would keep
him awake, and, if it did, to see what he thought of the last
new complication in the Indian conspiracy, as revealed in the
prosaic precincts of my office.
"If I am not mistaken, Mr. Murthwaite," I began, "you
were acquainted with the late Lady Verinder, and you took
some interest in the strange succession of events which ended in the loss of the Moonstone?"




THE MOONSTONE.                   30l
The eminent traveler did me the honor of waking up in an
Instant, and asking me who I was.
I informed him of my professional connection with the
Herncastle family, not forgetting the curious position which
I had occupied toward the Colonel and his Diamond in the
by-gone time.
Mr. Murthwaite shifted round in his chair, so as to put
the rest of the company behind him (Conservatives and Lib
srals alike), and concentrated his whole attention on plait
Mr. Bruff, of Gray's Inn Square.
"Have you heard any thling lately of the Indians?" ih
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?"
"Is it possible that you don't see his motive, Mr. Bruff?"
"I am ashamed of my stupidity, Mr. Murthwaite- but I
certainly don't see it."
The great traveler became quite interested in sounding
the immense vacuity of my dullness to its lowest depths.
"Let me ask you one question," he said. "In what posi.
tion does the conspiracy to seize the Moonstone now stand?"
"I can't say," I answered.  "The Indian plot is a mystery to me."
"The Indian plot, Mr. Bruff, can only be a mystery to
you, because you have never seriously examined it. Shall
ye run it over together, from the time when you drew Colonel Herncastle's Will, to the time when the Indian called
at your office? In your position, it may be of very serious
importance to the interests of Miss 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
Tne to save you the trouble of making any inquiry into it?"
It is needless to say that I thoroughly appreciated the
practical purpose which I now saw that he had in view, and
that the first of the two alternatives was the alternative I
chose.
"Very good," said Mr. Murthwaite.  "We will take the




304                 THE MOONSTONE.
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?  iMy
idea too. We will say not forty. Now look back at tile
time when Colonel Hernoastle came to England, and when
ou were concerned il the plan he adopted to preserve his
life. I don't want you to count the years. I will only say,
it is clear that these present Indians, at their age, must be
the successors of three other Indians (high-caste Brahmans
all of them, Mr. 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 organization
which their predecessors established in this country. Don't
start! The organization is a very trumpery affair, according to our ideas, I have no doubt.  I should reckon it up as
including the command of money; the services, when'needed, of that shady sort of Englishman, who lives in the byways of foreign life in London; and, lastly, the secret sympathy of such few men of their own country and (formerly,
at least) of their own religion, as happen to be employed in
ministering to some of the multitudinous wants of this great
city. Nothing very formidable, as you see! But worth
notice at starting, because we may find occasion to refer to
the modest little Indian organization as we go on. Having
now cleared the*ground, I am going to ask you a question;
and I expect your experience to answer it. What was the
event which gave the Indians their first chance of seizing
the Diamond?"
I understood the allusion to my experience.
"The first chance they got," I replied, "was clearly offer,
ed to them by Colonel Herncastle's death. They would be
aware of his death, I suppose, as a matter of course?"
"As a matter of course. And his death, as you say, gave
them their first chance. Up to that time the Moonstone
was safe in the strong-room of the bank.  You drew the
Colonel's Will leaving his jewel to his niece; and the Will
was proved in the usual way. As a lawyer, you can be at
no loss to know what course the Indians would take (under
English advice) after that."
"They would provide themselves with a copy of the Will
from Doctors' Commons," I said.
"Exactly. One or other of those shady Englishmen to




THE MOONSTONE.                  305
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 agree with me
that the necessary information about persons in the position
of Lady Verinder and Mr. Blake would be perfectly easy
information to obtain.  The one difficultv 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, disguised as jugglers, and waiting their time. In London, it is needless to say, they had
their organization at their disposal to keep them informed
of events. Two men would do it. One to follow any body
who went from Mr. Blake's house to the bank. And one to
treat the lower men-servants with beer, and to hear the news
of the house. These commonplace precautions would readily inform  them  that Mr. Franklin Blake had been to the
bank, and that Mr. Franklin Blake was tie only person in
the house who was going to visit Lady Verinder. What
actually followed upon that discovery, you remember, no
doubt, quite as correctly as I do."
I remembered that Franklin Blake had detected one of the
spies in the street-that he had, in consequence, advanced
the time of his arrival in Yorkshire by some hours-and that
(thanks to old Betteredge's excellent advice) he had lodged
the Diamond in the bank at Frizinghall before the Indians
were so much as prepared to see him in the neighborhood.
All perfectly clear so far. But, the Indians being ignorant
of the precaution thus taken, how was it that they had made
no attempt on Lady Verinder's house (in which they must
have supposed the Diamond to be) through the whole of the
interval that elapsed before Rachel's birthday?
In putting this difficulty to Mr. Murthwaite, I thought it
right to add that I had heard of the little boy, and the drop
of ink, and the rest of it, and that any explanation based on
the theory of clairvoyance was an explanation which would
carry no conviction whatever with it, to my mind.
"Nor to mine either," said Mr. Murth waite. "The clairvoyance in this case is simply a development of the romantic
side of the Indian character. It would be a refreshment and
an encouragement to those men-quite inconceivable, I grant




306                 SHE MOONSTONE.
you, to the English mind-to p 4rround their wearisome and
perilous errand in this country with a certain halo of the
marvelous and the supernatural. Their boy is unquestionably a sensitive subject to the mesmeric influence-and, under that influence, he has no doubt reflected what was already in the mind of the person mesmerizing him. I have
tested the theory of clairvoyance, and I have never found
the manifestations get beyond that point. The Indians don't
investigate the matter in this way; the Indians look upon
their boy as a Seer of things invisible to their eyes-and, I
repeat, in that marvel they find the source of a new interest
in the purpose that unites them. I only notice this as offering a curious view of human character, which must be quite
new to you. We have nothing whatever to do with clairvoyance, or with mesmerism, or with any thing else that is
hard of belief to a practical man, in the inquiry that we are
now pursuing.  My object in following the Indian plot, step
by step, is to trace results back, by rational means, to natural causes. Have I succeeded to your satisfaction, so far?"
" Not a doubt of it, Mr. Murthwaite! I am waiting, however, with some anxiety to hear the rational explanation of
the difficulty which I have just had the honor of submitting
to you."
Mr. Murthwaite smiled.  "It's the easiest difficulty to
deal with of all," he said. "Permit me to begin by admitting your statement of the case as a perfectly correct one.
The Indians were undoubtedly not aware of what Mr. Franklin Blake had done with the Diamond-for we find them
making their first mistake, on the first night of Mr. Blake's
arrival at his aunt's house."
" Their first mistake?" I repeated.
"Certainly! The mistake of allowing themselves to be
surprised, lurking about the terrace at night, by Gabriel Betteredge. However, they had the merit of seeing for themselves that they had taken a false step-for, as you say, again,
with plenty of time at their disposal, they never came near
the house for weeks afterward."
"Why, Mr. Murthwaite?  That's what I want to know.
Why?"
"Because no Indian, Mr. Bruff, ever runs an unnecessary
risk. The clause you drew in Colonel Herncastle's Will, informed them  (didn't it?) that the Moonstone was to pass
absolutely into Miss Verinder's possession on her birthday.
Very well. Tell me which was the safest course for men in
their position?  To make their attempt on the Diamond
while it was under the control of Mr. Franklin Blake, who




THE MOONSTONE.                  307
had shown already that he could suspect and outwit them?
C1l to wait till the Diamond was at the disposal of a young
girl, who would innocently delight in wearing the magnificent jewel at every possible opportunity? Perhaps you
want a proof that my theory is correct? Take the conduct
of the Indians themselves as the proof. They appeared at
the house, after waiting all those weeks, on Miss Verinder's
birthday; and they were rewarded for the patient accuracy
of their calculations by seeing the Moonstone in the bosom
of her dress! When I heard the story of the Colonel and
the Diamond, later in the evening, I felt so sure about the
risk Mr. Franklin 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 recommended following the Colonel's plan,
and destroying the identity of the gem by having it cut into
separate stones. How its extraordinary disappearance, that
night, made my advice useless, and utterly defeated the Hindoo plot-and how all further action on the part of the Indians was paralyzed 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 thesecond, may I ask whether I have met your difficulty, with an explanation which is satisfactory to the mind
of a practical man?"
It was impossible to deny that he had met my difficulty
fairly; thanks to his superior knowledge of the Indian character-and thanks to his not having hundreds of other Wills
to think of since Colonel Herncastle's time!
"So far, so good," resumed Mr. Murthwaite. "The first
chance the Indians had of seizing the Diamond was a chance
lost, on the day when they were committed to the prison at
Frizinghall. When did the second chance offer itself?  The
second chance offered itself-as I am in a condition to prove
-while they were still in confinement."
He took out his pocket-book, and opened it at a particular
leaf, before he went on.
" I was staying," he resumed, " with some friends at Frizinghall at the time. A day or two before the Indians were
set fiee (on a Monday, I think), the governor of the prison
came to me with a letter. It had been left for the Indians
by one Mrs. Macann, of whom they had hired the lodging in
which they lived; and it had been delivered at Mrs. Macann's door, in ordinary course of post, on the previous morning. The prison authorities had noticed that the post-mark




308                 THE MOONSTONE.
was'Lambeth,' and that the address 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 Hindoostan.
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 come to me
in the street of many noises, which leads down to the muddy
river.
"The reason is this.
"My own eyes have seen it."
There the letter ended, without either date or signature.
I handed it back to Mr. Murthwaite, and owned that this
curious specimen of Hindoo correspondence rather puzzled
me.
"I can explain the first sentence to you," he said; "and
the conduct of the Indians themselves will explain the rest.
The god of the moon is represented, in the Hindoo mythology, as a four-armed deity, seated on an antelope; and one
of his titles is the regent of the night. Here, then, to begin
with, is something which looks suspiciously like an indirect
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 proceedings were
not privately watched. But, after Lady Verinder had dismissed the police officer, and had stopped all further inquiry
into the loss of the Diamond, no one else could presume to
stir in the matter. The Indians were free to go to London,
and to London they went. What was the next news we
heard of them, Mr. Bruff?"




THE MOONSTONE.                  309
"They were annoying Mr. Luker," I answered, "by loitering about his house at Lambeth."
"Did you read the report of Mr. Luker's application to
the magistrate?"
"Yes."
"In the course of his statement he referred, if you remember, to a foreign workman in his employment, whom he had
just dismissed on suspicion of attempted theft, and whom
he also distrusted as possibl aacting in collision 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 to which 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. Murthwaite to lead me blindfold through the last windings of the labyrinth, along which he had guided me thus far.
I paid him the compliment of telling him this, and found my
little con ession very graciously received.
"You shall give me a piece of information in your turn
before we go on," he said. " Somebody must have taken
the Moonstone from Yorkshire to London. And somebody
must have raised money on it, or it would never have been
in Mr. Luker's possession. Has there been any discovery
made of who that person was?"
"None that I know of."
"There was a story (was there not?) about Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite. I am told he is an eminent philanthropistwhich is decidedly against him, to begin with."
I heartily agreed in this with Mr. Murthwaite. At the
same time I felt bound to inform him (without, it is needless
to say, mentioning Miss Verinder's name) that Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite had been cleared of all suspicion, on evidence
which I could answer for as entirely beyond dispute.
"Very well," said Mr. Murthwaite, quietly, "let us leave
it to time to clear the matter up. In the mean while, Mr.
Bruff, we must get back again to the Indians, on your account. Their journey to London simply ended in their becoming the victims of another defeat. The loss of their second chance of seizing the Diamond is mainly attributable, as




310                 THE MOONSTONE.
I think, to the cunning and foresight ofMr. 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 conspirators
by surprise before they were prepared with a new plan for
robbing him. How the Indians, in this latter case, suspected what he had done, and how they contiived 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 gem') in a
banker's strong-room. Now, Mr. Bruff, what is their third
chance of seizing the Diamond? and when will it come?"
As the question passed his lips,I penetrated the motive of
the Indian's visit to my office at last!
" I see it!" I exclaimed. "The Indians take it for granted as we do, that the Moonstone has been pledged: and they
want to be certainly informed of the earliest period at which
the pledge can be redeemed-because that will be the earliest period at which the Diamond can be removed from the
safe-keeping of the bank!"
"I told you you would find it out for yourself, Mr. Bruff,
if I only gave you a fair chance. In a year from the time
when the Moonstone was pledged, the Indians will be on the
watch for their third chance.  Mr. Luker's own lips have
told them how long they will have to wait, and your respectable authority has satisfied them that Mr. Luker has
spoken the truth. When do we suppose, at a rough guess,
that the Diamond found its way into the money-lender's
hands?"
"Toward the end of last June," I answered, " as well as I
can reckon it."
"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 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 MOONSTONE.                  311
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
around the room; and we joined the ladies of the dinnerparty up stairs.
I made a note of the date, and it may not be amiss if I
close my narrative by repeating that note here:
June,'forty-nine. Expect news of the Indians, toward the
end of the month.
And that done, I hand the pen, which I have now no further claim to use, to the writer who follows me next.
1jbirb Xarratie.
Contributed by Franklin Blake.
CHAPTER I.
IN the spring of the year eighteen hundred and forty-nine I
was wandering in the East, and had then recently altered the
traveling plans which I had laid out some months before,
and which I had communicated to my lawyer and my banker in London.
This change made it necessary for me to send one of my
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 traveling scheme.
The man was to join me again at an appointed place and
time. An accident, for which he was not responsible, delayed him  on his errand.  For a week I and my people
waited, encamped on the borders of a desert. At the end
of that time the missing man made his appearance, with the
money and the letters, at the entrance of my tent.
"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 unendurable as
suspense. The letter with the mourning border was the letter that I opened first.
It informed me that my father was dead, and that I was




312                 THE MOONSTONE.
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 day-break the next morning I was on my way back to
my own country.
The picture presented of me by my old friend Betteredge,
at the time of my departure from England, is (as I think) a
little overdrawn.  He has, in his own quaint way, interpreted seriously one of his young mistress's many satirical
references to my foreign education; and has persuaded himself that he actually saw those French, German, and Italian
sides to my character, which my lively cousin only professed
to discover in jest, and which never had any real existence,
except in our good Betteredge's own brain.  But, barring
the drawback, I am bound to own that he has stated no
more than the truth in representing me as wounded to the
heart by Rachel's treatment, and as leaving England in the
first keenness of suffering caused by the bitterest disappointment of my life.
I went abroad, resolved-if change and absence could help
me-to forget her. It is, I am persuaded, no true view of
human nature which denies that change and absence do help
a man under these circumstances: they force his attention
away from the exclusive contemplation of his own sorrow.
I never forgot her; but the pang of remembrance lost its
worst bitterness, little by little, as time, distance, and novelty interposed themselves more and more effectually betweed Rachel and me.
On the other hand, it is no less certain that, with the act
of turning homeward, the remedy which had gained its
ground so steadily, began now, just as steadily, to drop
back. The nearer I drew to the country which she inhabited, and to the prospect of seeing her again, the more irresistibly her influence began to recover its hold on me. On
leaving 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 first person I inquired after when
Mr. Bruff and I met again.
I was informed, of course, of all that had happened in my
absence: in other words, of all that has been related here in
continuation of Betteredge's narrative-one circumstance
only being excepted. Mr. Bruff did not, at that time, feel
himself at liberty to inform me of the motives which had
privately influenced Rachel and Godfrey Ablewhite, in recalling the marriage promise, on either side. I troubled h m




THE MOONSTONE.                    318
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
Godifey's wife, to know that reflection had convicted her of
acting rashly, and that she had effected her own release from
her marriage engagement.
Having heard the story of the past, my next inquiries
(still inquiries after Rachel!) advanced naturally to the 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 Verillder —one Mrs.Merridew-whom  her
mother's executors had requested to act as guardian, and
who had accepted the proposal. They were reported to me
as getting on together admirably well, and as being now 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 cJine 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.  Rachel declined to see me.
On my side I declined to be treated in this way without
making an attempt, at least, to discover a reason for it.  I
sent up my name to Mrs. Merridew, and requested her to
favor me with a personal interview  at any hour which it
might be most convenient to her to name.
Mrs. Merridew made no difficulty about receiving me at
once. I was shown into a comfortable little sitting-room,
and found myself in the presence of a comfortable little
elderly lady. She was so good as to feel great regret and
much surp)ise,. entirely on my account.  She was at the
same time, however, not in a position to offer me any expla'




314                 THE MOONSTONE.
nation, or to press Rachel on a matter which appeared to
relate to a question of piivate feeling alone. This was said
over and over again, with a polite patience that nothing
could tire; and this was all I gained by applying to Mrs.
Merridew.
My last chance was to write to Rachel. My servant took
a letter to her the next day, with strict instructions to wait
for an answer.
The answer came back, literally in one sentence.
"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 cane 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. Merridew herself. I asked him if any slander had
been spoken of me in Rachel's hearing. Mr. Bruff was not
aware of any slander of which I was the object. Had she
referred to me in any way while she was staying under Mr.
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 fiom Frizinghall, on the day
when I left her house in Yorkshire. And I pointed Mr.
Bruff's attention to these two sentences in it:
"The valuable assistance which you rendered to the inquiry after the lost jewel is still an unpardoned offense, in
the 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."
"Is it possible," I asked, "that the feeling toward me
which is there described is still as bitter as ever against me
now?"
Mr. Bruff looked unaffectedlv distressed.
"If you insist on an answer," he said, "I own I can place
no other interpretation on her conduct than that."
I rang the bell, and directed my servant to pack my 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?"
"Mr. Bruff, the assistance I innocently rendered to the in



THE MOONSTONE.                 315
quiry after the Diamond was an unpardoned offense in Rachel's mind, nearly a year since; and it remains an unpardoned offense still. I won't accept that position! I am determined to find out the secret of her silence toward her
mother, and her enmity toward me. If time, pains, and
money can do it, I will lay my hand on the thief who took
the Moonstone!"
The worthy old gentleman attempted to remonstrate-to
induce me to listen to reason-to do his duty toward me, in
short. I was deaf to every thing that he could urge. No
earthly consideration would, at that moment, have shaken
the resolution that was in me.
" I shall take up the inquiry again," I went on, "at the
point where I dropped it; and I shall follow it onward, step
by step, till I come to the present time. There are missing
links in the evidence, as I left it, which Gabriel Betteredge
can supply. And to Gabriel Betteredge I go!"
Toward sunset, that evening, I stood again on the wellremembered terrace, and looked once more at the peaceful
old country house. The gardener was the first person whom
I saw in the deserted grounds. He had left Betteredge, an
hour since, sunning himself in the customary corner of the
back yard. I knew it well; and I said I would go and seek
him myself.
I walked round by the familiar paths and passages, and
looked in at the open gate of the yard.
There he was-the dear old friend of the happy days that
were never to come again-there he was in the old corner,
on the old bee-hive chair, with his pipe in his mouth, and his
Robinson Crusoe on his lap, and his two friends, the dogs, dozing on either side of him! In the position in which I stood,
my shadow was projected in front of me by the last slanting
rays of the sun. Either the dogs saw it, or their keen scent
informed them of my approach. They started up with a
growl. Starting in his turn, the old man quieted them by a
word, and then shaded his failing eyes with his hand, and
looked inquiringly at the figure at the gate.
My own eyes were full of tears. I was obliged to wait
for a moment before I could trust myself to speak to him.




316                  THE MOONSTONE.
CHAPTER 1I.
"BETiEREDGE!" 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?"
"Bv the lord T-arry, Mr. Franklin!" cried the old man,
"that's exactly what Robinson Crusoe has done!"
He strnggled to his feet with my assistance and stood for
a moment, looking backward and forward between Robinson
Crusoe and me, apparently at a loss, to discover which of us
had surprised him most.  The verdict ended in favor of the
book.  Holding it open befbre him in both hands, he surveyed the wonderful volume with a stare of unutterable anticipation-as if he expected to see Robinson Crusoe himself
walk out of the pages and fhvor us with a personal interview.
"Here's the bit, Mr. Franklin!" he said, as soon as he had
recovered the use of his speech. "As I live by bread, sir,
here's the bit I was reading the moment before you came in!
Page one hundred and fifty-six as follows:'I stood like one
Thunderstruck, or as if I had seen an Apparition.' If that
isn't as much as to say:'Expect the sudden appearance of
Mr. Franklin Blake'-there's no meaning in the English language!" said Bettered(e, 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 rme 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.  "I'll ask what
brings you here afterward-I must make you comfortable
first.  There have been sad changes since you went away.
The house is shut up, and the servants are gone.  Never
mind that! 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, Mi. Franklin, that bottle shall go.  I 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




THE MOONSTONE.                     317
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 attachment to Rachel and his
attachment to me, he was sorely puzzled and distressed at
the turn that things had taken.  His opinion, when he expressed it, was given in his usual downright manner, and
was agreeably redolent of the most positive philosophy I
know-the philosophy of the Betteredge school.
"Miss Rachel has her faults-I've 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?"
I had heard him talk of the late Mrs. Betteredge pretty
often-invariably producing her as his one undeniable example of the inbred fiailty and perversity of the other sex.
In that capacity he exhibited her now.
"Very well, Mr. Franklin.  Now listen to me.  Different
women have different ways of riding the high horse.  The
late Mrs. Betteredge took her exercise on that favorite female animal whenever I happened to deny her any thing
that she had set her heart on.  So sure as I came home from
my work on these occasions, so sure was my wife to call to
me up the kitchen stairs, and to say that, after my brutal
treatment of her, she hadn't the heart to cook me my dinner.
I put up with it for some time-just as you are putting up
with it now fiom Miss Rachel.  At last my patience wore
out. I went down stairs, and I took Mrs. Betteredge-affectionately, you understand — up in my arms, and carried
her, holus-bolus, into the best parlor, where she received her
company. I said,'That's the right place tbr you, my dear,'
and so went back to the kitchen. I locked myself in, and
took off my coat, and turned up my shirt-sleeves, and cooked
my own dinner.  When it was done I served it up in my
best manner, and enjoyed it most heartily.  I had my pipe
and my drop of grog afterward; and then I cleared the table, and washed the crockery, r,:l cleaned the knives and
forks, and put the things away, and swept up the hearth.




318                  THE MOONSTONE.
When things were as bright and clean again, as bright and
clean could be, I opened the door and let Mrs. Betteredge in.'I've had my dinner, my dear,' I said;'anld I hope you will
find ILhave left the kitchen all that your boudest wishes can
desire.' For the rest of that woman's lite, Mr. Franklin, I
never had to cook my dinner again!  IMoral: You have put
up with Miss Rachel in London; don't put up with her in
Yorkshire.  Come back to the house."
Quite unanswerable! I could only assure my good friend
that even his powers of persuasion were, in this case, thrown
away on me.
"It's a lovely evening," I said. "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 am heartily sorry for this," he said.  "I had hoped,
Mr. Franklin, to hear that things were all s!mooth and pleasant again between you and Miss Rachel.  i' you must have
your own way, sir," he continued, after a moment's reflection, "there is no need to go to Frizinghali to-night for a
bed. It's to be had nearer than that. There's HIotherstonle's
Farm, barely two miles from here.  You can l:irdly object
to that on Miss Rachel's account," the old man added, slyly.
"Hotherstone lives, Mr. Franklin, on his own freehold."
I remembered tie place the imoment Betteredge mentioned it. The farm-house stood in a sheltered inland valley, on
the banks of the prettiest stream in that part of Yorkshire;
and the farmer had a spare bedroom  and parlor, which he
was accustomed to let to artists, anglers, and tourists in general. A more agreeable place of abode, during my stay in
the neighborhood, I could not have wished to find.
" Are the rooms to let?" I inquired.
"MIrs. Hotherstone herself, sir, asked for my good word
to recommend the rooms yesterday."
"I'll take them, Betteredge, with the greatest pleasure."
We went back to the yard, in which I had left my traveling-bag.  After putting a stick through the handle and
swinging the bag over his shoulder, Betteredge appeared to
relapse into the bewilderment which my sudden appearance
had caused when I surprised him in the bee-hive chair. He
looked incredulously at the house, and then he wheeled
about, and looked more incredulously still at me.
"I've lived a goodish long time in the world," said this
best and dearest of all old servants-" but the like of this I
never did expect to see. There stands the house, and here




THE MOONSTONE.                   319
stands Mr. Franklin Blake —and, Damme, if one of them
isn't tullilng his back on the other, and going to sleep in a
lodging!"
He led the way out, wagging his head and growlilng ominously. "There's only one more miracle that can happen,"
he said to me, over his shoulder. "The next thing you'll
do, Mr. Franklin, will be to pay me back that seven-andsixpence you borrowed of me when you were a boy."
This stroke of sarcasm put him in a better humor with
himself and with me. We left the house and passed through
the lodge-gates. Once clear of the grounds, the duties of
hospitality (in Betteredge's code of morals) ceased, apd the
privileges of curiosity began.
He dropped back, so as to let me get on a level with him.
"Fine evening for a walk, Mr. Franklin," he said, as if we
had just accidentally encountered each other at that moment. "Supposing you had gone to the hotel at Frizinghall, sir?"
"Yes?"
"I should have had the honor of breakfasting with you
to-morrow morning."
" Come and breakfast with me at Hotherstone's Farm, 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 burning
to know what brought you down here, if you please, in this
sudden way."
" What brought me here before?" I asked.
"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
gray twilight as if he suspected his own ears of deceiving
him.
" If that's a joke, sir," he said, " I'm afraid I'm getting a
little dull in my old age. I don't take it."
" It's no joke," I answered. " I have come here to take
up the inquiry which was dropped when I left England. I
have come here to do what nobody has done yet-to find
out who took the Diamond."
"Let the Diamond be, Mr. Franklin! Take my advice,
and let the Diamond be!  That cursed Indian jewel has
misguided every body who has come near it. Don't waste




320                 THE MOONSTONE.
your money and your temper —in the fine spring-time of
your life, sir-by meddling with the Moonstone. How can
you hope to succeed (saving your presence), when Sergeant
Cuff himself made a mess of it? Sergeant Cuff!" repeated
Betteredge, shaking his forefinger at me sternly.  "The
greatest policeman in England!2'
"My mind is made up, my old friend.  Even Sergeant
Cuff doesn't daunt me.-By-the-bye, I may want to speak
to him, sooner or later. Have you heard any thing of him
lately?"
" The Sergeant won't help you, Mr. Franklin."
"Why not?"
"There has been an event, sir, in the police circles since
you went away. The great Cuff has retired fiom 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."
It is likely enough that I spoke rather carelessly. At any
rate, Betteredge seemed to be piqued by something in the
reply which I had just made to him. "You might trust to
worse than me, Mr. Franklin-I can tell you that," he said,
a little sharply.
The tone in which he retorted, and a certain disturbance,
after he had spoken, which I detected in his manner, suggested to me that he was possessed 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?" asked Betteredge, with an appearance of the utmost humility.
"I expect more-from what 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.
"Betteredge, would you be glad to hear that Rachel and
I were good friends again?"
"I have served your family, sir, to mighty little purpose,
if you doubt it!"




THE 1MO ( ON STONE.              321
"Do you remember how Rachel treated me before I left
England?"
"As well as if it was yesterday! M[y lady herself wrote
you a letter about it; and you were so good as to show the
letter to me. It said that Miss Rachel was mortally offended with you for the part you had taken in trying to recover
her jewel. And neither my lady, nor you, nor any body else
could guess why."
"Quite true, Betteredge! And I come back from my
travels, and find her mortaily offended with me still. I
knew that the Diamond was at the bottom of it last year;
and I know that the Diamond is at the bottom of it now. I
have tried to speak to her, and she won't see me. I have
tried to write to her, and she won't answer me. How, in
Heaven's name, am I to clear the matter up? The chance
of searching into the loss of the Moonstone, is the one chance
of inquiry that Rachel herself has left me!"
Those words evidently put the case before him as he had
not seen it yet. He asked a question which satisfied me
that I had shaken him.
"There is no ill-feeling in this, Mr. Franklin, on your side
-is there?"
"There was some anger," I answered, " when I left London. But that is all'worn out now. I want to make Rachel come to an understanding with me-and 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 mistress which
prompted those words.
"I am as certain of her as you are," I answered.  "The
fullest disclosure of her secret will reveal nothing that can
alter her place in your estimation or in mine."
Betteredge's last-left scruples vanished at that.
"If I am doing wrong to help you, Mr. Franklin," he 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 yourself. You remember that poor
girl of ours-Rosanna Spearman?"
"Of course?"
"You always thought she had some sort of confessionin
regard to this matter of the Moonstone, which she wanted
to make to you?"
"I certainly couldn't account for her strange conduct in
any other way."
21




322                 THE MOONSTONE.
" You may set that doubt at rest, Mr. Franklin, whenever
you please."
It was my turn to come to a stand-still now. I tried
vainly, in the gathering darkness, to see his face. In the
surprise of the moment, I asked a little impatiently what he
meant.
"Steady, sir!" proceeded Betteredge.  "I mean what I
say. Rosanna Spearman left a sealed letter behind her-a
letter addressed to 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?"
"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."
" Nonsense! We might get there in half an hour."
"You might, sir. And when you did get there you
would find the door locked."  He pointed to a light glimmering 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! Make yourself comfortable for to-night, and come to me to-morrow morning-if
you'll be so kind."
" You will go with me to the fisherman's cottage?"
"Yes, sir."
" Early?"
"As early, Mr. Franklin, as you like."
We descended the path that led to the Farm.
CHAPTER III.
I HAVE only the most indistinct recollection of what happened at Hotberstone's Farm.
I remember a hearty welcome; a prodigious supper.
which would have fed a whole village in the East; a delightfhlly clean bedroom, with nothing in it to regret but
that detestable product of the folly of our forefathers-a




"4MR. BUTTEREDGE," SHE SAID, WITHOUT TAKING HER EYES OFF ME,
6"MENTION HIS NAME AGAIN, IF YOU PLEASE."








THE MOONSTONE.                   325
feather-bed; a restless night, with much kindling of matches and many lightings of one little candle; and an immense
sensation of relief x hen the sun rose and there was a prospect of getting up.
It had been arranged overnight with Betteredge that I
was to call for him, on our way to Cobb's Hole, as early as
I liked-which, interpreted by my impatience to get possession of the letter, meant as early as I could. Without waiting for breakfast at the Farm, I took a crust of bread in my
hand and set forth, in some doubt whether I should not surprise the excellent Betteredge in his bed. To my great relief he proved to be quite as excited about the coming event
as I 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 Ifirst caught
it in the company of Sergeant Cuff."
"Ay! ay! and the cure in this instance is to open Rosanna
Spearman's letter, I suppose? Come along, and let's get it!"
Early as it was, we found the fisherman's wife astir in her
kitchen.  On my presentation by Betteredge good Mrs. Yolland performed a social ceremony, strictly reserved (as I afterward learned) for strangers of distinction.  She put a
bottle of Dutch gin and a couple of clean pipes on the table,
and opened the conversation by saying: " What news from
London, sir?"
Before I could find an answer to this immensely compre.
hensive question an apparition advanced toward me out of a
dark corner of the kitchen. A wan, wild, haggard girl, with
remarkably beautiful hair, and with a fierce keenness in het
eyes, came limping up on a crutch to the table at which 1
was sitting, and looked at me as if I were an object of min.
gled interest and horror, which it quite fascinated her to see.
"Mr. Betteredge," she said, without taking her eyes off
me, "mention his name again, if you please."
"This gentleman's name," answered Betteredge (with a
strong emphasis on gentleman), "is Mr. Franklin Blake."




326                 THE MOONSTONE.
The girl turned her back on me and suddenly left the room.
Good Mrs. Yolland, as I believe, made some apologies for her
daughter's odd behavior, and Betteredge (probably) translated them into polite English. I speak of this in complete
uncertainty. My attention was absorbed in following the
sound of the girl's crutch. Thump-thump up the wooden
stairs; thump-thump across the room  above our heads;
thump-thump down the stairs again-and there stood the
apparition at the open door, with a letter in its hand, beckoning me out!
I left more apologies in course of delivery behind me, and
followed this strange creature-limping on before me faster
and faster-down the slope of the beach. She led me behind some boats, out of sight and hearing of the few people
in the fishing-village, and then stopped and faced me for the
first time.
" Stand there," she said. "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 woman
had ever looked at me in this manner before. I will only
venture on the more modest assertion that no woman had
ever let me perceive it yet. There is a limit to the length
of the inspection which a man can endure, under certain 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 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!"
she said, in the first soft tones which had fallen from her in
my hearing.  " Oh my lost darling! what could you see in
this man?" She lifted her head again fiercely, and looked
at me once more. "Can you eat and drink?" she asked.
I did my best to preserve my gravity, and answered,
"Yes."
" Can rou sleep?"
"Yes.'
" When you see a poor girl in service, do you: feel no remorse?"
" Certainly not. Why should I?"




THE MOONSTONE.                  327
She abruptly thrust the letter (as the phrase is) into my
face.
"Take it!" she exclaimed, furiously. "I never set eyes
on you befbre. God Almighty forbid I should ever set eyes
on you again."
With those parting words she limped away from me at
the top of her speed. The one interpretation that I could
put on her conduct has, no doubt, been anticipated by every
body. I could only suppose that she was mad.
Having reached that inevitable conclusion, I turned to the
more interesting object of investigation which was presented to me by Rosanna Spearman's letter. The address was
written as follows: "For Franklin Blake, Esq. To be given
into his own hands (and not to be trusted to any one else),
by Lucy Yolland."
I broke the seal. The envelope contained a letter, and this,
in its turn, contained a slip of paper. I read the letter first:
"SIR,-If you are curious to know the meaning of my behavior to you, while you were staying in the house of my
mistress, Lady Verinder, do what you are told to do in the
memorandum inclosed with this —and do it without any
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:
"Memorandum:-To go to the Shivering Sand at the turn
of the tide. To walk out on the South Spit, until I get the
South Spit Beacon, and the flag-staff at the Coast-guard station above Cobb's Hole in a line together. To lay down on
the rocks, a stick, or any straight thing to guide my hand,
exactly in the line of the beacon and the flag-staff. To take
care, in doing this, that one end of the stick shall be at the
edge of the rocks, on the side of them which overlooks the
quicksand. To feel along the stick, among the sea-weed (beginning from the end of the stick which points toward the
beacon), for the Chain. To run my hand along the Chain,
when found, until I come to the part of it which stretches
over the edge of the rocks, down into the quicksand. And
then, to pull the chain."
Just as I had read the last words- underlined in the
original-I heard the voice of Betteredge behind me. The
inventor of the detective-fever had completely succumbed to




32s                 THE MOONSTONE.
that irresistible malady. "I can't stand it any longer, Mr.
Franklin. What does her letter say?  For mercy's sake,
sir, tell us what does her letter say?"
I handed him the letter and the memorandum. He read
the first without appearing to be much interested in it. But
the second-the memorandum-produced a strong impression on him.
"The Sergeant said it!" cried Betteredge. "From first
to last, sir, the Sergeant said she had got a memorandum of
the hiding-place. And here it is! Lord save us, Mr. Franklin, here is the secret that puzzled every body, fiom the
great Cuff downward, ready and waiting, as one may say,
to show itself to you! It's the ebb now, sir, as any body
may see for themselves. How long will it be till the turn
of the tide?" He looked up, and observed a lad at work ct
some little distance from  us, mending a net. "Tammie
Bright!" he shouted, at the top of his voice.
"I hear you!" Tammie shouted back.
" When's the turn of the tide?"
"In an hour's time."
We both looked at our watches.
"We can go round by the coast, Mr. Franklin," said 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 Sergeant Cuff's inquiry. With my old
friend's help I soon had the succession of circumstances clearly registered again in my mind. Rosanna's journey to Frizinghall, when the whole household believed her to be ill in
her own room-Rosanna's mysterious employment of the
night-time, with her door locked and her candle burning till
the morning-Rosanna's suspicious purchase of the japanned
tin case and the two dogs' chains fiom Mrs. Yolland-the
Sergeant'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 stond in the right position
to see the Beacon and the Coast-guai  flag-staff in a line together. Following the memorandum as our guide, we next
laid my stick in the necessary direction, as neatly as we




THE MOONSTONE.                    329
could, on the uneven surface of the rocks. And then we
looked at our watches once more.
It wanted nearly twenty minutes yet of the turn of the
tide.  I suggested waiting through this interval on the
beach, instead of on the wet and slippery surface of the
rocks.  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, sil, and you will see."
A glance at the letter reminded me that I was charged,
when I made my discovery, to make it alone.
"It's hard enough for me to leave you at such a time as
this," said Betteredge.  "But she died a dreadful death,
poor soul! and I feel a kind of call on me, Mr. Franklin, to
humor that fancy of hers.  Besides," he added, confidentially,
"there's nothing in the letter against your letting out the
secret afterward.  I'll hangr about in the fir plantation, and
wait till you pick mie up.  Don't be longer than you can
help, sir. The detective-fever isn't an easy disease to deal
with, under these circumstances."
With that parting caution he left me.
The interval of expectation, short as it was when reckoned by the measure of time, assumed formidable proportions
when reckoned by the measure of suspense.  This was one
of the occasions on which the invaluable habit of smoking
becomes especially precious and consolatory. I lit a cigar,
and sat down on the slope of the beach.
The sunlight poured its unclouded beauty on every object
that I could see. The exquisite freshness of the air made
the mere act of living and breathing a luxury.  Even the
lonely little bay welcomed the morning with a show of cheerfulless; 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 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 prieliminary 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




330                 THE MOONSTONE.
stick, without encountering any thing but the edges of the
rocks.  An inch or two farther on, however, my patience
was rewarded. In a narrow little fissure, just within reach
of my forefinger, I felt the chain. Attempting, next, to follow it by touch in the direction of the quicksand, I found
my progress stopped by a thick growth of sea-weed-which
had fastened itself into the fissure, no doubt, in the time that
had elapsed since Rosanna Spearman had chosen her hidingplace.
It was equally impossible to pull up the sea-weed or to
force my hand through it. After marking the spot indicated
by the end of the stick which was placed nearest to the
quicksand, I determined to pursle the search for tie chain
on a plan of my own. My idea was to "sould " irmediately under the rocks, on the chance of recovering the lost trace
of the chain at the point at which it entered the sand. I
took up the stick and knelt down on the brink of the South
Spit.
In this position my face was within a few feet of the 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 afterward, before the stick could have been
submerged more than a few inches, I was fiee fiom 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 sea-weed with my
left hand, I laid myself down over the brink, and felt with
my right hand under the overhanging edges of the rock.
My right hand found the chain.
I drew it up without the slightest difficulty. And there
was the japanned tin case fastened to the end of it.
The action of the water had so rusted the. chain that it
was impossible for me to unfasten it from the hasp which
attached it to the case. Putting the case between my knees,
and exerting my utmost strength, I contrived to draw off the
cover.  Some white substance filled the whole interior when
I looked in. I put in my hand and found it to be linen.




THE MOONSTONE.                     331
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 removed the linen. It came out in a thick roll, molded,
of course, to the shape of the case in which it had been so long
confined, and perfectly preserved from any injury by the sea.
I carried the linen to the dry sand of the beach, and there
unrolled and smoothed it out.  There was no mistaking it
as an article of dress. It was a night-gown.
The uppermost side, when I spread it out, presented to
view innumerable folds and creases, and nothing more.  I
tried the undermost side next, and instantly discovered the
smear of the paint from the door of I-achel's boudoir!
My eyes remained riveted on the stain, and my mind took
me back at a leap fiom 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 fromn the smear on the door:
"Find out whether there is any article of dress in this
house with the stain of the paint on it. Find out who that
dress belongs to.  Find out how the person can account for
having been in the room, and smeared the paint, between
midnight and three in the morning.  If the person can't satisfy you, you haven't far to look fob the hand that took the
Diamond."
One after another those words traveled over my memory,
repeating themselves again and again with a wearisome, mechanical reiteration.  I was roused fiom  what felt like a
trance of many hours-fiom  what was really, no doubt, the
pause of a few moments only —by a voice calling to me. I
looked up, and saw that Betteredge's' patience had failed
him at last.  He was just visible between the sand-hills, returning to the beach.
The old man's appearance recalled me, the moment I perceived it, to my sense of present things, and reminded me
that the inquiry which I had pursued thus far still remained
incomplete. I had discovered the smear on the night-gown.
To whom did the night-gown belong?
My first impulse was to consult the letter in my pocketthe letter which I had found in the case.
As I raised my hand to take it out I remembered that
there was a shorter way to discovery than this.  The nirhtgown itself would reveal the truth; for, in all probability,
the night-gown was marked with its owner's name.
I took it up fiom the sand and looked for the mark. I
found the mark, and read



332                 THE MOONSTONE.
MY OWN NAME!
There were the familiar letters which told me that the
night-gown was mine. I looked up fiom them. There was
the sun; there were the glittering waters of the bay; there
was old Betteredge, advancing nearer and nearer to me. I
looked back again at the letters. My own name. Plainly
confionting menmy own name.
"If time, pains, and money can do it, I will lay my hand
on the thief who took the Moonstone "-I had left London
with those words on my lips. I had penetrated the secret
which the quicksand had kept from every other living creature. And, on the unanswerable evidence of the paint-stain,
I had discovered Myself as the Thief.
CHAPTER IV.
I HAVE not a word to say about my own sensations.
My impression is, that the shock inflicted on me completely suspended my thinking and feeling power. I certainly could not have known what I was about when Betteredge joined me -for I have it on his authority that I
laughed, when he asked what was the matter, and, putting
the night-gown into his hands, told him to read the riddle
for himself.
Of what was said between us on the beach I have not the
faintest recollection. The first place in which I can now see
myself again plainly is the plantation of firs. Betteredge
and I are walking back together to the house; and Betteredge is telling me that I shall be able to face it, and he will
be able to face it, when we have had a glass of grog.
The scene shifts from the plantation to Betteredge's little
sitting-room. My resolution not to enter Rachel's house is
forgotten. I feel gratefully the coolness and shadiness and
quiet of the room. I drink the grog (a perfectly new luxury
to me, at that time of day), which my good old friend mixes
with icy-cool water from the well.  Under any other circumstances the drink would simply stupefy me. As things
are, it strings up my nerves. I begin to " face it," as Betteredge has predicted. And Betteredge, on his side, begins to
"face it" too.
The picture which I am now presenting of myself will, I
suspect, be thought a very strange one, to say the least of it.
Placed in a situation which may, I think, be described as en



THE MOONSTONE.                   333
tirely without parallel, what is the first proceeding to which
I resort?  Do I seclude myself from  all human society?
Do I set my miild to analyze the abominable impossibility
which, nevertheless, confronts me as an undeniable fact? Do
I hurry back to London by the first train to consult the
highest authorities, and to set a searching inquiry on foot
immediately?  No. I accept the shelter of a house which
I had resolved never to degrade myself by entering again;
and I sit, tippling spirits and water in the company of an old
servant, at ten o'clock in the morning.  Is this the conduct
that might have been expected from a man placed in my
horrible position?  I can only answer, that the sight of old
Betteredge's familiar face was an inexpressible comfort to
me, and that the drinking of old Betteredge's grog helped
me, as I believe nothing else would have helped me, in the
state of complete bodily and mental prostration into which
I had fallen.  I can only offer this excuse for myself; and I
can only admire that invariable preservation of dignity, and
that strictly logical consistency of conduct which distinguish
every man and woman who may read these lines, in every
emergency of their lives fiom the cradle to the grave. I
"Now, Mr. Franklin, there's one thing certain, at any
rate," said Betteredge, throwing the night-gown down on
the table between us, and pointing to it as if it was a living
creature that could hear him. "He's a liar, to begin with."
This comforting view of the matter was not the view
that presented itself to my mind.
"I am as innocent of all knowledge of having taken the
Diamond as you are," I said.  "But there is the witness
against me! The paint on the night-gown, and the name
on the night-gown, are facts."
Betteredge lifted my glass and put it persuasively into
my hand.
"Facts?" he repeated.  "Take a drop more grog, Mr.
Franllin, and you'll get over the weakness of believing in
facts! Foul play, sir!" he continued, dropping his voice
confidentially.  "That is how I read the riddle.  Foul play,
somewhere-and you and I must find it out. Was there
nothing else in the tin case when you put your hand into it?"
The question instantly reminded me of the letter in my
pocket. I took it out, and opened it. It was a letter of
many pages, closely written. I looked impatiently for the
signature at the end. "Rosanna Spearman."
As I read the name a sudden remembrance illuminated
my mind, and.a sudden suspicion rose out of the new lioht.
"Stop!" I exclaimed.  "Rosanna Spearman came to my




334                THE MOONSTONE.
aunt out of a Reformatory? Rosanna Spearman had once
been a thief?"
"There's no denying that, Mr. Franklin. What of it now,
if you please?"
"What of it now? How do we know she may not have
stolen the Diamond after all? How do we know she may
not have smeared my night - gown purposely with the
paint-?"
Betteredge laid his hand on my arm, and stopped me before I could say any more.
"You will be cleared of this, Mr. Franklin, beyond all
doubt. But I hope you won't be cleared in that way. See
what the letter says, sir. In justice to the girl's memory,
see what the letter says."
I felt the earnestness with which he spoke-felt it almost
as a rebuke to me. "You shall form your own judgment on
her letter," I said; " I will read it out."
I began-and read these lines:
"SIR,-1 have something to own to you.  A confession
which means much misery may sometimes be made in very
few words. This confession can be made in three words.
I love you."
The letter dropped from my hand. I looked at Betteredge.
" In the name of Heaven," I said," what does it mean?"
He seemed to shrink from answering the question.
"You and Limping Lucy were alone together this morning, sir," he said. "Did she say nothing about Rosanna
Spearman?"
" She never even mentioned Rosanna Spearman's name."
" Please to go back to the letter, Mr. Franklin. I tell you
plainly, I can't find it in my heart to distress you, after
what you have had to bear already. Let her speak for herself, sir. And get on with your grog. For your own sake,
get on with your grog."
I resumed the reading of the letter.
"It would be very disgraceful to me to tell you this, if I
waa a living woman when you read it. I shall be dead and
gone, sir, when you find my letter. It is that which makes
me bold. Not even my grave will be left to tell of me. I
may own the truth-with the quicksand waiting to hide me
when the words are written.
"Besides, you will find your night-gown in my hidingplace, with the smear of the paint on it; and you will want




THE MOONSTONE.                 338
to know how it came to be hidden by me? and why I said
nothing to you about it in my lifetime? I have only one
reason to give. I did these strange things because I loved
you.
"I won't trouble you with much about myself, or my life,
before you came to my lady's house. Lady Verinder took
me out of a Reformatory. I had gone to the Reformatory
from the prison. I was put in the prison, because I was a
thief. I was a thief, because my mother went on the streets
when I was quite a little girl.  My mother went on the
streets, because the gentleman who was my father deserted
her. There is no need to tell such a common story as this,
at any length. It is told quite often enough in the newspapers.
"Lady Verinder was very kind to me, and Mr. Betteredge
was very kind to me. Those two, and the matron at the
Reformatory, are the only good people I have ever met with
in all my liie. I might have got on in my place-not happily-but I might have got on, if you had not come visiting.
I don't blame you, sir. It's my fault-all my fault.
" Do you remember when you came out on us from among
the sand-hills, that morning, looking for Mr. Betteredge?
You were like a prince in a fairy-story. You were like a
lover in a dream. You were the most adorable human creature I had ever seen.  Something that felt like the happy
life I had never led yet leaped up in me the instant I set
eyes on you. Don't laugh at this, if you can help it. Oh, if
I could only make you feel how serious it is to me!
"I went back to the house, and wrote your name and
mine in my work-box, and drew a true-lovers' knot under
them. Then, some devil-no, I ought to say some good angel-whispered to me,'Go and look in the glass.' The
glass told me-never mind what. I was too foolish to take
the warning. I went on getting fonder and fonder of you,
just as if I was a lady in your own rank of life, and the most
beautiful creature your eyes ever rested on.  I tried -oh
dear, how I tried- to get you to look at me.  If you had
known how I used to cry at night with the misery and the
mortification of your never taking any notice of me, you
would have pitied me, perhaps, and have given me a look
now and then to live on.
"It would have been no very kind look, perhaps, if you
had known how I hated Miss Rachel. I believe I found out
you were in love with her before you knew it yourself. She
used to give you roses to wear in your button-hole. Ah,
Mr. Franklin, you wore my roses oftener than either you or




336                 THE MOONSTONE.
she thought! The only confort I had at that time was putting my rose secretly in your glass of water in place of hers
-and then throwing her rose away.
"If she had been really as pretty as you thought her, I
might have borne it better. No; I believe I should have
been more spiteful against her still. Suppose you put Miss
Rachel into a servant's dress, and took her ornaments off-?
I don't know what is the use of my writing in this way. It
can't be denied that she had a bad figure; she was too thin.
But who can tell what the men like?  And young ladies
may behave in a manner which would cost a servant her
place. It's no business of mine. I can't expect you to read
my letter if I write it in this way. But it does stir one up
to hear Miss Rachel called pretty, when one knows all the
time thal it's her dress does it, and her confidence in herself.
"Try iot to lose patience with me, sir. I will get on as
fast as I can to the time which is sure to interest you-the
time when the Diamond was lost.
"But there is one thing which I have got it on my mind
to tell you first.
"My life was not a very hard life to bear, while I was a
thief. It was only when they had taught me at the Reformatory to feel my own degradation, and to try for better
things, that the days grew long and weary. Thoughts of
the future forced themselves on me now. I felt the dreadfill reproach that honest people-even the kindest of honest
people-were to me in themselves. A heart-breaking sensation of loneliness kept with me, go where I might, and do
what I might, and see what persons I might. It was my
duty, I know, to try and get on with my fellow-servants in
my new place.  Somehow, I couldn't make friends with
them. They looked (or I thought they looked) as if they
suspected what I had been. I don't regret, far from it, having been roused to make the effort to be a reformed woman;
but, indeed, indeed it was a weary life.  You had come
across it like a beam of sunshine at first-and then you too
failed me. I was mad enough to love you; and I couldn't
even attract your notice. There was great misery-there
really was great misery in that.
"Now I am coming to what I wanted to tell you.  In
those days of bitterness I went two or three times, when it
was my turn to go out, to my favorite place —the beach
above the Shivering Sand. And I said to myself,'I think it
will end here. When I can bear it no longer, I think it will
end here.' You will understand, siir, that the place had laid
a kind of spell on me before you came. I had always had a




THE MOONSTONE.                  387
notion that something would happen to me at the quicksand.
But I had never looked at it, with the thought of its being
the means of my making away with myself, ill the time came
of which I am now writing. Then I did think that here was
a place which would end all my troubles for me in a moment or two-and hide me forever afterward.
"This is all I have to say about myself, reckoning from
the morning when I first saw you, to the morning when the
alarm was raised in the house that the Diamond was lost.
" I was so aggravated by the foolish talk among the women servants, all wondering who was to be suspected first;
and I was so angry with you (knowing no better at that
time) for the pains you took in hunting for the jewel, and
sending for the police, that I kept as much as possible away
by myself, until later in the day, when the officer from Frizinghall came to the house.
"Mr. Seegrave began, as you may remember, by setting a
guard on the women's bedrooms; and the women all followed him up stairs in a rage, to know what he meant by
the insult he bad put on them.  I went with the rest, because if I had done any thing different fiom the rest, Mr.
Seegrave was the sort of man who would have suspected me
directly. We found him in Miss Rachel's room. He told
us he wouldn't have a lot of women there; and he pointed
to the smear on the painted door, and said some of our petticoats had done the mischief, and sent us all down stairs
again.
"After leaving Miss Rachel's room, I stopped a moment
on one of the landings, by myself, to see if I had got the
paint-stain by any chance on my gown. Penelope Betteredge (the only one of the women with whom I was on friendly terms) passed, and noticed what I was about.
"'You needn't trouble yourself, Rosanna,' she said..'The
paint on Miss Rachel's door has been dry for hours. If Mr.
Seegrave hadn't set a watch on our bedrooms, I might have
told him as much. I don't know what you think-1 was
never so insulted before in my life!'
"Penelope was a hot-tempered girl. I quieted her, nld
brought her back to what she had said about the paint on
the door having been dry for hours.
"'How do you know that?' I asked.
"' I was with Miss Rachel and Mr. Franklin all yesterday
morning,' Penelope said,'mixing the colors, while they finished the door. I heard Miss Rachel ask whether the door
would be dry that evening, in time for the birthday compaunr to see it. And Mr. Franklin shook his head, and said it
22




838                 THE MOONSTONE.
wouldn't be dry in less than twelve hours. It was long past
luncheon-time-it was three o'clock before they had done.
What does your arithmetic say,Rosanna?  Mine says the
door was dry by three this morning.'
"'Did some of the ladies go up stairs yesterday evening
to see it?' 1 asked.'I thought I heard Miss Rachel warning them to keep clear of the door.'
"' None of the ladies made the smear,' Penelope answered.'I left Miss Rachel in bed at twelve last night. And I noticed the door, and there was nothing wrong with it then.'
"' Olghtn't you to mention this to Mr. Seegrave, Penelope?'
"'I wouldn't say a word to help Mr. Seegrave for any
thing that could be offered to me!'
"She went to her work, and I went to mine.
"My work, sir, was to make your bed, and to put your
room tidy. It was the happiest hour I had in the whole
day. I used to kiss the pillow on which your head had rested all night. No matter who has done it since, you have
never had your clothes folded as nicely as I folded them for
you. Of all the little knickknacks in your dressing-case, there
wasn't one that had so much as a speck on it. You never
noticed it, any more than you noticed me. I beg your pardon; I am forgetting myself  I will make haste, and go on
again.
"Well, I went in that morning to do my work in your
room. There was your night-gown tossed across the bed,
just as you had thrown it off. I took it up to fold it-and
I saw the stain of the paint from Miss Rachel's door!
"I was so startled by the discovery that I ran out, with
the night-gown in my hand, and made for the back stairs,
and locked myself into my own room, to look at it in a place
where nobody could intrude and interrupt me.
"As soon as I got my breath again I called to mind my
talk with Penelope, and I said to myself;'Here's the proof
that he was in Miss Rachel's sitting-room between twelve
last night and three this morning!'
"I shall not tell you in plain words what was the first suspicion that crossed my mind when I had made that discovery. You would only be angry —and, if you were angry,
you might tear my letter up and read no more of it.
"Let it be enough, if you please, to say only this. After
thinking it over to the best of my ability, I made it out that
the thing wasn't likely, for a reason that I will tell you. If
you had been in Miss Rachel's sitting-room at that time of
night with Miss Rachel's knowledge (and if you had been




THE MOONSTONE.                  339
foolish enough to forget to take care of the wet door), sht
would have reminded you-she would never have let you
carry away such a witness against her as the witness I was
looking at now!  At the same time, I own I was not completely certain in my own mind that I had proved my own
suspicion to be wrong. You will not have forgotten that I
have owned to hating Miss Rachel. Try to think, if you
can, that there was a little of that hatred in all this. It
ended in my determining to keep the night-gown, and to
wait, and watch, and see what use I might make of it. At
that time, please to remember, not the ghost of an idea entered my head that you had stolen the Diamond."
There, I broke off in the reading of the letter for the second time.
I had read those portions of the miserable woman's confession which related to myself with unaffected surprise, and,
I can honestly add, with sincere distress. I had regretted,
truly regretted, the aspersion which I had thoughtlessly cast
on her memory before I had seen a line of her letter. But
when I had advanced as far as the passage which is quoted
above, I own I felt my mind growing bitterer and bitterer
against Rosanna Spearman as I went on. "Read the rest
for yourself," I said, handing the letter to Betteredge across
the table. "If there is any thing in it that I must look at,
you can tell me as you go on."
"I understand you, Mr. Franklin," he answered. "It's
natural, sir, in you. And God help us all!" he added, in a
lower tone, "it's no less natural in her."
I proceed to copy the continuation of the letter from the
original, in my own possession.
"Having determined to keep the night-gown, and to see
what use my love or my revenge (I hardly know which)
could turn it to in the future, the next thing to discover was
how to keep it without the risk of being found out.
"There was only one way-to make another night-gown
exactly like it, before Saturday came and brought the laundry-woman and her inventory to the house.
"I was afraid to put it off till the next day (the Friday);
being in doubt lest some accident might happen in the in.
terval. I determined to make the new night-gown on that
same day (the Thursday), while I could count, if I played my
cards properly, on having my time to myself. The first
thing to do (after locking up your night-gown in my drawer)
was to go back to your bedroom-not so much to put it to




340                THE MOONSTONE.
rights (Penelope would have done that for me, if I had asked
her) as to find out whether you had smeared off any oir he
paint-stain from your night-gown on the bed, or on any piece
of furniture in the room.
"I examined every thing narrowly, and at last I found a
few faint streaks of the paint on the inside of your dressinggown-not the linen dressing-gown you usually wore in that
summer season, but a flannel dressing-gown which you had
with you also. I suppose you felt chilly after walking to
and fro in nothing but your night-dress, and put on the
warmest thing you could find. At any rate, there were the
stains, just visible, on the inside of the dressing-gown. I
easily got rid of these by scraping away the stuff of the flannel. This done, the only proof left against you was the
proof locked up in my drawer.
" I had just finished your room when I was sent for to be
questioned by Mr. Seegrave, along with the rest of the servants. Next came the examination of all our boxes. And
then followed the most extraordinary event of the day-to
me-since I had found the paint on your night-gown. It
came out of the second questioning of Penelope Betteredge
by Superintendent Seegrave.
"Penelope returned to us quite beside herself with rage
at the manner in which Mr. Seegrave had treated her. He
had hinted, beyond the possibility of mistaking him, that he
suspected her of being the thief. We were all equally astonished at hearing this, and we all asked, Why?
"'Because the Diamond was in Miss Rachel's sittingroom,' Penelope answered.'And because I was the last
person in the sitting-room at night!'
"Almost before the words had left her lips I remembered
that another person had been in the sitting-room later than
Penelope. That person was yourself. My head whirled
round and my thoughts were in dreadful confusion. In the
midst of it all, something in my mind whispered to me that
the smear on your night-gown might have a meaning entirely different to the meaning which I had given to it up to
that time.'If the last person who was in the room is the
person to be suspected,' I thought to myself,'the thief is not
Penelope, but Mr. Franklin Blake!'
"In the case of any other gentleman I believe I should
have been ashamed of suspecting him of theft almost as soon
as the suspicion had passed through my mind.
" But the bare thought that You had let yourself down to
my level, and thal I, in possessing myself of your nightgown, had also possessed myself of the means of shielding




THE MOONSTONE.                  341
you from being discovered, and disgraced for life-I say, sir,
the bare thought of this seemed to open such a chance before me of winning your good-will, that I passed blindfold,
as one may say, from suspecting to believing. I made up
my mind, on the spot, that you had shown yourself the
busiest of any body in fetching the police, as a blind to deceive us all; and that the hand which had taken Miss Rachel's jewel could by no possibility be any other hand than
yours.
"The excitement of this new discovery of mine must, I
think, have turned my head for a while. I felt such a devouring eagerness to see you-to try you with a word or
two about the Diamond, and to make you look at me, and
speak to me, in that way-that I put my hair tidy, and made
myself as nice as I could, and went to you boldly in the library, where I knew you were writing.
"You had left one of your rings up stairs, which made as
good an excuse for my intrusion as I could have desired.
But oh, sir! if you have ever loved, you will understand
how it was that all my courage cooled when I walked into
the room and found myself in your presence. And then, you
looked up at me so coldly, and you thanked me for finding
your ring in such an indifferent manner, that my knees trembled under me, and I felt as if I should drop on the floor at
your feet. When you had thanked me you looked back, if
you remember, at your writing. I was so mortified at being treated in this way that I plucked up spirit enough to
speak. I said,'This is a strange thing about the Diamond,
sir.' And you looked up again, and said,'Yes, it is!' You
spoke civilly (I can't deny that); but still you kept a distance-a cruel distance between us. Believing, as I did,
that you had got the lost Diamond hidden about vou while
you were speaking, your coolness so provoked me that I got
bold enough, in the heat of the moment, to give you a hint.
I said,'They will never find the Diamond, sir, will they?
No! nor the person who took it-I'll answer for that.' I
nodded, and smiled at you, as much as to say,'I know!'
This time you looked up at me with something like interest
in your eyes; and I felt that a few more words on your side
and mine might bring out the truth. Just at that moment
Mr. Betteredge spoiled it all by coming to the door. I knew
his footstep, and I also knew' that it was against his rules
for me to be in the library at that time of day-let alone being there along with you. I had only just time to get out
of my own accord before he could come in and tell me to go.
I was angry and disappointed, but I was not entirely with



342                THE MOONSTONE.
out hope, for all that. The ice, you see, was broken between
us-and I thought I would take care, on the next occasion,
that Mr. Betteredge was out of the way.
"When I got back to the servants' hall the bell was going for our dinner. Afternoon already! and the materials for
making the new night-gown were still to be got! There
was but one chance of getting them. I shammed ill at dinner; and so secured the whole of the interval from then till
tea-time to my own use.
"What I was about while the household believed me to
be lying down in my own room, and how I spent the night,
after shamming ill again at tea-time and having been sent
up to bed, there is no need to tell you. Sergeant Cuff discovered that much, if he discovered nothing more. And I
can guess how. I was detected (though I kept my veil
down) in the draper's shop at Frizinghall. There was a
glass in front of me at the counter where I was buying the
long-cloth; and-in that glass-I saw one of the shopmen
point to my shoulder and whisper to another. At night
again, when I was secretly at work, locked into my room, I
heard the breathing of the women servants who suspected
me outside my door.
"It didn't matter then; it doesn't matter now. On the
Friday morning, hours before Sergeant Cuff entered the
house, there was the new night-gown-to make up your number in place of the night-gown that I had got-made, wrung
out, dried, ironed, marked, and folded as the laundry-woman
folded all the others, safe in your drawer. There was no
fear (if the linen in the house was examined) of the newness
of the night-gown betraying me. All your under-clothing
had been renewed when you came to our house-I suppose
on your return home from foreign parts.
" The next thing was the arrival of Sergeant Cuff; and
the next great surprise was the announcement of what he
thought about the smear on the door.
" I had believed you to be guilty (as-I have owned) more
because I wanted you to be guilty than for any other reason.
And now, the Sergeant had come round by a totally different way to the same conclusion as mine! And I had got
the dress that was the only proof against you! And not a
living creature knew it-yourself included! I am afraid to
tell you how I felt when I called these things to mind-you
would hate my memory forever afterward."
At that place Betteredge looked up from the letter.
"Not a glimmer of light so far, Mr. Franklin," said the




THE MOONSTONE.                   343
old man, taking off his heavy tortoise-shell spectacles, and
pushing Rosanna Spearman's confession a little away fiom
him.  "Have you come to any conclusion, sir, in your own
mind, while I have been reading?"
"Finish the letter first, Betteredge; there may be something to enlighten us at the end of it. I shall have a word
or two to say to you after that."
"Very good, sir. I'll just rest my eyes, and then I'll go
on again. In the mean time, Mr. Franklin-I don't want te
hurry you -but would you mind telling me, in one word,
whether you see your way out of this dreadful mess yet?"
" I see my way back to London," I said, " to consult Mr.
Bruff. If he can't help me-"
"Yes, sir?"
"And if the Sergeant won't leave his retirement at Dorking-"
" He won't, Mr. Franklin!"
" Then, Betteredge-as far as I can see now-I am at the
end of my resources. After Mr. Bruff and the Sergeant, I
don't know of a living creature who can be of the slightest
use to me."
As the words passed my lips some person outside knocked
at the door of the room.
Betteredge looked surprised as well as annoyed by the interruption.
" Come in," he called out irritably, " whoever you are!"
The door opened, and there entered to us, quietly, the
most remarkable-looking man I had ever seen.  Judging
him by his figure and his movements, he was still young.
Judging him by his face, and comparing him with Betteredge, he looked the elder of the two. His complexion was
of a gypsy darkness; his fleshless cheeks had fallen into deep
hollows, over which the bone projected like a pent-house.
His nose presented the fine shape and modeling so often
found among the ancient people of the East, so seldom visible among the newer races of the West. His forehead rose
high and straight fiom the brow. His marks and wrinkles
were innumerable. From  this strange face eyes, stranger
still, of the softest brown —eyes dreamy and mournful, and
deeply sunk in their orbits-looked out at you, and (in my
case, at least) took your attention captive at their will.
Add to this a quantity of thick closely-curling hair, which,
by some fieak of Nature, had lost its color in the most startUinwy xg    artial axd capticiots mainner. Over the top of his
head it was still of the deep black which was its natural color.  Round the sides of his head -without the slightest




344                 THE MOONSTONE.
gradation of gray to break the force of the extraordinary
contrast-it had turned completely white.  The line between the two colors preserved no sort of regularity.  At
one place, the white hair ran up into the black; at another,
the black hair ran down into the white.  I looked at the
man with a curiosity which, I am ashamed to say, I found
it quite impossible to control.  His soft brown eyes looked
back at me gently; and he met my involuntary rudeness in
staring at him, with an apology which I was conscious that
I had not deserved.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "I had no idea that Mr.
Betteredge was engaged." He took a slip of paper firom his
pocket, and handed it to Betteredge.  "The list fbo next
week," he said. His eyes just rested on me again-and he
left the room as quietly as he had entered it.
" Who is that?" I asked.
" Mr. Candy's assistant," said Betteredge.  "By-the-bye,
Mr. Franklin, you will be sorry to hear that the little doctor
has never recovered that illness he caught, going home from
the birthday dinner.  He's pretty well in health; but he
lost his memory in the fever, and he has never recovered
more than the wreck of it since. The work all falls on his
assistant.  Not much of it now, except among the poor.
They can't help themselves, you know.  They must put up
with the man with the piebald hair and the gypsy complexion, or they would get no doctoring at all."
"You don't seem to like him, Betteredge?"
"Nobody likes him, sir."
"Why is he so unpopular?"
"Well, Mr. Franklin, his appearance is against him, to begin with. And then there's a story that Mr. Candy took
him with a very doubtful characl r. Nobody knows who
he is-and he hasn't a fiiend in the place. How can you expect one to like him after that?"
" Quite impossible, of course! May I ask what he wanted
with you when he gave you that bit of paper?"
"Only to bring me the weekly list of the sick people about
here, sir, who stand in need of a little wine. My lady always had a regular distribution of good sound port and
sherry among the infirm poor; and Miss Rachel wishes the
custom to be kept up. Times have changed; times have
changed!  I remember when Mr. Candy himself brought
the list to my mistress. Now it's Mr. Candy's assistant who
brings the list to me. I'll go on with the letter, if you will
allow  me, sir," said Betteredge, drawing Rosanna Spearman's confession back to him. "It isn't lively reading, I




THE MOONSTONE.                  345
grant you. But, there! it keeps me from getting sour with
thinking of the past." He put on his spectacles, and wagged his head gloomily. "There's a bottom of good sense,
Mr. Franklin, in our conduct to our mothers, when they first
start us on the journey of life. We are all of us more or
less unwilling to be brought into the world. And we are
all of us right."
Mr. Candy's assistant had produced too strong an impression on me to be immediately dismissed from my thoughts.
I passed over the last unanswerable utterance of the Betteredge philosophy, and returned to the subject of the man
with the piebald hair.
" What is his name?" I asked.
"As ugly a name as need be," Betteredge answered,
gruffly. " Ezra Jennings."
CHAPTER V.
HAVING told me the name of Mr. Candy's assistant, Betteredge appeared to think that we had wasted enough of our
time on an insignificant subject. He resumed the perusal of
Rosanna Spearman's letter.
On my side, I sat at the window, waiting until he had
done. Little by little, the impression produced on me by
Ezra Jennings-it seemed perfectly unaccountable, in such
a situation as mine, that any human being should have produced an impression on me at all!-faded fiom my mind.
My thoughts flowed back into their former channel. Once
more, I forced myself to look my own incredible position
resolutely in the face. Once more, I reviewed in my own
mind the course which I had at last summoned composure
enough to plan out for the future.
To go back to London that day; to put the whole case
before Mr. Bruff; and, last and most important, to obtain (no
matter by what means or at what sacrifice) a personal interview with Rachel-this was my plan of action, so far as I
was capable of forming it at the time. There was more
than an hour still to spare before the train started. And
there was the bare chance that Betteredge might discover
something in the unread portion of Rosanna Spearman's letter, which it might be useful for me to know before I left
the house in which the Diamond had been lost. For that
chance I was now waiting.
The letter ended in these terms:




346                 THE MOONSTONE.
" You have no need to be angry, Mr. Franklin, even if I
did feel some little triumph at knowing that I held all your
prospects in life in my own hands. Anxieties and fears soon
came back to me. With the view Sergeant Cuff took of the
loss of the Diamond, he would be sure to end in examining
our linen and our dresses. There was no place in my room
-there was no place in the house —which I could feel satisfied would be safe from him. How to hide the night-gown
so that not even the Sergeant could find it? and how to do
that without losing one moment of precious time?-these
were not easy questions to answer. My uncertainties ended
in my taking a way that may make you laugh. I undressed, and put the night-gown on me. You had worn it-and
I had another little moment of pleasure in wearing it after
you.
"The next news that reached us in the servants' hall
showed that I had not made sure of the night-gown a moment too soon. Sergeant Cuff wanted to see the washingbook.
"I found it, and took it to him in my lady's sitting-room.
The Sergeant and I had come across each other more than
once in former days. I was certain he would know me again
-and I was not certain of what he might do when he found
me employed as servant in a house in which a valuable jewel
had been lost. In this suspen.se, I felt it would be a relief
to me to get the meeting between us over, and to know the
worst of it at once.
" He looked at me as if I was a stranger, when I handed
him the washing-book; and he was very specially polite in
thanking me for bringing it. I thought those were both
bad signs. There was no knowing what he might say of
me behind my back; there was no knowing how soon I
might not find myself taken in custody on suspicion, and
searched. It was then time for your return from seeing Mr.
Godfrey Ablewhite off by the railway; and I went to your
favorite walk in the shrubbery, to try for another chance of
speaking to you-the last chance, for all I knew to the contrary, that I might have.
"You never appeared; and, what was worse still, Mr.
Betteredge and Sergeant Cuff passed by the place where I
was hiding-and the Sergeant saw me.
" I had no choice, after that, but to return to my proper
place and my proper work, before more disasters happened
to me. Just as I was going to step across the path you
came back from the railway.  You were making straight
for the shrubbery, when you saw me-I am certain, sir, you




THE MOONSTONE.                   34 
saw me-and you turned away as if I had got the plague,
and went into the house.*
"I made the best of my way indoors again, returning by
the servants' entrance. There was nobody in the laundryroom at that time; and I sat down there alone. I have told
you already of the thoughts which the Shivering Sand put
into my head.  Those thoughts came back to me now. I
wondered in myself which it would be hardest to do, if
things went on in this way-to bear Mr. Franklin Blake's indifference to me, or to jump into the quicksand and end it
forever in that way?
"It's useless to ask me to account for my own conduct at
this time. I try-and I can't understand it myself.
" Why didn't I stop you, when you avoided me in that
cruel manner?  Why didn't I call out,' Mr. Franklin, I have
got something to say to you; it concerns yourself, and you
must and shall hear it?' You were at my mercy -I had
got the whip-hand of you, as they say. And better than
that, I had the means (if I could only make you trust met
of being useful to you in the future.  Of course, I never sup
posed that you-a gentleman-had stolen the Diamond for
the mere pleasure of stealing it. No. Penelope had heard
Miss Rachel, and I had heard Mr. Betteredge, talk about
your extravagance and your debts. It was plain enough to
me that you had taken the Diamond to sell it, or pledge it,
and so to get the money of which you stood in need. Well!
I could have told you of a man in London who would have
advanced a good large sum on the jewel, and who would
have asked no awkward questions about it either.
" Why didn't I speak to you! why didn't I speak to you!
"I wonder whether the risks and difficulties of keeping
the night-gown were as much as I could manage, without
having other risks and difficulties added to them? This
might have been the case with some women-but how could
it be the case with me? In the days when I was a thief, I
had run fifty times greater risks, and found my way out of
difficulties to which this difficulty was mere child's play. I
had been apprenticed, as you may say, to frauds and deceptions-sorne of them on such a grand scale, and managed so
cleverly, that they became famous, and appeared in the newspapers.  Was such a little thing as the keeping of the night* NOTE; by Franklin Blake.-The writer is entirely mistaken, poor creature. I never noticed her. My intention was certainly to have taken a turn
in the shrubbery. But, remembering at the same moment that my aunt
might wish to see me, after my return from the railway, I altered my mind,
and went into the house.




348                THE MOONSTONE.
gown likely to weigh on my spirits, and to set my heart sinking within me,at the time when I ought to have spoken to you'
What nonsense to ask the question! the thing couldn't be.
" Where is the use of my dwelling in this way on my own
folly?' The plain truth is plain enough, surely?  Behind
your back, I loved you with all my heart and soul. Before
your face-there's no denying it-I was frightened of you;
frightened of making you angry with me; fiightened of
what you might say to me (though you had taken the Dia.
mond) if I presumed to tell you that I had found it out. I
had gone as near to it as I dared when I spoke to you in the
library. You had not turned your back on me then. You
had not started away from me as if I had got the plague. I
tried to provoke myself into feeling angry with you, and to
rouse up my courage in that way. No! I couldn't feel any
thing but the misery and the mortification of it.'You're a
plain girl; you have got a crooked shoulder; you're only a
house-maid-what do you mean by attempting to speak to
Me?' You never uttered a word of that, Mr. Franklin; but
you said it all to me, nevertheless! Is such madness as this
to be accounted for? No. There is nothing to be done but
to confess it, and let it be.
" I ask your pardon, once more, for this wandering of my
pen. There is no fear of its happening again. I am close at
the end now.
"The first person who disturbed me by coming into the
empty room was Penelope. She had found out my secret
long since, and she had done her best to bring me to my
senses-and done it kindly too.
"'Ah!' she said,'I know why you're sitting here and
fretting, all by yourself. The best thing that can happen
for your advantage, Rosanna, will be for Mr. Franklin's visit
here to come to an end. It's my belief that he won't be
long now before he leaves the house.'
" In all my thoughts of you I had never thought of your
going away. I couldn't speak to Penelope. I could only
look at her.
"'I've just left Miss Rachel,' Penelope went on.'And a
hard matter I have had of it to put up with her temper.
She says the house is unbearable to her with the police in
it; and she's determined to speak to my lady this evening,
and to go to her Aunt Ablewhite to-morrow. If she does
that, Mr. Franklin will be the next to find a reason for going
away, you may depend on it!'
"I recovered the use of my tongue at that.'Do you
mean to siay Mr. Franklin will go with her?' I asked.




THE MOONSTONE.                  349
"'Only too gladly, if she would let him; but she won't.
He has been made to feel her temper; he is in her black
books too-and that after having done all he can to help
her, poor fellow! No, no! If they don't make it up before
to-morrow, you will see Miss Rachel go one way, and Mr.
Franklin another. Where he may betake himself to I can't
say. But he will never stay here, Posanna, after Miss Rachel has left us.'
"I managed to master the despair I felt at the prospect
of your going away.  To own the truth, I saw a little
glimpse of hope for myself if there was really a serious disagreement between Miss Rachel and you.'Do you know,'
I asked,' what the quarrel is between them?'
"'It's all on Miss Rachel's side,' Penelope said.'And,
for any thing I know to the contrary, it's all Miss Rachel's
temper, and nothing else. I am loath to distress you, Rosanna; but don't run away with the notion that Mr. Franklin
is ever likely to quarrel with her. He's a great deal too
fond of her for that!'
"She had only just spoken those cruel words when there
came a call to us from Mr. Betteredge. All the indoor servants were to assemble in the hall. And then we were to go
in, one by one, and be questioned in Mr. Betteredge's room
by Sergeant Cuff.
"It came to my turn to go in, after her ladyship's maid
and the upper house-maid had been questioned first. Sergeant Cuff's inquiries-though he wrapped them up very
cunningly-soon showed me that those two women (the bitterest enemies I had in the house) had made their discoveries outside my door, on the Thursday afternoon, and again
on the Thursday night. They had told the Sergeant enough
to open his eyes to some part of the truth. He rightly believed me to have made a new night-gown secretly, but he
wrongly believed the paint-stained night-gown to be mine.
I felt satisfied of another thing, from what he said, which it
puzzled me to understand. He suspected me, of course, of
being concerned in the disappearance of the Diamond. But,
at the same time, he let me see-purposely, as I thoughtthat he did not consider me as the person chiefly answerable
for the loss of the jewel. He appeared to think that I had
been acting under the direction of somebody else. Who that
person might be, I couldn't guess then, and can't guess now.
"In this uncertainty, one thing was plain-that Sergeant
Cuff was miles away from knowing the whole truth. You
were safe as long as the night-gown was safe-and not a
moment longer.




350                 THE MOONSTONE.
"I quite despair of making you understand the distress
and terror which pressed upon me now. It was impossible
for me to risk wearing your night-gown any longer.  I
might find myself taken off, at a moment's notice, to the police court at Frizinghall, to be charged on suspicion, and
searched accordingly. While Sergeant Cuff still left me
free, I had to choose-and that at once-between destroying the night-gown, or hiding it in some safe place, at some
safe distance from the house.
"If I had only been a little less fond of you, I think I
should have destroyed it. But, oh! how could I destroy
the only thing I had which proved that I had saved you
from discovery? If we did come to an explanation together, and if you suspected me of having some bad motive, and
denied it all, how could I win upon you to trust me, unless
I had the night-gown to produce?  Was it wronging you
to believe, as I did, and do still, that you might hesitate to
let a poor girl like me be the sharer of your secret, and your
accomplice in the theft which your money-troubles had
tempted you to commit? Think of your cold behavior to
me, sir, and you will hardly wonder at my unwillingness to
destroy the only claim on your confidence and your gratitude which it was my fortune to possess.
"I determined to hide it; and the place I fixed on was
the place I knew best-the Shivering Sand.
"As soon as the questioning was over I made the first excuse that came into my head, and got leave to go out for a
breath of fiesh air. I went straight to Cobb's Hole, to Mr.
Yolland's cottage.  His wife and daughter were the best
friends I had. Don't suppose I trusted them with your secret-I have trusted nobody. All I wanted was to write
this letter to you, and to have a safe opportunity of taking
the night-gown off me. Suspected as I was, I could do neither of those things, with any sort of security, up at the
house.
"And now I have nearly got through my long letter, writing it alone in Lucy Yolland's bedroom. When it is done, I
shall go down stairs with the night-gown rolled up, and hidden under my cloak. I shall find the means I want for keeping it safe and dry in its hiding-place, among the litter of
old things in Mrs. Yolland's kitchen. And then I shall go
to the Shivering Sand -don't be afiaid of my letting my
foot-marks betray me!-and hide the night-gown down in
the sand, where no living creature can find it without being
first let into the secret by myself.
" And when that is done, what then?




THE MOONSTONE.                   351
" Then, Mr. Franklin, I shall have two reasons for making
another attempt to say the words to you which I have not
said yet. If you leave the house, as Penelope believes you
will leave it, and if I haven't spoken to you before that, I
shall lose my opportunity forever.  That is one reason.
Then, again, there is the comforting knowledge —if my
speaking does make you angry-that I have got the nightgown ready to plead my cause for me as nothing else can.
That is my other reason. If these two together don't harden my heart against the coldness which has hitherto fiozen
it up (I mean the coldness of your treatment of me), there
will be the end of my efforts-and the end of my life.
"Yes; if I miss my next opportunity-if you are as cruel
as ever, and if I feel it again as I have felt it already-goodbye to the world which has grudged me the happiness that
it gives to others. Good-bye to life, which nothing but a
little kindness fiom you can ever make pleasurable to me
again.  Don't blame yourself, sir, if it ends in this way.
But try-do try-to feel some forgiving sorrow for me! I
shall take care that you find out what I have done for you
when I am past telling you of it myself. Will you say
something kind of me then-in the same gentle way that
you have when you speak to Miss Rachel? If you do that,
and if there are such things as ghosts, I believe my ghost
will hear it, and tremble with the pleasure of it.
"It's time I left off. I am making myself cry. How am
I to see my way to the hiding-place, if I let these useless
tears come and blind me?
"Besides, why should I look at the gloomy side? Why
not believe, while I can, that it will end well after all? I
may find you in a good humor to-night-or, if not, I may
succeed better to-morrow morning. I sha'n't improve my
poor plain face by fretting —shall I?  Who knows but I
may have filled all these weary long pages of paper for
nothing? They will go, for safety's sake (never mind now
for what other reason), into the hiding-place, along with the
night-gown. It has been hard, hard work writing my letter. Oh! if we only end in understanding each other, how
I shall enjoy tearing it up!
"I beg to remain, sir, your true-lover and humble servant,
"ROSANNA SPEARMAN."
The reading of the letter was completed by Betteredge in
silence. After carefully putting it back in the envelope, he
sat thinking, with his head bowed down, and his eyes on the
ground.




352                 THE MOONSTONE.
"Betteredge," I said, " is there any hint to guide us at the
end of the letter?"
He looked up slowly, with a heavy sigh.
"There is nothing to guide you, Mr. Franklin," he answered. "If you will take my advice, you will keep the
letter in the cover till these present anxieties of yours have
come to an end. It will sorely distress you, whenever you
read it. Don't read it now."
I put the letter away in my pocket-book.
A glance back at the sixteenth and seventeenth chapters
of Betteredge's Narrative will show that there really was a
reason for my thus sparing myself, at a time when my fortitude had been already cruelly tried. Twice over, the unhappy woman had made her last attempt to speak to me. And
twice over, it had been my misfortune (God knows how innocently!) to repel the advances she had made to me. On
the Friday night, as Betteredge truly describes it, she had
found me alone at the billiard-table. Her manner and her
language had suggested to me-and would have suggested
to any man under the circumstances-that she was about
to confess a guilty knowledge of the disappearance of the
Diamond. For her own sake, I had purposely shown no
special interest in what was coming; for her own sake, I had
purposely looked at the billiard-balls, instead of looking at
her-and what had been the result?  I had sent her away
from me, wounded to the heart! On the Saturday againon the day when she must have foreseen, after what Penelope had told her, that my departure was close at hand-the
same fatality still pursued us. She had once more attempted to meet me in the shrubbery walk, and she had found me
there in company with Betteredge and Sergeant Cuff. In
her hearing, the Sergeant, with his own underhand object in
view, had appealed to my interest in Rosanna Spearman.
Again, for the poor creature's own sake, I had met the police
officer with a flat denial, and had declared-loudly declared,
so that she might hear me too-that I felt "no interest whatever in Rosanna Spearman." At those words, solely designed
to warn her against attempting to gain my private ear, she
had turned away, and left the place: cautioned of her danger, as I then believed; self-doomed to destruction, as I know
now. From  that point, I have already traced the succession of events which led me to the astounding discovery
at the quicksand. The retrospect is now complete. I may
leave the miserable story of Rosanna Spearman-to which,
even at this distance of time, I can not even revert without
a pang of distress-to suggest for itself all that is here pur



THE MOONSTONE.                  353
poseiy left unsaid. I may pass from the suicide at the Shivering Sand, with its strange and terrible influence on my
present position and my future prospects, to interests which
concern the living people of this narrative, and to events
which were already paving my way for the slow and toilsome journey from the darkness to the light.
CHAPTER VI.
I WALKED to the railway station accompanied, it is needless to say, by Gabriel Betteredge. I had the letter in my
pocket, and the night-gown safely packed in a little bagboth to be submitted, before I slept that night, to the investigation of Mr. Bruff.
We left the house in silence. For the first time in my experience of him, I found old Betteredge in my company without a word to say to me. Having something to say on my
side, I opened the conversation as soon as we were clear of
the lodge-gates.
"Before I go to London," I began, "I have two questions
to ask you. They relate to myself, and I believe they will
rather surprise you."
"If they will put that p6or creature's letter out of my
head, Mr. Franklin, they may do any thing else they like
with me. Please to begin surprisirg me, sir, as soon as you
can."
" My first question, Betteredge, is this: Was I drunk on
the night of Rachel's birthday?"
"YQou drunk!" exclaimed the old man. "Why, it's, the
great defect of your character, Mr. Franklin, that you only
drink with your dinner, and never touch a drop of liquor afterward!"
"But the birthday was a special occasion. I might have
abandoned my regular habits, on that night of all others."
Betteredge considered for a moment.
"You did go out of your habits, sir," he said. "And I'll
tell you how. You looked wretchedly ill —and we persuaded you to have a drop of brandy and water to cheer
you up a little."
"I am not used to brandy and water. It is quite possible-"
" Wait a bit, Mr. Franklin. I knew you were not used,
too. I poured you out half a wine-glassful of our fifty-yearold Cognac; and (more shame for me!) I drowned that nooq




354                 THE MOONSTONE.
ble liquor in nigh on a tumblertul of cold water. A child
couldn't have got drunk on it-let alone a grown man!"
i knew I could depend on his memory in a matter of this
kind. It was plainly impossible that I could have been intoxicated. I passed on to the second question.
"Before I was sent abroad, Betteredge, you saw a great
deal of me when I was a boy? Now tell me plainly, do you
remember any thing strange of me, after I had gone to bed
at night? Did you ever discover me walking in my sleep?"
Betteredge stopped, looked at me for a moment, nodded
his head, and walked on again.
"I see your drift now, Mr. Franklin!" he said. "You're
trying to account for how you got the paint on your nightgown, without knowing it yourself. It won't do, sir. You're
miles away still from getting at the truth. Walk in your
sleep? You never did such a thing in your life!"
Here again I felt that Betteredge must be right. Neither
at home nor abroad had my life ever been of the solitary
sort. If I had been a sleep-walker, there were hundreds on
hundreds of people who must have discovered me, and who,
in the interests of my own safety, would have warned me of
the habit,and have taken precautions to restrain it.
"Still, admitting all this, I clung —with an obstinacy
which was surely natural and excusable, under the circumstances-to one or other of the only two explanations that I
could see which accounted for the unendurable position in
which I then stood. Observing that I was not yet satisfied,
Betteredge shrewdly adverted to certain later events in the
history of the Moonstone; and scattered both my theories
to the winds at once and forever.
" Let's try it another way, sir," he said. "Keep your own
opinion, and see how far it will take you toward finding out
the truth. If we are to believe the night-gown-which I
don't, for one-you not only smeared off the paint from the
door without knowing it, but you also took the Diamond
without knowing it. Is that right, so far?"
Quite right. Go on."
"Very good, sir. We'll say you were Trunk, or walking
in your sleep, when you took the jewel. That accounts for
the night and morning after the birthday. But how does
it account for what has happened since that time? The
Diamond has been taken to London since that time. The
Diamond has been pledged to Mr. Luker since that time.
Did you do those two things, without knowing it, too?
Were you drunk when I saw you off in the pony-chaise on
ihat Saturday evening? And did you walk in your sleep to




THE MOONSTONE.                 355
Mr. Luker's, when the train had brought you to your journey's end? Excuse me for saying it, Mr. Franklin, but this
business has so upset you, that you're not fit yet to judge
for yourself: The sooner you lay your head alongside of
Mr. Bruff's head, the sooner you will see your way out of the
dead-lock that has got you now."
We reached the station, with only a minute or two to
spare.
I hurriedly gave Betteredge my address in London, so
that he might write to me, if necessary; promising, on my
side, to inform him of any news which I might have to communicate. This done, and just as I was bidding him farewell, I happened to glance toward the book-and-newspaper
stall. There was Mr. Candy's remarkable-looking assistant
again, speaking to the keeper of the stall! Our eyes met at
the same moment. Ezra Jennings took off his hat to me.
I returned the salute, and got into a carriage just as the
train started. It was a relief to my mind, I suppose, to
dwell on any subject which appeared to be, personally, of
no sort of importance to me. At all events, I began the
momentous journey back which was to take me to Mr. Bruff,
wondering-absurdly enough, I admit-that I should have
seen the man with the piebald hair twice in one day!
The hour at which I arrived in London precluded all hope
of my finding Mr. Bruff at his place of business. I drove
from the railway to his private residence at Hampstead, and
disturbed the old lawyer dozing alone in his dining-room,
with his favorite pug-dog on his lap, and his bottle of wine
at his elbow.
I shall best describe the effect which my story produced
on the mind of Mr. Bruff by relating his proceedings when
he had heard it to the end. He ordered lights, and strong
tea, to be taken into his study; and he sent a message to
the ladies of his family, forbidding them to disturb us on
any pretense whatever. These preliminaries disposed of, he
first examined the night-gown, and then devoted himself to
the reading of Rosanna Spearman's letter.
The reading completed, Mr. Bruff addressed me for the
first time since we had been shut up together in the seclusion of his own room.
"Franklin Blake," said the old gentleman, "this is a very
serious matter, in more respects than one. In my opinion,
it concerns Rachel quite as nearly as it concerns you. Her
extraordinary conduct is no mystery now. She believes you
have stolen the Diamond."




356                 THE MOONSTONE.
I had shrunk from reasoning my own way fairly to that
revolting conclusion. But it had forced itself on me nevertheless. My resolution to obtain a personal interview with
Rachel rested really and truly on the ground just stated by
Mr. Bruff.
"The first step to take in this investigation," the lawyer
proceeded, "is to appeal to Rachel. She has been silent all
this time, from motives which I (who know her character)
can readily understand.  It is impossible, after what has
happened, to submit to that silence any longer. She must
be persuaded to tell us, or she must be forced to tell us, on
what grounds she bases her belief that you took the Moonstone. The chances are, that the whole of this case, serious
as it seems now, will tumble to pieces, if we can only break
through Rachel's inveterate reserve, and prevail upon lher to
speak out."
"That is a very comforting opinion for me," I said. "1
own I should like to know-"
" You would like to know how I can justify it," interposed
Mr. Bruff. "I can tell you in two minutes. Understand,
in the first place, that I look at this matter fiom a lawyer's
point of view. It's a question of evidence with me. Very
well. The evidence breaks down, at the outset, on one important point."
"On what point?"
"You shall hear. I admit that the mark of the name
proves the night-gown to be yours. I admit that the mark
of the paint proves the night-gown to have made the smear
on Rachel's door. But what evidence is there, before you or
before me, to prove that you are the person who wore the
night-gown'?
The objection electrified me. It had never occurred to
my mind until that moment.
"As to this," pursued the lawyer, taking up Rosanna
Spearman's confession, "I can understand that the letter is
a distressing one to you. I can understand that you may
hesitate to analyze it from a purely impartial point of view.
But I am not in your position. I can bring my professional
experience to bear on this document, just as I should bring
it to bear on any other. Without alluding to the woman's
career as a thief, I will merely remark that her letter proves
her to have been an adept at deception, on her own showing; and I argue from that, that I am justified in suspecting her of not having told the whole truth. I won't start
any theory, at present, as to what she may or may not have
done. I will only say that, if Rachel has suspected you on




THE MOONSTONE.                  357
the evidence of the night-gown only, the chances are ninetynine to a hundred that Rosailna Spearman was the person
who showed it to her. In that case, there is the woman's
letter, confessing that she was jealous of Rachel, confessing
that she changed the roses, confessing that she saw a glimpse
of hope for herself, in the prospect of a quarrel between Rachel and you. I don't stop to ask who took the Moonstone
(as a means to her end, Rosanna Spearman would have taken
fifty Moonstones)-I only say that the disappearance of the
jewel gave this reclaimed thief, who was in love with you,
an opportunity of setting you and Rachel at variance for
the rest of your lives. She had not decided on destroying
herself, then, remember; and, having the opportunity, I distinctly assert that it was in her character, and in her posi.
tion at the time, to take it. What do you say to that?"
"Some such suspicion," I answered, "crossed my own
mind, as soon as I opened the letter."
" Exactly! And when you had read the letter, you pitied
the poor creature, and couldn't find it in your heart to suspect her. Does you credit, my dear sir-does you credit!"
"But suppose it turns out that I did wear the nightgown? What then?"
"I don't see how that fact is to be proved," said Mr.
Brnff. " But assuming the proof to be possible, the vindication of your innocence would be no easy matter. We
won't go into that, now. Let us wait and see whether Rachel hasn't suspected you on the evidence of the night-gown
only."
"Good God, how coolly you talk of Rachel suspecting
me!" I broke out. "What right has she to suspect Me, on
any evidence, of being a thief?"
"A very sensible question, my dear sir. Rather hotly put
-but well worth considering for all that. What puzzles
you, puzzles me too. Search your memory, and tell me this:
Did any thing happen while you were staying at the house
-not, of course, to shake Rachel's belief in your honor-but,
let us say, to shake her belief (no matter with how little reason) in your principles generally?"
I started, in ungovernable agitation, to my feet. The lawyer's question reminded me, for the first time since I had lqft
England, that something had happened.
In the eighth chapter of Betteredge's Narrative, an allusion will be found to the arrival of a foreigner and a stranger
at my aunt's house, who came to see me on business. The
nature of his business was this:
I had been foolish enough (being, as usual, straightened




358                 THE MOONSTONE.
for money at the time) to accept a loan from the keeper of
a small restaurant in Paris, to whom I was well known as a
customer. A time was settled between us for paying the
money back; and when the time came, I found it (as thousands of other honest men have found it) impossible to keep
my engagement. I sent the man a bill. My name was unfortunately too well known on such documents: he failed to
negotiate it. His affairs had fallen into disorder, in the interval since I had borrowed of him; bankruptcy stared him
in the face; and a relative of his, a French lawyer, came to
England to find me, and to insist on the payment of my debt.
He was a man of violent temper; and he took the wrong
way with me. High words passed on both sides; and my
aunt and Rachel were unfortunately in the next room, and
heard us. Lady Verinder came in, and insisted on knowing
what was the matter. The Frenchman produced his credentials, and declared me to be responsible for the ruin of a
poor man, who had trusted in my honor. My aunt instantly paid him the money, and sent him off. She knew me better, of course, than to take the Frenchman's view of the transaction. But she was shocked at my carelessness, and justly angry with me for placing myself in a position which, but
for her interference, might have become a very disgraceful
one. Either her mother told her, or Rachel heard what passed-I can't say which. She took her own romantic, highflown view of the matter. I was "heartless;" I was "dishonorable;" I had "no principle;" there was "no knowing
what I might do next"-in short, she said some of the severest things to me which I had ever heard from a young
lady's lips. The breach between us lasted for the whole of
the next day. The day after, I succeeded in making my
peace, and thought no more of it. Had Rachel reverted to
this unlucky accident at the critical moment when my place
in her estimation was again, and far more seriously, assailed?
Mr. Bruff, when I had mentioned the circumstances to him,
answered that question at once in the affirmative.
"It would have its effect on her mind," he said, gravely.
"And I wish, for your sake, the thing had not happened.
However, we have discovered that there was a predisposing
influence against you-and there is one uncertainty cleared
out of our way, at any rate. I see nothing more that we can
do now. Our next step in this inquiry must be the step that
takes us to Rachel."
He rose, and began walking thoughtfully up and down the
room. Twice I was on the point of telling him that I had
determined on seeing Rachel personally; and twice, having




THE MOONSTONE.                   359
regard to his age and his character, I hesitated to take him
by surprise at al unfavorable moment.
"The grand difficulty is," he resumed, "how to make her
show her whole mind in this matter, without reserve. Have
you any suggestion to offer?"
"I have made up my mind, Mr. Bruff, to speak to Rachel
myself:"
"You!" He suddenly stopped in his walk, and looked at
me as if he thought I had taken leave of my senses. " You,
of all the people in the world!" He abruptly checked himself, and took another turn in the room. "Wait a little,"
he said. " In cases of this extraordinary kind, the rash way
is sometimes the best way."  He considered the question
for a moment or two, under that new light, and ended boldly by a decision il my favor. "Nothing venture, nothing
have," the old gentleman resumed. "You have a chance in
your favor which I don't possess-and you shall be the first
to try the experiment."
"A chance in my favor?" I repeated, in the greatest surprise.
Mr. Bruff's face softened, for the first time, into a smile.
" This is how it stands," he said. " I tell you fairly, I don't
trust your discretion, and I don't trust your temper. But I
do trust in Rachel's still preserving, in some remote little
corner of her heart, a certain perverse weakness for you.
Touch that —and trust to the consequences for the fullest
disclosure that can flow from a woman's lips! The question
is-how are you to see her?"
" She has been a guest of yours at this house," I answered.
" May I venture to suggest-if nothing was said about me
beforehand-that I might see her here?"
" Cool!" said Mr. Bruff. With that one word of comment
on the reply that I had made to him, he took another turn
up and down the room.
"In plain English," he said, "my house is to be turned
into a trap to catch Rachel; with a bait to tempt her, in
the shape of an invitation from my wife and daughters. If
you were any body else but Franklin Blake, and if this matter was one atom less serious than it really is, I should refuse point-blank. As things are, I firmly believe Rachel will
live to thank me for turning traitor to her in my old age.
Consider me your accomplice. Rachel shall be asked to
spend the day here; and you shall receive due notice of it."
"When? To-morrow?"
"To-morrow won't give us time enough to get her answer.
Say the day after."




360                 THE MOONSTONE.
"How shall I hear from you?"
"Stay at home all the morning, and expect me to call on
you."
I thanked him for the inestimable assistance which he was
rendering to me, with the gratitude which I really filt; and,
declining a hospitable invitation to sleep. that night at Hampstead, returned to my lodgings in London.
Of the day that followed, I have only to say that it was
the longest day of my life. Innocent as I knew myself to
be, certain as I was that the abominable imputation which
rested on me must sooner or later be cleared off, there was
nevertheless a sense of self-abasement in my mind which instinctively disinclined me to see any of my fiiends. We
often hear (almost invariably, however, from superficial observers) that guilt can look like innocence. I believe it to
be infinitely the truer axiom of the two that innocence can
look like guilt.  I caused myself to be denied, all day, to
every visitor who called; and I only ventured out under
cover of the night.
The next morning Mr. Bruff surprised me at the breakfasttable. He handed me a large key, and announced that he
felt ashamed of himself for the first time in his life.
"Is she coming?"
"She is coming to-day, to lunch and spend the afternoon
with my wife and my girls."
"Are Mrs. Bruif and your daughters in the secret?"
"Inevitably. /But women, as you may have observed,
have no principles.. "My family don't feel my pangs of conscience. The end'being to bring you and Rachel together
again, my wife and daughters pass over the means employed
to gain it, as composedly as if they were Jesuits."
" I am infinitely obliged to them. What is this key?"
"The key of the gate in my back-garden wall. Be there
at three this afternoon. Let yourself into the garden, and
make your way in by the conservatory door.  Cross the
small drawing-room, and open the door in front of you which
leads into the music-room.  There you will find Racheland find her alone."
"How can I thank you?"
"I will tell you how. Don't blame me for what happens
afterward."
With those words, he went out.
I had many weary hours still to wait through. To while
away the timie, I looked at my letters. Among them was a
letter fionm Betteredge.
I opened it eagerly. To my surprise and disappointment,




THE MOONSTONI.                  361
it began with an apology warning me to expect no news of
any importance. In the next sentence the everlasting Ezra
Jennings appeared again! He had stopped Betteredge on
the way out of the station, and had asked who I was. Informed on this point, he had mentioned having seen me to
his master, Mr. Candy.  Mr. Candy hearing of this, had
himself driven over to Betteredge, to express his regret at
our having missed each other. He had a reason for wishing particularly to speak to me; and when I was next in
the neighborhood of Frizinghall, he begged I would let him
know.  Apart from a few characteristic utterances of the
Betteredge philosophy, this was the sum and substance of
my correspondent's letter. The warm-hearted, faithful old
man acknowledged that he had written "mainly for the
pleasure of writing to me."
I crumpled up the letter in my pocket, and forgot it the
moment after, in the all-absorbing interest of my coming interview with Rachel.
As the clock of Hampstead church struck three, I put Mr.
Bruff's key into the lock of the door in the wall. When I
first stepped into the garden, and while I was securing the
door again on the inner side, I own to having felt a certain
guilty doubtfulness about what might happen next. I looked furtively on either side of me, suspicious of the presence
of some unexpected witness in some unknown corner of the
garden.  Nothing appeared, to justify my apprehensions.
The walks were, one and all, solitudes; and the birds and
the bees were the only witnesses.
I passed through the garden; entered the conservatory;
and crossed the small drawing-room. As I laid my hand on
the door opposite, I heard a few plaintive chords struck on
the piano in the room within. She had often idled over the
instrument in this way, when I was staying at her mother's
house.  I was obliged to wait a little, to steady myself.
The past and present rose, side by side, at that supreme moment-and the contrast shook me.
After the lapse of a few moments, I roused my manhood,
and opened the door.
CHAPTER VII.
AT the moment when I showed myself in the door-way,
Rachel rose from the piano.
I closed the door behind me, We confronted each other




862                 THE MOONSTONE.
in silence, with the full length of the room between us. The
movement she had made in rising appeared to be the one
exertion of which she was capable. All use of every other
faculty, bodily or mental, seemed to be merged in the mere
act of looking at me.
A fear crossed my mind that I had shown myself too suddenly. I advanced a few steps toward her. I said gently,
"Rachel!"
The sound of my voice brought the life back to her limbs,
and the color to her face. She advanced, on her side, still
without speaking. Slowly, as if she was acting under some
influence independent of her own will, she came nearer and
nearer to me; the warm dusky color flushing her cheeks, the
light of reviving intelligence brightening every instant in
her eyes. I forgot the object that had brought me into her
presence; I forgot the vile suspicion that rested on my good
name —I forgot every consideration, past, present, and future, which I was bound to remember. I saw nothing but
the woman I loved coming nearer and nearer to me. She
trembled; she stood irresolute. I could resist it no longer
-I caught her in my arms, and covered her face with kisses.
There was a moment when I thought the kisses were returned; a moment when it seemed as if she, too, might have
forgotten. Almost before the idea could shape itself in my
mind, her first voluntary action made me feel that she remembered. With a cry which was like a cry of horrorwith a strength which I doubt if I could have resisted if I
had tried -she thrust me back from her. I saw merciless
anger in her eyes; I saw merciless contempt on her lips.
She looked me over, from head to foot, as she might have
looked at a stranger who had insulted her.
"You coward!" she said. "You mean, miserable, heartless coward!"
Those were her first words! The most unendurable reproach that a woman can address to a man was the reproach
that she picked out to address to Me.
"I remember the time, Rachel," I said, "when you could
have told me that I had offended you in a worthier way than
that. I beg your pardon."
Something of the bitterness that I felt may have communicated itself to my voice. At the first words of my reply,
her eyes, which had been turned away the moment before,
looked back at me unwillingly. She answered in a low tone,
with a sullen submission of manner which was quite new in
my experience of her.
"Perhaps there is some excuse for me," she said. "After




THE MOONSTONE.                     36S
what you have done, it seems a mean action, on your part
to find your way to me as you have found it to-day.  It
seems a cowardly experiment, to try al experiment on my
weakness fbr you. It seems a cowardly surprise, to surprise
me into letting you kiss me. But that is only a woman's
view.  I ought to have known it couldn't be your view.  I
should have done better if I had controlled myself and said
nothing."
The apology was more unendurable than the insult. The
most degraded man living would have felt humiliated by it.
"If my honor was not in your hands," I said, "I would
leave you this instant, and never see you again.  You have
spoken of what I have done.  What have I done?"
"What have you done!  You ask that question of Me?"
"I ask it."
" I have kept your infamy a secret," she answered.  "And
I have suffered the consequellces of concealing it.  Have I
no claim to be spared the insult of your asking me what you
have done?  Is all sense of gratitude dead in you?  You
were once a gentleman.  You wvere once dear to my mother,
and dearer still to me-"
Her voice failed her.  She dropped into a chair, and turned her back on me, and covered her face with her hands.
I waited a little before I trusted myself to say any more.
In that moment of silence I hardly know which I felt most
keenly-the sting which her contempt had planted in me, or
the proud resolution which shut me out from all community
with her distress.
"If you will not speak first," I said, "I must.  I have
come here with something serious to say to you. Will you
do me the common justice of listening while I say it?"
She neither moved nor answered.  I made no second appeal to her; I never advanced an inch nearer to her chair.
With a pride which was as obstinate as her pride, I told her
of my discovery at the Shivering Sand, and of all that had
led to it.  The narrative, of necessity, occupied some little
time.  From beginning to end she never looked round at me,
and she never uttered a word.
I kept my temper.  My whole future depended, in all probability, on my not losing possession of myself at that moment.
The time had come to put Mr. Brff's theory to the test. In
the breathless interest of trying that experiment, I moved
round so as to place myself in front of her.
"I have a question to ask you," I said.  "It obliges me to
refer again to a painful subject. Did Rosanna Spearman
show you the night-gown? Yes, or No?"




364                THE MOONSTONE.
She started to her feet; and walked close up to me of her
own accord. Her eyes looked me searchingly in the face, as
if to read something there'hich they had never read yet.
"Are you mad?" she asked.
I still restrained myself: I said, quietly," Rachel, will you
answer my question?"
She went on, without heeding me.
" Have you some object to gain which I don't understand?
Some mean fear about the future, in which I am concerned?
They say your father's death has made you a rich man.
Have you come here to compensate me for the loss of my
Diamond? And have you heart enough left to feel ashamed
of your errand? Is that the secret of your pretense of innocence, and your story about Rosanna Spearman? Is there
a motive of shame at the bottom of all the falsehood, this
time?"
I stopped her there. I could control myself no longer.
"You have done me an infamous wrong!" I broke out
hotly. "You suspect me of stealing your Diamond. I have
a right to know, and I will know, the reason why!"
"Suspect you!" she exclaimed, her anger rising with mine.
"You villain, I saw you take the Diamond with my own
eyes/"
The revelation which burst upon me in those words, the
overthrow which they instantly accomplished of the whole
view of the case on which Mr. Bruff had relied, struck me
helpless. Innocent as I was, I stood before her in silence.
To her eyes, to any eyes, I must have looked like a man
overwhelmed by the discovery of his own guilt.
She drew back from the spectacle of my humiliation, and
of her triumph. The sudden silence that had fallen upon
me seemed to frighten her. "I spared you at the time," she
said. "I would have spared you now, if you had not forced
me to speak."  She moved away as if to leave the roomand hesitated before she got to the door. "Why did you
come here to humiliate yourself?" she asked. "Why did
you come here to humiliate me?" She went on a few steps,
and paused once more. " For God's sake say something!"
she exclaimed, passionately. "If you have any mercy left,
don't let me degrade myself in this way! Say somethingand drive me out of the room!"
I advanced toward her, hardly conscious of what I was
doing. I had possibly some confused idea of detaining her
until she had told me more. From the moment when I knew
that the evidence on which I stood condemned in Rachel's
mind, was the evidence of her own eyes, nothing-not even




THE MOONSTONE.                 865
my conviction of my own innocence-was clear in my mind.
I took her by the hand; I tried to speak firmly and to the
purpose. All I could say was, "Rachel, you once loved me."
She shuddered, and looked away firom me. Her hand lay
powerless and trembling in mine. "Let go of it," she said,
faintly.
My touch seemed to have the same effect on her which
the sound of my voice had produced when I first entered
the room. After she had said the word which called me a
coward, after she had made the avowal which branded me
as a thief-while her hand lay in mine I was her master still!
I drew her gently back into the middle of the room. I
seated her by the side of me. " Rachel," I said, " I can't explain the contradiction in what I am going to tell you. I
can only speak the truth as you have spoken it. You saw
me-with your own eyes, you saw me take the Diamond.
Before God who hears us, I declare that I now know I took
it for the first time! Do you doubt me still?"
She had neither heeded nor heard me. "Let go of my
hand," she repeated, faintly. That was her only answer.
Her head sank on my shoulder; and her hand unconsciously
closed on mine, at the moment when she asked me to release it.
I refrained from pressing the question. But there my forbearance stopped. My chance of ever holding up my head
again among honest men depended on my chance of inducing
her to make her disclosure complete. The one hope left for
me was the hope that she might have overlooked something
in the chain of evidence-some mere trifle, perhaps, which
might nevertheless, under careful investigation, be made the
means of vindicating my innocence in the end. I own I kept
possession of her hand. I own I spoke to her with all that
t could summon back of the sympathy and the confidence
of the by-gone time.
"I want to ask you something," I said. "I want you to
tell me every thing that happened, from the time when we
wished each other good-night, to the time when you saw me
take the Diamond."
She lifted her head from my shoulder, and made an effort
to release her hand. "Oh, why go back to it!" she said.
"Why go back to it!"
" I will tell you why, Rachel. You are the victim, and I
am the victim, of some monstrous delusion which has worn
the mask of truth. If we look at what happened on the
night of your birthday, together, we may end in understanding each other yet."




366                THE MOONSTONE.
Her head dropped back on my shoulder. The tears gath.
ered in her eyes, and fell slowly over her cheeks. "Oh!"
she said, " have I never had that hope? Have I not tried
to see it, as you are trying now?"
"You have tried by yourself," I answered. "You have
not tried with me to help you."
Those words seemed to awaken in her something of the
hope which I felt myself when I uttered them. She replied
to my questions with more than docility-she exerted her
intelligence; she willingly opened her whole mind to me.
"Let us begin," I said, " with what happened after we had
wished each other good-night. Did you go to bed? or did
you sit up?"
"I went to bed."
"Did you notice the time? Was it late?"
" Not very. About twelve o'clock, I think."
"Did you fall asleep?"
"No. I couldn't sleep that night."
"You were restless?"
" I was thinking of you."
The answer almost unmanned me. Something in the tone,
even more than in the words, went straight to my heart. It
was only after pausing a little first that I was able to go on.
"Had you any light in your room?" I asked.
"None-until I got up again, and lit my candle."
"How long was that after you had gone to bed?"
"About an hour after, I think. About one o'clock."
"Did you leave your bedroom?"
"I was going to leave it. I had put on my dressinggown; and I was going into my sitting-room  to get a
book-"
"Had you opened your bedroom door?"
" I had just opened it."
"But you had not gone into the sitting-room?"
"No-I was stopped from going into it."
" What stopped you?"
"I saw a light under the door; and I heard footsteps approaching it."
"Were you fiightened?"
"Not then. I knew my poor mother was a bad sleeper;
and I remembered that she had tried hard that evening to
persuade me to let her take charge of my Diamond. She
was unreasonably anxious about it, as I thought; and I fancied she was coming to me to see if I was in bed, and to
speak to me about the Diamond again, if she found that I
was up."




THE MOONSTONE.                  367
"What did you do?"
"I blew out my candle, so that she might think I was in
bed. I was unreasonable, on my side-I was determined to
keep my Diamond in the place of my own choosing."
"After blowing the candle out, did you go back to bed?"
"I had no time to go back. At the moment when I blew
the candle out the sitting-room door opened, and I saw-"
"You saw?"
"You."
"Dressed as usual?"
" No."
" In my night-gown?"
" In your night-gown-with your bedroom candle in your
hand."
" Alone?"
"Alone."
"Could you see my face?"
" Yes."
" Plainly?"
"Quite plainly. The candle in your hand showed it to
me."
" Were my eyes open?"
" Yes."
"Did you notice any thing strange in them? Any thing
like a fixed, vacant expression?"
" Nothing of the sort. Your eyes were bright-brighter
than usual. You looked about in the room as if you knew
you were where you ought not to be, and as if you were
afraid of being found out."
" Did you observe one thing when I came into the roomdid you observe how I walked?"
"You walked as you always do. You came in as far as
the middle of the room-and then you stopped and looked
about you."
"What did you do on first seeing me?"
"I could do nothing. I was petrified. I couldn't speak.
I couldn't call out, I couldn't even move to shut my door."
"Could I see you where you stood?"
"You might certainly have seen me.  But you never
looked toward me. It's useless to ask the question. I am
sure you never saw me."
" How are yon sure?"
"Would you have taken the Diamond? would you have
acted as you did afterward? would you be here now-if
yoi had seen that I was awake and looking at you? Don't
make me talk of that part of it! I want to answer you qui




368                THE MOONSTONE.
etly. Help me to keep as calm as I can. Go on to some.
thing else."
She was right-in every way, right. I went on to other
things.
" What did I do after I had got to the middle of the room
and had stopped there?"
"You turned away, and went straight to the corner near
the window-where my Indian cabinet stands."
"When I was at the cabinet my back must have been
turned toward you. How did you see what I was doing?"
"When you moved, I moved."
"So as to see what I was about with my hands?"
"There are three glasses in my sitting-room. As you
stood there I saw all that you did( reflected in one of them."
"What did you see?"
"You put your candle on the top of the cabinet. You
opened and shut one drawer after allother until you came to
the drawer in which I had put my Diamond. You looked
at the drawer for a moment. And then you put your hand
in and took the Diamond out."
" How do you know I took the Diamond out?"
"I saw your hand go into the drawer. And I saw the
gleam of the stone, between your finger and thumb, when
you took your hand out."
"Did my hand approach the drawer again-to close it,
for instance?"
"No. You had the Diamond in your right hand; and
you took the candle from the top of the cabinet with your
left hand."
"Did I look about me again after that?"
" No."
"Did I leave the room immediately?"
" No. You stood quite still for what seemed a long time.
I saw your face sideways in the glass. You looked like a
man thinking, and dissatisfied with his own thoughts."
"What happened next?"
"You roused yourself on a sudden, and you went straight
out of the room."
" Did I close the door after me?"
"No. You passed out quickly into the passage, and left
the door open."
"And then?"
" Then your light disappeared, and the sound of your steps
died away, and I was left alone in the dark."
"Did nothing happen-from that time to the time when
the whole house knew that the Diamond was lost?"




TIlE MOONSTONE.                  369
"Nothing."
"Are you sure of that? Might you not have been asleep
& part of the time?"
"I never slept. I never went back to my bed. Nothing
happened until Penelope came in, at the usual time in the
morning."
I dropped her hand, and rose, and took a turn in the room.
Every question that I could put had been answered. Every
detail that I could desire to know had been placed before
me. I had even reverted to the idea of sleep-walking, and
the idea of intoxication; and, again, the worthlessness of
the one theory and the other had been proved-on the authority, this time, of the witness who had seen me. What
was to be said next? what was to be done next?  There
rose the horrible fact of the Theft-the one visible, tangible
object that confronted me, in the midst of the impenetrable darkness which enveloped all besides! Not a glimpse
of light to guide me, when I had possessed myself of Rosanna Spearman's secret at the Shivering Sand.  And not
a glimpse of light now, when I had appealed to Rachel herself, and had heard the hateful story of the night from her
own lips.
She was the first, this time, to break the silence.
"Well?" she said, " you have asked, and I have answered.
You have made me hope something from all this, because
you hoped something from  it.  What have you to say
now?"
The tone in which she spoke warned me that my influence
over her was a lost influence once more.
" We were to look at what happened on my birthday
night, together," she went on; "and we were then to understand each other. Have we done that?"
She waited pitilessly for my reply. In answering her I
committed a fatal error-I let the exasperating helplessness
of my situation get the better of my self-control. Rashly
and uselessly, I reproached her for the silence which had
kept me until that moment in ignorance of the truth.
"If you had spoken when you ought to have spoken," I
began; "if you had done me the common justice to explain
yourself-"
She broke in on me with a cry of firy. The few words I
had said seemed to have lashed her on the instant into a
frenzy of rage.
"Explain myself!" she repeated.  "01   is there another
man like this in the world? I spare him, whenl my heart is
breaking; I screen him when my ownl character is at stake;'2i




370                THE MOONSTON E.
and he —of all human beings, he-turns on me now, and tells
me that I ought to have explained myself! After believing
in him as I did, after loving him as I did, after thinking of
him by day, and dreaming of him by night — he wonders
why I didn't charge him with his disgrace the first time we
met:'My heart's darling, you are a Thief! My hero whom
I love and honor, you have crept into my room under cover
of the night, and stolen my Diamond!' That is what I
ought to have said.  You villain, you mean, mean, mean
villain, I would have lost fifty Diamonds rather than see
your face lying to me, as I see it lying now!"
I took up my hat. In mercy to her-yes! I can honestly
say it-in mercy to her, I turned away without a word, and
opened the door by which I had entered the room.
She followed, and snatched the door out of my hand; she
closed it, and pointed back to the place that I had left.
" No!" she said. " Not yet! It seems that I owe a justification of my conduct to you. You shall stay and hear it.
Or you shall stoop to the lowest infamy of all, and force
your way out."
It wrung my heart to see her; it wrung my heart to hear
it. I answered by a sign-it was all I could do-that I submitted myself to her will.
The crimson flush of anger began to fade out of her face
as I went back and took my chair in silence. She waited a
little, and steadied herself. When she went on but one sign
of feeling was discernible in her. She spoke without looking
at me. Her hands were fast clasped in her lap, and her eyes
were fixed on the ground.
" I ought to have done you the common justice to explain
myself," she said, repeating my own words. "You shall see
whether I did try to do you justice or not. I told you just
now that I never slept, and never returned to my bed, after
you had left my sitting-room. It's useless to trouble you
by dwelling on what I thought-you wouldn't understand
my thoughts-I will only tell you what I did when time
enough had passed to help me to recover myself. I refrained
from alarming the house, and telling every body what had
happened-as I ought to have done. In spite of what I had
seen I was fond enough of you to believe-no matter what!
-any impossibility, rather than admit it to my own mind
that you were deliberately a thief. I thought and thought
-and I ended in writing to you."
"I never received the letter."
"I know you never received it. Wait a little, and you
shall hear why. My letter would have told you nothing




THE MOONSTONE.                 371
openly. It would not have ruined you for life, if it had
fallen into some other person's hands. It would only have
said-in a manner which you yourself could not possibly
have mistaken-that I hail reason to know  you were in
debt, and that it was in iny experience and in my mother's
experience of you, that you were not very discreet, or very
scrupulous about how you got money when you wanted it.
You would have remembered the visit of the French lawyer,
and you would have known what I referred to. If you had
read on with some interest after that, you would have come
to an offer I had to make to you-the offer, privately (not a
word, mind, to be said openly about it between us!) of the
loan of as large a sum of money as I could get.-And I
would have got it!" she exclaimed, her color beginning to
rise again, and her eyes looking up at me once more. "I
would have pledged the Diamond myself, if I could have
got the money in no other way! In those words, I wrote
to you. Wait! I did more than that. I arranged with
Penelope to give you the letter when nobody was near. I
planned to shut myself into my bedroom, and to have the
sitting-room left open and empty all the morning. And I
hoped-with all my heart and soul I hoped!-that you
would take the opportunity, and put the Diamond back secretly in the drawer."
I attempted to speak. She lifted her hand impatiently
and stopped me. In the rapid alternations of her temper,
her anger was beginning to rise again. She got up from
her chair and approached me.
" I know what you are going to say," she went on. " You
are going to remind me again that you never received my
letter. I can tell you why. I tore it up."
"For what reason?" I asked.
"For the best of reasons. I preferred tearing it up to
throwing it away upon such a man as you! What was the
first news that reached me in the morning? Just as my little plan was complete, what did I hear? I heard that youyou!!!-were the foremost person in the house in fetching
the police. You were the active man; you were the leader;
you were working harder than any of them to recover the
jewel! You even carried your audacity far enough to ask
to speak to me about the loss of the Diamond-the Diamond
which you yourself had stolen; the Diamond which was all
the time in your own hands! After that proof of your horrible falseness and cunning, I tore up my letter. But even
then-even when I was maddened by the searching and
questioning of the policeman, whom you had sent in-even




372                 THE MOONSTONE.
then, there was some infatuation in my mind which wouldn't
let me give you up. I said to myselt'He has played his
vile farce before every body else in the house. Let me try
if he can play it before Me.' Somebody told me you were
on the terrace. I went down to the terrace. I forced myself to look at you; I forced myself to speak to you. Have
you forgotten what I said?"
I might have answered that I remembered every word of
it. But what purpose, at that moment, would the answer
have served?
How could I tell her that what she had said had astonished me, had distressed me, had suggested to me that she
was in a state of dangerous nervous excitement, had even
roused a moment's doubt in my mind whether the loss of
the jewel was as much a mystery to her as to the rest of usbut had never once given me so much as a glimpse at the
truth? Without the shadow of a proof to produce in vindication of my innocence, how could I persuade her that I
knew no more than the veriest stranger could have known
of what was really in her thoughts when she spoke to me on
the terrace?
"It may suit your convenience to forget; it suits my convenience to remember," she went on. "I know what I said
-for I considered it with myself before I said it. I gave
you one opportunity after another of owning the truth. I
left nothing unsaid that I could say-short of actually telling you that I knew you had committed the theft. And all
the return you made was to look at me with your vile pretense of astonishment, and your false face of innocence —just
as you have looked at me to-day; just as you are looking
at me now! I left you that morning knowing you at last
for what you were-for what you are-as base a wretch as
ever walked the earth!"
" If you had spoken out at the time you might have left
me, Rachel, knowing that you had cruelly wronged an innocent man."
" If I had spoken out before other people," she retorted,
with another burst of indignation, "you would have been
disgraced for life! If I had spoken out to no ears but yours,
you would have denied it, as vou are denying it now! Do
you think I should have believed you? Would a man hesitate at a lie who had done what I saw you do-who had behaved about it afterward as I saw you behave? I tell you
again, I shrank fiom the horror of hearing you lie, after the
horror of seeing you thieve. You talk as if this was a misunderstanding which a few words might have set right!




I
CUHME -BYT   JMADAREMYW OT
USE CAuJGHT m1{ BE TkLL 41W AND BIARRED MY WAY OUT.








THE MOONSTONE.                  375
Well! the misunderstanding is at an end. Is the thing set
right? No! the thing is just where it was. I don't believe
you now! I don't believe you found the night-gown, I don't
believe in Rosanna Spearman's letter, I don't believe a word
you have said. You stole it-I saw you! You affected to
help the police-I saw you! You pledged the Diamond to
the money-lender in London-I am sure of it! You cast the
suspicion of your disgrace (thanks to my base silence!) on
an innocent man! You fled to the Continent with your
plunder the next morning! After all the vileness, there was
but one thing more you could do. You could come here
with a last falsehood on your lips-you could come here and
tell me that I have wronged you!"
If I had staid a moment more, I know not what words
might have escaped me which I should have remembered
with vain repentance and regret. I passed by her and opened the door for the second time. For the second time-with
the frantic perversity of a roused woman-she caught me by
the arm and barred my way out.
" Let me go, Rachel," I said. "It will be better for both
of us. Let me go."
The hysterical passion swelled in her bosom-her quickened convulsive breathing almost beat on my face, as she held
me back at the door.
"Why did you come here?" she persisted, desperately.
" I ask you again-why did you come lhere? Are you afraid
I shall expose you? Now you are a rich man, now you have
got a place in the world, now you may marry the best lady
in the land —are you afraid I shall say the words which I
have never said yet to any body but you? I can't say the
words! I can't expose you! I am wolse, if worse can be,
than you are yourself."  Sobs and tears burst firom her. She
struggled with them fiercely; she held me more and more
firmly. "I can't tear you out of my heart," she said, "even
now! You may trust in the shameful, shameful weakness
which can only struggle against you in this way!" She suddenly let go of me-she threw up her hands and wrung them
fiantically in the air. "Any other living woman would
shrink from the disgrace of touching him!" she exclaimed.
"Oh, God! I despise myself even more heartily than I despise him r?
The tears were forcing their way into my eyes in spite of
me-the horror of it was to be endured no longer.
"You shall know that you have wronged me, yet," I said.
"Or you shall never see me again!"
With those words I left her. She started up from the




376                 THE MOONSTONE.
chair on which she had dropped the moment before: she
started up-the noble creature!-and followed me across the
outer room, with a last merciful word at parting.
"Franklin!" she said, "I forgive you! Oh, Franklin!
Franklin! we shall never meet again. Say you forgive
me!"
I turned, so as to let my face show her that I was past
speaking-I turned, and waved my hand, and saw her dimly, as in a vision, through the tears that had conquered me
at last.
The next moment the worst bitterness of it was over. I
was out in the garden again. I saw her and heard her no
more.
CHAPTER VIII.
LATE that evening I was surprised at my lodgings by a
visit from Mr. Bruff.
There was a noticeable change in the lawyer's manner.
It had lost its usual confidence and spirit. He shook hands
with me, for the first time in his life, in silence.
"Are you going back to Hampstead?" I asked, by way of
saying something.
"I have just left Hampstead," he answered.  "I know,
Mr. Franklin, that you have got at the truth at last. But I
tell you plainly, if I could have foreseen the price that was
to be paid for it, I should have preferred leaving you in the
dark."
"You have seen Rachel?"
" I have come here after taking her back to Portland Place;
it was impossible to let her return in the carriage by herself
I can hardly hold you responsible-considering that you
saw her in my house and by my permission-for the shock
that this unlucky interview has inflicted on her. All I can
do is to provide against a repetition of the mischief. She is
young-she has a resolute spirit-she will get over this, with
time and rest to help her. I want to be assured that you
will do nothing to hinder her recovery. May I depend on
your making no second attempt to see her-except with my
sanction and approval?"
"After what she has suffered, and after what I have suffered," I said, "you may rely on me."
"-I have your promise?"
"You have my promise."




THE MOONSTONE.                  377
Mr. Bruff looked relieved. He put down his hat and drew
his chair nearer to mine.
" That's settled!" he said. " Now about the future-your
future, I mean. To my mind the result of the extraordinary
turn which the matter has now taken is briefly this. In the
first place, we are sure that Rachel has told you the whole
truth, as plainly as words can tell it. In the second placethough we know that there must be some dreadful mistake
somewhere-we can hardly blame her for believing you to
be guilty, on the evidence of her own senses, backed, as that
evidence has been, by circumstances which appear, on the
face of them, to tell dead against you."
There I interposed. "I don't blame Rachel," I said. " I
only regret that she could not prevail on herself to speak
more plainly to me at the time."
"You might as well regret that Rachel is not somebody
else," rejoined Mr. Bruff. "And even then I doubt if a girl
of any delicacy, whose heart had been set on marrying you,
could have brought herself to charge you to your face with
being a thief. Anyhow, it was not in Rachel's nature to do
it. In a very different matter to this matter of yourswhich placed her, however, in a position not altogether unlike her position toward you-I happen to know that she
was influenced by a similar motive to the motive which
actuated her conduct in your case. Besides, as she told me
herself, on our way to town this evening, if she had spoken
plainly, she would no more have believed your denial then
than she believes it now.  What answer can you make to
that? There is no answer to be made to it. Come! come!
Mr. Franklin, my view of the case has been proved to be all
wrong, I admit-but, as things are now, my advice may be
worth having for all that. I tell you plainly, we shall be
wasting our time and cudgeling our brains to no purpose if
we attempt to try back, and unravel this frighful complicacion from the beginning. Let us close our minds resolutely
to all that happened last year at Lady Verinder's country
house; and let us look to what we can discover in the future, instead of to what we can not discover in the past."
"Surely you forget," I said, "that the whole thing is essentially a matter of the past-so far as I am concerned?"
"Answer me this," retorted Mr. Bruff. "Is the Moonstone at the bottom of all the mischief-or is it not'?"
"It is-of course."
"Very good. What do we believe was done with the
Moonstone when it was taken to London?"
"It was pledged to Mr. Luker."




378                 THE MOONSTONE.
"We know that you are not the person who pledged it
Do we know who did?"
" No."
" Where do we believe the Moonstone to be now?"
"Deposited in the keeping of Mr. Luker's bankers."
"Exactly.  Now observe.  We are already in the month
of June. Toward the end of the month (I can't be particular to a day) a year will have elapsed from the time when
we believe the jewel to have been pledged. There is a
chance-to say the least-that the person who pawned it
may be prepared to redeem it when the year's time has expired. If he redeems it, Mr. Luker must himself-according
to the terms of his own arrangement-take the Diamond out
of his bankers' hands. Under these circumstances I propose
setting a watch at the bank as the present month draws to
an end, and discovering who the person is to whom  Mr.
Luker restores the Moonstone. Do you see it now?"
I admitted (a little unwillingly) that the idea was a new
one, at any rate.
"It's Mr. Murthwaite's idea quite as much as mine," said
Mr. Bruff. "It might have never entered my head but for
a conversation we had together some time since. If Mr.
Murthwaite is right, the Indians are likely to be on the lookout at the bank, toward the end of the month too-and something serious may come of it. What comes of it doesn't
matter to you and me-except as it may help us to lay our
hands on the mysterious Somebody who pawned the Diamond. That person, you may rely on it, is responsible (I
don't pretend to know how) for the position in which you
stand at this moment; and that person alone can set you
right in Rachel's estimation.".
"I can't deny," I said, " that the plan you propose meets
the difficulty in a way that is very daring, and very ingenious, and very new. But-"
"But you have an objection to make?"
"Yes. My objection is that your proposal obliges us to
wait."' "Granted.  As I reckon the time, it requires you to
wait about a fortnight — more or less.  Is that so very
long?"
"It's a lifetime, Mr. Bruff, in such a situation as mine. My
existence will be simply unendurable to me, unless I do
something toward clearing my character at once."
"Well, well, I understand that. Have you thought yet
of what you can do?"
"I have thought of consulting Sergeant Cuff."




THE MOONSTONE.                 387
"He has retired from the police. It's useless to expect
&he Sergeant to help you."
"I know where to find him; and I can but try."
"Try," said Mr. Bruff, after a moment's consideration.
"The case has assumed such an extraordinary aspect since
Sergeant Cuff's time that you may revive his interest in
the inquiry. Try, and let me hear the result. In the mean
while," he continued, rising, " if you make no discoveries between this and the end of the month, am I free to try, on my
side, what can be done by keeping a lookout at the bank?"
"Certainly," I answered-" unless I relieve you of all necessity for trying the experiment in the interval."
Mr. Bruff smiled, and took up his hat.
" Tell Sergeant Cuff," he rejoined, " that I say the discovery of the truth depends on the discovery of the person who
pawned the Diamond. -And let me hear what the Sergeant's
experience says to that."
So we parted for that night.
Early the next morning I set forth for the little town of
Dorking-the place of Sergeant Cuff's retirement, as indicated to me by Betteredge.
Inquiring at the hotel, I received the necessary directions
for finding the Sergeant's cottage. It was approached by
a quiet by-road, a little way out of the town, and it stood
snugly in the middle of its own plot of garden ground, protected by a good brick wall at the back and the sides, and
by a high quickset hedge in front. The gate, ornamented
at the upper part by smartly-painted trellis-work, was locked.
After ringing at the bell, I peered through the trellis-work,
and saw the great Cuff s favorite flower everywhere: blooming in his garden, clustering over his door, looking in at his
windows. Far from the crimes and the mysteries of the
great city, the illustrious thief-taker was placidly living out
the last Sybarite years of his life, smothered in roses!
A decent elderly woman opened the gate to me, and at
once annihilated all the hopes I had built on securing the
assistance of Sergeant Cuff. He had started, only the day
before, on a journey to Ireland.
"Has he gone there on business?" I asked.
The woman smiled. "He has only one business now, sir,"
she said," and that's roses. Some great man's gardener in
Ireland has found out something new in the growing of roses
-and Mr. Cuff's away to inquire into it."
"Do you know when he will be back?"
"It's quite uncertain, sir. Mr. Cuff said he should come
back directly, or be away some time, just according as he




380                  THE MOONSTONE.
found the new discovery worth nothing, or worth looking
into. If you have any messege to leave for him, I'll take
care, sir, that he gets it."
I gave her my card, having first written on it in pencil:
"I have something to say about the Moonstone. Let me
hear fiom you as soon as you get back."  That done, there
was nothing left but to submit to circumstances, and return
to London.
In the irritable condition of my mind, at the time of which
I am now writing, the abortive result of my journey to the
Sergeant's cottage simply aggravated the restless impulse in
me to be doing something.  On the day of my return from
Dorking, I determined that the next morning should find me
bent on a new etfbrt, forcing my way, through all obstacles,
from the darkness to the light.
What form was my next experiment to take?
If the excellent Betteredge had been present while I was
considering that question, and if he had been let into the secret of my thoughts, he would, no doubt, have declared that
the German side of me was, on this occasion, my uppermost
side. To speak seriously, it is perhaps possible that my German training was in some degree responsible for the labyrinth of useless speculations in which I now involved myself.
For the greater part of the night I sat smoking, and building up theories, one more profoundly improbable than another.  When I did get to sleep my wakirng fancies pursued
me in dreams. I rose the next morning, with ObjectiveSubjective and Subjective-Objective inextricably entangled
together in my mind; and I began the day which was to
witness -my next effort at practi:al action of sonir, kind, by
doubting whether I had any sort of right (on purely philosophical grounds) to consider any sort of thing (the Diamond
ineiluded) as existing at all.
How long I might have remained lost in the mist of my
own metaphysics, if I had been left to extricate myself, it is
impossible for me to say. As the event proved, accident
came to my rescue, and happily delivered me. I happened
to wear, that morning, the same coat which I had worn on
the day of my interview with Rachel.  Searching ftr something else in one of the pockets, I came upon a crumpled
piece of paper, and, taking it out, found Betteredge's forgotten letter in my hand.
It seemed hard on my good old friend to leave him without a reply.  I went to my writing-table, and read his letter
again.




THE MOONSTONE.                   381
A letter which has nothing of the slightest importance in
it is not always an easy letter to answer. Betteredge's present effort at corresponding with me came within this category. Mr. Candy's assistant, otherwise Ezra Jennings, had
told his master that he had seen me; and Mr. Candy, in his
turn, wanted to see me and say something to me, when I was
next in the neighborhood of Frizinghall., What was to be
said in answer to that, which would be worth the paper it
was written on? I sat idly drawing likenesses from memory of Mr. Candy's remarkable-looking assistant, on the sheet
of paper which I had vowed to dedicate to Betteredge
-until it suddenly occurred to me that here was the irrepressible Ezra Jennings getting in my way again! I threw
a dozen portraits, at least, of the man with the piebald hair
(the hair in every case remarkably like) into the wastepaper basket-and then and there wrote my answer to Betteredge.  It was a perfect commonplace letter-but it had
one excellent effect on me.  The effort of writing a few
sentences, in plain English, completely cleared my mind
of the cloudy nonsense which had filled it since the previous
day.
Devoting myself once more to the elucidation of the impenetrable puzzle which my own position presented me, I
now tried to meet the difficulty by investigating it from a
plainly practical point of view. The events of the memorable night being still unintelligible to me, I looked a little farther back, and searched my memory of the earlier hours of
the birthday for any incident which might prove of some assistance to me in finding the clue.
Had any thing happened while Rachel and I were finishing the painted door? or, later, when I rode over to Frizinghall? or afterward, when I went back with Godfrey Ablewhite and his sisters? or, later again, when I put the Moonstone into Rachel's hands? or, later still, when the company
came, and we all assembled round the dinner-table?  My
memory disposed of that string of questions readily enough
until I came to the last. Looking back at the social events
of the birthday dinner, I found myself brought to a standstill at the outset of the inquiry. I was not even capable
of accurately remembering the number of the guests who
had sat at the same table with me.
To feel myself completely at fault here, and to conclude,
thereupon, that the incidents of the dinner might especially
repay the trouble of investigating them, formed parts of the
same mental process in my case. I believe other people, in
a similar situation, would have reasoned as I did. When




$82                THE MOONSTONE.
the pursuit of our own interests causes us to become objects
of inquiry to ourselves, we are naturally suspicious of what
we don't know. Once in possession of the names of the persons who had been present at the dinner, I resolved -as a
means of enriching the deficient resources of my own memory-to appeal to the memories of the rest of the guests; to
write down all that they could recollect of the social events
of the birthday; and to test the result, thus obtained, by
the light of what had happened afterward when the company had left the house.
This last and newest of my many contemplated experiments in the art of inquiry-which Bettteredge would probably have attributed to the clear-headed, or French, side of
me being uppermost for the moment-may fairly claim record here, on its own merits. Unlikely as it may seem, I had
now actually groped my way to the root of the matter at
last. All I wanted was a hint to guide me in the right direction at starting. Before another day had passed over my
head that hint was given me by one of the company who
had been present at the birthday feast.
With the plan of proceeding which I now had in view, it
was first necessary to possess the complete list of the guests.
This I could easily obtain from Gabriel Betteredge. I determined to go back to Yorkshire on that day, and to begin
my contemplated investigation the next morning.
It was just too late to start by the train which left London before noon. There was no alternative but to wait,
nearly three hours, for the departure of the next train.
Was there any thing I could do in London which might usefully occupy this interval of time?
My thoughts went back again obstinately to the birthday
dinner.
Though I had forgotten the numbers, and, in many cases,
the names of the guests, I remembered readily enough that
by far the larger proportion of them came from Frizinghall,
or fiom its neighborhood. But the larger proportion was
not all. Some few of us were not regular residents in the
county. I myself was one of the( few. Mr. Murthwaite was
another. Godfrey Ablewhite was a third. Mr. Bruff-no;
I called to mind that business had prevented Mr. Bruff from
making one of the party. Had any ladies been present whose
usual residence was in London? I could only remember Miss
Clack as coming within this latter category. However, here
were three of the guests, at any rate, whom it was clearly
advisable for me to see before I left town. I drove off at
once to Mr. Bruff's office; not knowing the addresses of the




THE MOONSTONE.                  383
persons of whom I was in search, and thinking it probable
that he might put me il the way of tidiliig them.
Mr. Bruff proved to be too busy to girve nle more than a
minute of his valuable time. In that millute, however, he
contrived to dispose-in the most discouraging manner-of
all the questions I had put to him.
In the first place, he considered my newly-discovered
method of finding a clue to the mystery as something too
purely fanciful to be seriously discussed.  In the second,
third, and fourth places, Mr. Murthwaite was now on his
way back to the scene of his past adventures; Miss Clack
had suffered losses, and had settled, from motives of economy, in France; Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite might or might not
be discoverable somewhere in London. Suppose I inquired
at his club? And suppose I excused Mr. Bruff if he went
back to his business and wished me good-morning?
The field of inquiry in London being now so narrowed as
only to include the one necessity of discovering Godfrey's
address, I took the lawyer's hint, and drove to his club.
In the hall I met with one of the members, who was an
old friend of my cousin's, and who was also an acquaintance
of my own. This gentleman, after enlightening me on the
subject of Godfrey's address, told me of two recent events
in his life, which were of some importance in themselves, and
which had not previously reached my ears.
It appeared that Godfrey, far from being discouraged by
Rachel's withdrawal from her engagement to him, had made
matrimonial advances soon afterward to another young lady,
reputed to be a great heiress. His suit had prospered, and
his marriage had been considered as a settled and certain
thing. But here, again, the engagement had been suddenly
and unexpectedly broken off-owing, it was said, on this occasion, to a serious difference of opinion between the bridegroom and the lady's father on the question of settlements.
As some compensation for this second matrimonial disaster, Godfrey had soon afterward found himself the object of
fond pecuniary remembrance, on the part of one of his many
admirers. A rich old lady-highly respected at the Mothers'-Small-Clothes-Conversion-Society, and a great friend of
Miss Clack's (to whom she had left nothing but a mourning
ring)- had bequeathed to the admirable and meritorious
Godfrey a legacy of five thousand pounds. After receiving
this handsome addition to his own modest pecuniary resources, he had been heard to say that he felt the necessity
of getting a.little respite from his charitable labors, and that
his doctor prescribed " a run on the Continent, as likely to




384                THE MOONSTONE.
be productive of much future benefit to his health." If I
wanted to see him, it would be advisable to lose no time in
paying my contemplated visit.
I went, then and there, to pay my visit.
The same fatality which had made me just one day too
late in calling on Sergeant Cuff made me again one day too
late in calling on Godfrey. He had left London, on the previous morning, by the tidal train for Dover.  He was to
cross to Ostend; and his servant believed he was going on
to Brussels. The time of his return was a little uncertain;
but I might be sure that he would be away at least three
months.
I went back to my lodgings a little depressed in spirits.
Three of the guests at the birthday dinner-and those three
all exceptionally intelligent people-were out of my reach,
at the very time when it was most important to be able to
communicate with them. My last hopes now rested on Betteredge, and on the friends of the late Lady Verinder whom
I might still find living in the neighborhood of Rachel's
country house.
On this occasion I traveled straight to Frizinghall-the
town being now the central point in my field of inquiry. I
arrived too late in the evening to be able to communicate
with Betteredge.  The next morning I sent a messenger
with a letter, requesting him to join me at the hotel at his
earliest convenience.
Having taken the precaution-partly to save time, partly
to accommodate Betteredge-of sending my messenger in
a fly, I had a reasonable prospect, if no delays occurred,
of seeing the old man within less than two hours from the
time when I had sent for him. During this interval I arranged to employ myself in opening my contemplated inquiry among the guests present at the birthday dinner who
were personally known to me, and who were easily within
my reach. These were my relatives, the Ablewhites, and
Mr. Candy. The doctor had expressed a special wish to see
me, and the doctor lived in the next street. So to Mr. Candy
I went first.
After what Betteredge had told me, I naturally anticipated finding traces in the doctor's face of the severe illness
from which he had suffered. But I was utterly unprepared
for such a change as I saw in him when he entered the room
and shook hands with me. His eyes were dim; his hair had
turned completely gray; his face was wizen; his figure had
shrunk. I looked at the once lively, rattle-pated, humorous




THE MOONSTONE.                     385
little doctor-associated in my remembrance with the perpetration of incorrigible social indiscretions and innumerable
boyish jokes-and I saw nothing left of his former self but
the old tendency to vulgar ssmartness in his dress. The man
was a wreck; but his clothes and his jewelry-in cruel mockery of the change in him-were as gay and as gaudy as ever.
"I have often thought of you, Mr. Blake," he said; "and
I am heartily glad to see you again at last.  If there is any
thing I can do for you, pray command my services, sir-pray
command my services!"
He said those few commonplace words with needless hurry and eagerness, and with a curiosity to know  what had
brought me to Yorkshire, which he was perfectly-I might
say childishly-incapable of concealing fiom notice.
With the object that I had in view, I had of course foreseen the necessity of entering into some sort of personal explanation, before I could hope to interest people, mostly
strangers to me, in doing their best to assist my inquiry.
On the journey to Frizinghall I had arranged what niy explanation was to be-and I seized the opportunity now of
fered to me of trying the effect of it on Mr. Candy.
"I was in Yorkshire the other day, and I am in Yorkshire
again now, on rather a romantic errand," I said.  "It is a
matter, Mr. Candy, in which the late Lady Verinder's fiiends
all took some interest. You remember the mysterious loss
of the Indian Diamond, now nearly a year since?  Circumstances have lately happened which lead to the hope that it
may yet be found-and I am interesting myself, as one of
the family, in recovering it.  Among the obstacles in my
way, there is the necessity of collecting again all the evidence which was discovered at the time, and more if possible. There are peculiarities in this case, which make it desirable to revive my recollection of every thing that happened in the house on the evening of Miss Verinder's birthday.
And I venture to appeal to her late mother's friends who
were present on that occasion to lend me the assistance of
their memories-"
I had got as far as that in rehearsing my explanatory
phrases, when I was suddenly checked by seeing plainly in
Mr. Candy's face that my experiment on him  was a total
failure.
The little doctor sat restlessly picking at the points of his
fingers all the time I was speaking.  His dim, watery eyes
were fixed on my face with an expression of vacant and wistful inquiry very painful to see. What he was thinking of it
was impossible to divine. The one thing clearly visible was
25




386                 THE MOONSTONE.
that I had failed, after the first two or three words, in fixing
his attention. The only chance of recalling him to himself
appeared to lie in changing the subject. I tried a new topic
immediately.
" So much," I said, gayly, " for what brings me to Frizinghall! Now, Mr. Candy, it's your turn. You sent me a message by Gabriel Betteredge-"
He left off picking at his fingers, and suddenly brighten
ed up.
"Yes! yes! yes!" he exclaimed, eagerly. "That's it! I
sent you a message!"
"And Betteredge duly communicated it by letter," I went
on. "Yon had something to say to me the next time I was
in your neighborhood. Well, Mr. Candy, here I am!"
"Here you are!" echoed the doctor. "And Betteredge
was quite right. I had something to say to you. That was
my message. Betteredge is a wonderful man. What a
memory! At his age, what a memory!"
He dropped back into silence, and began picking at his
fingers again. Recollecting what I had heard from Betteredge about the effect of the fever on his memory, I went on
with the conversation in the hope that I might help him at
starting.
"It's a long time since we met," I said. "We last saw
each other at the last birthday dinner my poor aunt was
ever to give."
"That's it!" cried Mr. Candy. "The birthday dinner!"
He started impulsively to his feet and looked at me. A
deep flush suddenly overspread his faded face, and he abruptly sat down again, as if conscious of having betrayed a weakness which he would fain have concealed. It was plain,
pitiably plain, that he was aware of his own defect of memory, and that he was bent on hiding it from the observation
of his friends.
Thus far he had appealed to my compassion only. But
the words he had just said, few as they were, roused my curiof,ity instantlyto tohe highest pitch. The birthday dinner
had already become the one event in the past at which I
looked back with strangely-mixed feelings of hope and distrust. And here was the birthday dinner unmistakably proclaiming itself as the subject on which Mr. Candy had something important to say to me!
I attempted to help him out once more. But this time
my own interests were at the bottom of my compassionate
motive, and they hurried me on a little tno abruptly to the
end that I had;n views




THE MOONSTONE.                  387
" It's nearly a year now," I said, " since we sat at that
pleasant table. Have you made any memorandum-in your
diary, or otherwise-of what you wanted to say to me?"
Mr. Candy understood the suggestion, and showed me
that he understood it, as an insult.
"I require no memorandums, Mr. Blake," he said, stiffly
enough. "I am not such a very old man vet-and my memory (thank God) is to be thoroughly depended on!"
It is needless to say that I declined to understand that he
was offended with me.
" I wish I could say the same of my memory," I answered.
"When I try to think of matters that are a year old, I seldom find my remembrance as vivid as I could wish it to be.
Take the dinner at Lady Verinder's, for instance-"
Mr. Candy brightened up again, the moment the allusion
passed my lips.
"Ah! the dinner, the dinner at Lady Verinder's!" he exclaimed, more eagerly than ever. "I have got something to
say to you about that."
His eyes looked at me again with the painful expression
of inquiry, so wistful, so vacant, so miserably helpless to see.
He was evidently trying hard, and trying in vain, to recover
the lost recollection. "It was a very pleasant dinner," he
burst out suddenly, with an air of saying exactly what he
had wanted to say. "A very pleasant dinner, Mr. Blake,
wasn't it?" He nodded and smiled, and appeared to think,
poor fellow, that he had succeeded in concealing the total
failure of his memory by a well-timed exertion of his own
presence of mind.
It was so distressing that I at once shifted the talk-deeply as I was interested in his recovering the lost remembrance
-to topics of local interest.
Here he got on glibly enough. Trumpery little scandals
and quarrels in the town, some of them as much as a month
old, appeared to recur to his memory readily. He chattered
on, with something of the smooth gossiping fluency of former
times. But there were moments, even in the full flow of his
talkativeness, when he suddenly hesitated-looked at me for
a moment with the vacant inquiry once more in his eyescontrolled himself-and went on again. I submitted patiently to my martyrdom (it is surely nothing less than martyrdom, to a man of cosmopolitan sympathies, to absorb in silent resignation the news of a country town?) until the
clock on the chimney-piece told me that my visit had been
prolorged beyond half an hour. Having now some right to
consider the sacrifice as complete, I rose to take leave. As




388                  THE MOONSTONE.
we shook hands, Mr. Candy reverted to the birthday festival
of his own accord.
"I am so glad we have met again," he said.  "I had it on
my mind-I really had it on my mind, Mr. Blake, to speak
to you. About the dinner at Lady Verinder's, you know?
A pleasant dinner-really a pleasant dinner now, wasn't it?"
On repeating the phrase he seemed to feel hardly as certain of having prevented me from suspecting his lapse of
memory as he had felt on the first occasion.  The wistful
look clouded his face again; and, after apparently designing
to accompany me to the street door, he suddenly changed
his mind, rang the bell for the servant, and remained in the
drawing-room.
I went slowly down the doctor's stairs, feeling the disheartening conviction that he really had something to say
which it was vitally important to me to hear, and that he
was morally incapable of saying it.  The effort of remembering that he wanted to speak to me was but too evidently
the only effort that his enfeebled memory was now able to
achieve.
Just as I had reached the bottom  of the stairs, and had
turned a corner on my way to the outer hall, a door opened
softly somewhere on the ground-floor of the house, andl  a
gentle voice said behind me:
" I am afi-aid, sir, you find Mr. Candy sadly changed?"
I turned round, and found myself face to face with Ezra
Jennings.
CHAPTER IX.
THE doctor's pretty house-maid stood waiting for me, with
the street door open in her hand.  Pouring brightly into the
hall, the morning light fell full on the face of Mr. Candy's
assistant when I turned and looked at him.
It was impossible to dispute Betteredge's assertion that
the appearance of Ezra Jennings, speaking from the popular
point of view, was against him.  His gypsy complexion, his
fleshless cheeks, his gaunt facial bones, his dreamy eyes, his
extraordinary party-colored hair. the puzzling contradiction
between his face and figure, which made him look old and
young both together-were all more or less calculated to produce an unfavorable impression of him on a stranger's mind.
And yet-feeling this as I certainly did-it is not to be denied that Ezra Jennings made some inscrutable appeal to
my sympathies, which I found it impossible to resist.  While




THE MOONSTONE.                   *389
my knowledge of the world warned me to answer the question which he had put, by acknowledging that I did indeed
find Mr. Candy sadly changed, and then to proceed on my
way out of the house-my interest in Ezra Jennings held
me rooted to the place, and gave him the opportunity of
speaking to me in private about his employer, for which he
had been evidently on the watch.
"Are you walking my way, Mr. Jennings?" I said, observing that he held his hat in his hand. "I am going to call
on my aunt, Mrs. Ablewhite."
Ezra Jennings replied that he had a patient to see, and
that he was walking my way.
We left the house together. I observed that the pretty
servant-girl -who was all smiles and amiability when I
wished her good-morning on my way out-received a modest
little message fiom Ezra Jennings, relating to the time at
which he might be expected to return, with pursed-up lips
and with eyes which ostentatiously looked anywhere rather
than look in his face. The poor wretch was evidently no
favorite in the house. Out of the house, I had Betteredge's
word for it that he was unpopular everywhere.  "What a
life!" I thought to myself as we descended the doctor's doorsteps.
Having already referred to Mr. Candy's illness on his side,
Ezra Jennings now appeared determined to leave it to me
to resume the subject. His silence said, significantly, "It's
your turn now."  I, too, had my reasons for referring to the
doctor's illness, and I readily accepted the responsibility of
speaking first.
"Judging by the change I see in him," I began, "Mr.
Candy's illness must have been far more serious than I had
supposed?"
"It is almost a miracle," said Ezra Jennings, "that he
lived through it."
"Is his memory never any better than I have found it today? He has been trying to speak to me —"
"Of something which happened before he was taken ill?"
asked the assistant, observing that I hesitated.
"Yes."
"His memory of events at that past time is hopelessly enfeebled," said Ezra Jennings. "It is almost to be deplored,
poor fellow, that even the wreck of it remains. While he
remembers dimly plans that he formed-things, here and
there, that he had to say or do before his illness-he is perfectly incapable of recalling what the plans were, or whlat
the thing was that he had to say or do. He is painfully con



390                 THE MOONSTONE.
scious of his own deficiency, and plainiully anxious, as you
must have seen, to hide it frioo  observation. If he could only
have recovered in a complete state of oblivion as to the past,
he would have been a happier man. Perhaps we should all
be happier," he added, with a sad smile, "if we could but
completely forget!"
"There are some events surely in all men's lives," I replied, " the memory of which they would be unwilling entirely to lose?"
" That is, I hope, to be said of most men, Mr. Blake. I am
afraid it can not truly be said of all. Have you any reason to suppose that the lost remembrance which Mr. Candy
tried to recover-while you were speaking to him just now
-was a remembrance which it was important to you that
he should recall?"
In saying those words he had touched, of his own accord,
on the very point upon which I was anxious to consult him.
The interest I felt in this strange man had impelled me, in
the first instance, to give him the opportunity of speaking to
me, reserving what I might have to say on my side in relation to his employer until I was first satisfied that he was a
person in whose delicacy and discretion I could trust. The
little that he had said thus far had been sufficient to convince me that I was speaking to a gentleman. He had what
I may venture to describe as the unsought self-possession
which is a sure sign of good-breeding, not in England only,
but everywhere else in the civilized world. Whatever the
object which he had in view in putting the question that he
had just addressed to me, I felt no doubt that I was justified
-so far-in answering him without reserve.
"I believe I have a strong interest," I said, "in tracing
the lost remembrance which Mr. Candy was unable to recall.
May I ask whether you can suggest to me any method by
which I might assist his memory?"
Ezra Jennings looked at me, with a sudden flash of interest in his dreamy brown eyes.
"Mr. Candy's memory is beyond the reach of assistance,"
he said. "I have tried to help it often enough since his recovery to be able to speak positively on that point."
This disappointed me; and I owned it.
"I confess you led me to hope for a less discouraging answer than that," I said.
Ezra Jennings smiled. "It may not perhaps be a final
answer, Mr. Blake. It may be possible to trace Mr. Candy's
lost recollection without the necessity of appealing to Mr.
Candy himself."




THE MOONSTONE.                   391
"Indeed? Is it an indiscretion on my part to ask-how?"
"By no means. My only difficulty in answering your
question is the difficulty of explaining myself. May I trust
to your patience if I refer once more to Mr. Candy's illness:
and if I speak of it this time without sparing you certain
professional details?"
"Pray go on! You have interested me already in hearing the details."
My eagerness seemed to amuse-perhaps I might rather
say, to please him. He smiled again. We had by this time
left the last houses in the town behind us. Ezra Jennings
stopped for a moment and picked some wild flowers from
the hedge by the road-side. " How beautiful they are!" he
said, simply, showing his little nosegay to me. "And how
few people in England seem  to admire them as they deserve!"
"You have not always been in England?" I said.
"No. I was born and partly brought up in one of our
colonies. My father was an Englishman, but my motherWe are straying away from our subject, Mr. Blake; and it
is my fault. The truth is, I have associations with these
modest little hedge-side flowers-  It doesn't matter; we
were speaking of Mr. Candy. To Mr. Candy let us return."
Connecting the few words about himself which thus reluctantly escaped him  with the melancholy view  of life
which led him to place the conditions of human happiness in
complete oblivion of the past, I felt satisfied that the story
which I had read in his face was, in two particulars at least,
the story that it really told. He had suffered as few men
suffer; and there was the mixture of some foreign race in
his English blood.
" You have heard, I dare say, of the original cause of Mr.
Candy's illness?" he resumed.  "The night of Lady Verinder's dinner-party was a night of heavy rain. My employer
drove home through it in his gig, and reached the house
wetted to the skin. He found an urgent message from a patient waiting for him, and he most unfortunately went at
once to visit the sick person without stopping to change his
clothes. I was myself professionally detained that night by
a case at some distance from Frizinghall.  When I got back
the next morning I found Mr. Candy's groom waiting in
great alarm to take me to his master's room. By that time
the mischief was done; the illness had set in."
"The illness has only been described to me, in general
terms, as a fever," I said.
"I can add nothing which will make the description more




392                 THE MOONSTONE.
accurate," answered Ezra Jennings.  "From first to last the
fever assumed no specific form. I sent at once to two of
Mr. Candy's medical fiiends in the town, both physicians, to
come and give me their opinion of the case. They agreed
with me that it looked serious; but they both strongly dissented fiom the view I took of the treatment.  We differed
entirely in the conclusions which we drew from the patient's
pulse. The two doctors, arguing from the rapidity of the
beat, eclared that a lowering treatment was the only treatment to be adopted.  On my side, I admitted the rapidity
of the pulse, but I also pointed to its alarming feebleness as
indicating an exhausted condition of the system, and as showing a plain necessity for the administration of stimulants.
The two doctors were for keeping him on gruel, lemonade,
barley-water, and so on. I was for giving him Champagne
or brandy, ammonia, and quinine.  A serious difference of
opinion, as you see! a difference between two physicians of
established local repute, and a stranger who was only an assistant in the house. For the first few days I had no choice
but to give way to my elders and betters; the patient steadily sinking all the time. I made a second attempt to appeal
to the plain, undeniably plain, evidence of the pulse. Its rapidity was unchecked, and its feebleness had increased. The
two doctors took offense at my obstinacy. They said,'Mr.
Jennings, either we manage this case, or you manage it.
Which is it to be?' I said,'Gentlemen, give me five minutes to consider, and that plain question shall have a plain
reply.' When the time had expired I was ready with my
answer. I said,'You positively refuse to try the stimulant
treatment?' They refused in so many words.'I mean to
try it at once, gentlemen.'-' Try it, Mr. Jennings, and we
withdraw fiom the case.' I sent down to the cellar for a
bottle of Champagne; and I administered half a tumblerful
of it to the patient with my own hand. The two physicians
took up their hats in silence, and left the house."
"You had assumed a serious responsibility," I said. "In
your place, I am afraid I should have shrunk from it."
"In my place, Mr. Blake, you would have remembered
that Mr. Candy had taken you into his employment, under
circumstances which made you his debtor for life. In my
place, you would have seen him sinking hour by hour; and
you would have risked any thing rather than let the one
man on earth who had befiiended you die before your eyes.
Don't suppose that I had no sense of the terrible position in
which I had placed myself! There were moments when I
felt all the misery of my friendlessness, all the peril of my




THE MOONSTONR.                   393
dreadful responsibility. If I had been a happy man, if I had
led a prosperous life, I believe I should have sunk under the
task I had imposed on myself: But Ihad no happy time to
look back at, no past peace of mind to force itself into contrast with my present anxiety and suspense-and I held firm
to my resolution through it all. I took an interval in the
middle of the day, when my patient's condition was at its
best, for the repose I needed.  For the rest of the four-andtwenty hours, as long as his life was in danger, I never left
his bedside. Toward sunset, as usual in such cases, the delirium incidental to the fever came on. It lasted more or
less through the night, and then intermitted at that terrible
time in the early morning-from two o'clock to five-when
the vital energies even of the healthiest of us are at their
lowest. It is then that Death gathers in his human harvest
most abundantly. It was then that Death and I fought our
fight over the bed which should have the man who lay on
it. I never hesitated in pursuing the treatment on which I
had staked every thing.  When wine failed, I tried brandy.
When the other stimulants lost their influence, I doubled
the dose. After an interval of suspense-the like of which
I hope to God I shall never feel again-there came a day
when the rapidity of the pulse slightly, but appreciably, diminished; and, better still, there came also a change in the
beat-an unmistakable change to steadiness and strength.
Then I knew that I had saved him; and then I own I broke
down. I laid the poor fellow's wasted hand back on the
bed, and burst cut crying. An hysterical relief; Mr. Blake
-nothing more!  Physiology says, and says truly, that
some men are born with female constitutions-and I am one
of them!"
He made that bitterly professional apology for his tears,
speaking quietly and unaffectedly, as he had spoken throughout. His tone and manner, from beginning to end, showed
him to be especially, almost morbidly, anxious not to set
himself up as an object of interest to me.
"You may well ask why I have wearied you with all these
details?" he went on. "It is the only way I can see, Mr.
Blake, of properly introducing to you what I have to say
next. Now you know exactly what my position was at the
time of Mr. Candy's illness, you will the more readily understand the sore need I had of lightening the burden on my
mind by giving it, at intervals, some sort of relief: I have
had the presumption to occupy my leisure, for some years
past, in writing a book, addressed to the members of my
profession-a book on the intricate and delicate subject of




394                  THE MOONSTONE.
the brain and the nervous system. My work will probably
never be finished; and it will certainly never be published.
It has none the less been the friend of many lonely hours;
and it helped me to while away the anxious time-the time
of waiting, and nothing else-at Mr. Candy's bedside.  I
told you he was delirious, I think? And I mentioned the
time at which his delirium came on?"
"Yes."
"Well, I had reached a section of my book at that time
which touched on the same question of delirium. I won't
trouble you at any length with my theory on the subjectI will confine myself to telling you only what it is your present interest to know.  It has often occurred to me in the
course of my medical practice to doubt whether we can justifiably infer-in cases of delirium-that the loss of the faculty of speaking connectedly implies of necessity the loss of the
faculty of thinking connectedly as well.  Poor Mr. Candy's
illness gave me an opportunity of putting this doubt to the
test. I understand the art of writing in short-hand; and I
was able to take down the patient's'wanderings' exactly as
they fell from his lips. Do you see, Mr. Blake, what I am
coming to at last?"
I saw it clearly, and waited with breathless interest to
hear more.
"At odds and ends of time," Ezra Jennings went on, "I
reproduced my short-hand notes, in the ordinary form  of
writing-leaving large spaces between the broken phrases,
and even the single words, as they had fallen disconnectedly
from Mr. Candy's lips. I then treated the result thus obtained on something like the principle which one adopts in
putting together a child's' puzzle.' It is all confusion to begin with; but it may be all brought into order and shape,
if you can only find the right wav. Acting on this plan, I
filled in the blank spaces on the paper with whlt the words
or phrases on either side of it suggested to ime as the speaker's meaning; altering over and over again, until my additions followed naturally on the spoken words which came
before them, and fitted naturally into the spoken words
which came after them. The result was that I not only occupied in this way many vacant and anxious hours, but that
I arrived at something which was (as it seemed to me) a
confirmation of the theory that I held. In plainer words,
after putting the broken sentences together, I found the superior faculty of thinking going on, more or less connectedly,
in my patient's mind, while the inferior faculty of expression
was in a state of almost complete incapacity and confusion."




THE MOONSTONE.                  693
"One word!" I interposed, eagerly. "Did my name occur in any of his wandering's?"
"You shall hear, Mr. Blake. Among my written proofs
of the assertion which I have just advanced-or, I ought to
say, among the written experiments, tending to put my assertion to the proof-there is one, in which your name occurs. For nearly the whole of one night Mr. Candy's mind
was occupied with something between himself and you." I
have got the broken words, as they dropped from his lips,
on one sheet of paper. And I have got the links of my own
discovering, which connect those words together, on another
sheet of paper. The product (as the arithmeticians would
say) is an intelligible statement-first, of something actually
done in the past; secondly, of something which Mr. Candy
contemplated doing in the future, if his illness had not got
in the way and stopped him. The question is whether this
does, or does not, represent the lost recollection which he
vainly attempted to find when you called on him this morning?"
"Not a doubt of it!" I answered. "Let us go back directly, and look at the papers."
" Quite impossible, Mr. Blake."
"Why?"
"Put yourself in my position for a moment," said Ezra
Jennings.'"Would you disclose to another person what
had dropped unconsciously from the lips of your suffer;ilg
patient and your helpless friend, without first knowing that
there was a necessity to justify you in opening your lips?"
I felt that he was unanswerable here; but I tried to argue
the question, nevertheless.
"My conduct in such a delicate matter as you describe,"
I replied, "would depend greatly on whether the disclosure
was of a nature to compromise my fiiend or not."
" I have disposed of all necessity for considering that side
of the question long since," said Ezra Jennings. " Wherever
my notes included any thing which Mr. Candy might have
wished to keep secret, those notes have been destroyed. My
manuscript experiments at my friend's bedside include nothing now which he would have hesitated to communicate to
others, if he had recovered the use of his memory. In your
case I have even reason to suppose that my notes contain
something which he actually wished to say to you-"
"And yet, you hesitate?"
"And yet, I hesitate. Remember the circumstances under
which I obtained the information which I possess! Harmless
as it is, I can not prevail upon myself to give it up to you,




396                 THE MOON8TONE.
unless you first satisfy me that there is a reason for doing
so. He was so miserably ill, Mr. Blake! and he was so helplessly dependent upon Me! is it too much to ask, if I request you only to hint to me what your interest is in the lost
recollection-or what you believe that lost recollection to
be?"
To have answered him with the frankness which his language and his manner both claimed fiom me, would have
been to commit myself to openly acknowledging that I was
suspected of the theft of the Diamond. Strongly as Ezra
Jennings had intensified the first impulsive interest which I
had felt in him, he had not overcome my unconquerable reluctance to disclose the degrading position in which I stood.
I took refuge once more in the explanatory phrases with
which I had prepared myself to meet the curiosity of strand
gers.
This time I had no reason to complain of a want of attention on the part of the person to whom I addressed myself.
Ezra Jennings listened patiently, even anxiously, until I had
done.
"I am sorry to have raised your expectations, Mr. Blake,
only to disappoint them," he said. "Throughout the whole
period of Mr. Candy's illness, from first to last, not one word
about the Diamond escaped his lips. The matter with which
I heard him connect your name has, I can assure you, no discoverable relation whatever with the loss or the recovery of
Miss Verinder's jewel."
We arrived, as he said those words, at a place where the
highway along which we had been walking branched off into
two roads. One led to Mr. Ablewhite's house, and the other
to a moor-land village some two or three miles off. Ezra
Jennings stopped at the road which led to the village.
"My way lies in this direction," he said. "I am really
and truly sorry, Mr. Blake, that I can be of no use to you."
His voice told me that he spoke sincerely. His soft brown
eyes rested on me for a moment with a look of melancholy
interest. He bowed, and went, without another word, on his
way to the village.
For a minute or more I stood and watched him, walking
farther and farther away fiom me; carrying farther and farther away with him what I now firmly believed to be the
clue of which I was in search. He turned, after walking on
a little way, and looked back. Seeing me still standing at
the place where we had parted, he stopped, as if doubting
whether I might not wish to speak to him again. There was
no time for me to reason out my own situation-to remind




THE MOONSTONE.                   397
myself that I was losing my opportunity, at what might be
the turning-point of my life, and all to flatter nothing more
important than my own self-esteem! There was only time
to call him back first, and to think afterward. I suspect I
am one of the rashest of existing men. I called him backand then I said to myself, "Now there is no help for it. I
must tell him the truth!"
He retraced his steps directly. I advanced along the road
to meet him.
"Mr. Jennings," I said, "I have not treated you quite fairly. My interest in tracing Mr. Candy's lost recollection is
not the interest of recovering the Moonstone. A serious
personal matter is at the bottom of my visit to Yorkshire.
I have but one excuse for not having dealt fiankly with you
in this matter. It is more painful to me than I can say, to
mention to any body what my position really is."
Ezra Jennings looked at me with the first appearance of
embarrassment which I had seen in him yet.
" I have no right, Mr. Blake, and no wish," he said, " to intrude myself into your private affairs. Allow me to ask
your pardon, on my side, tor having (most innocently) put
you to a painful test."
"You have a perfect right," I rejoined, " to fix the terms
on which you feel justified in revealing what you heard at
Mr. Candy's bedside. I understand and respect the delicacy
which influences you in this matter.  How can I expect to
be taken into your confidence if I decline to admit you into
mine?  You ought to know, and you shall know why I am
interested in discovering what Mr. Candy wanted to say to
me. If I turn out to be mistaken in my anticipations, and
if you prove unable to help me when you are really aware
of what I want, I shall trust to your honor to keep my secret
— and something tells me that I shall not trust in vain."
"Stop, Mr. Blake. I have a word to say, which must be
said before you go any further."
I looked at him in astonishment. The grip of some terrible emotion seemed to have seized him, and shaken him to
the soul. His gypsy complexion had altered to a livid grayish paleness; his eyes had suddenly become wild and glittering; his voice had dropped to a tone-low, stern.'nild resolute-which I now heard for the first time. The la -nt resources in the man for good or for evil-it was hali:at that
moment to say which-leaped up in him and showed themselves to me with the suddenness of a flash of light.
"Before you place any confidence in me," he went on,
" you ought to know, and you must know, under what oir




398                 THE MOONSTONE.
cumstances I have been received into Mr. Candy's house. It
won't take long. I don't profess, sir, to tell my story (as
the phrase is) to any man. My story will die with me. All
I ask is to be permitted to tell you what I have told Mr.
Candy. If you are still in the mind, when you have heard
that, to say what you have proposed to say, you will command my attention and command my services. Shall we
walk on?"
The suppressed misery in his face silenced me. I answer.
ed his question by a sign. We walked on.
After advancing a few  hundred yards, Ezra Jennings
stopped at a gap in the rough stone wall which shut off the
moor fiom the road at this part of it.
"Do you mind resting a little, Mr. Blake?" he asked. "I
am not what I was-and some things shake me."
I agreed of course. He led the way through the gap to a
patch of turf on the heathy ground, screened by bushes and
dwarf trees on the side nearest to the road, and commanding in the opposite direction a grandly desolate view over
the broad brown wilderness of the moor. The clouds had
gathered within the last half hour. The light was dull; the
distance was dim. The lovely face of Nature met us, soft
and still and colorless-met us without a smile.
We sat down in silence. Ezra Jennings laid aside his
hat, and passed his hand wearily over his forehead, wearily
through his startling white and black hair. He tossed his
little nosegay of wild flowers away from him, as if the remembrances which it recalled were remembrances which
hurt him now.
" Mr. Blake!" he said, suddenly, " you are in bad company.
The cloud of a horrible accusation has rested on me for years.
I tell you the worst at once. ITam a man whose life is a
wreck, and whose character is gone."
I attempted to speak. He stopped me.
"No," he said. "Pardon me; not yet. Don't commit
yourself to expressions of sympathy which you may afterward wish to recall. I have mentioned an accusation which
has rested on me for vears. There are circumstances in connection with it that tell against me. I can not bring myself
to acknowledge what the accusation is. And I am  incapable, perfectly incapable, of proving my innocence. I can
only assert my innocence. I assert it, sir, on my oath as a
Christian. It is useless to appeal to my honor as a man."
He paused again. I looked round at him. He never looked at me in return. His whole being seemed to be absorbed
in the agony of recollecting, and in the effort to speak.




THE MOONSTONE.                   399
"There is much that I might say," he went on, "about
the merciless treatment of me by my own family, and the
merciless enmity to which I have fallen a victim. But the
harm is done; the wrong is beyond all remedy now. I decline to weary or distress you, sir, if I can help it. At the
outset of my career in this country, the vile slander to which
I have referred struck me down at once and forever. I resigned my aspirations in my profession-obscurity was the
only hope left for me. I parted with the woman I lovedhow could I condemn her to share my disgrace? A medical
assistant's place offered itself, in a remote corner of England.
I got the place. It promised me peace; it promised me obscurity, as I thought. I was wrong. Evil report, with time
and chance to help it, travels patiently, and travels far. The
accusation fiom which I had fled followed me. I got warning of its approach.  I was able to leave my situation voluntarily, with the testimonials that I had earned. They got
me another situation, in another remote district. Time passed again; and again the slander that was death to my character found me out.  On this occasion I had no warning.
My employer said,'Mr. Jennings, I have no complaint to
make against you; but you must set yourself right, or leave
me.' I had but one choice-I left him. It's useless to dwell
on what I suffered after that. I am only forty years old
now. Look at my face, and let it tell for me the story of
some miserable years. It ended in my drifting to this place,
and meeting with Mr. Candy. He wanted an assistant.  I
referred him, on the question of capacity, to my- last employer. The question of character remained. I told him what I
have told you-and more. I warned him that there were
difficulties in the way, even if he believed me.'Here, as
elsewhere,' I said,'I scorn the guilty evasion of living under
an assumed name; I am no safer at Frizinghall than at other places fiom the cloud that follows me, go where I may.'
He answered,'I don't do thingk by halves-I believe you,
and I pity you. If you will risk what may happen, I will
risk it too.' God Almighty bless him! He has given me
shelter, he has given me employment, he has given me rest
of mind-and I have the certain conviction (I have had it
for some months past) that nothing will happen now to make
him regret it."
"The slander has died out?" I said.
" The slander is as active as ever. But when it follows
me here it will come too late."
"You will have left the place?"
" No, Mr. Blake-I shall be dead. For ten years past I




400                 THE MOONSTONE.
have suffered from an incurable internal complaint. I don't
disguise fiom you that I should have let the agony of it kill
me long since but for one last interest in life, which makes
my existence of some importance to me still. I want to provide for a person-very dear to me-whom I shall never see
again. My own little patrimony is hardly sufficient to make
her independent of the world. The hope, if I could only live
long enough, of increasing it to a certain sum, has impelled
me to resist the disease by such palliative means as I could
devise. The one effectual palliative in my case is -opium.
To that all-potent and all-merciful drug I am indebted for a
respite of many years fiom my sentence of death. But even
the virtues of opium have their limit. The progress of the
disease has gradually forced me fiom the use of opium to the
abuse of it. I am feeling the penalty at last. My nervous
system is shattered; my nights are nights of horror. The
end is not far off now. Let it come-I have not lived and
worked in vain. The little sum is nearly made up; and I
have the means of completing it, if my last reserves of life
fail me sooner than I expect. I hardly know how I have
wandered into telling you this. I don't think I am mean
enough to appeal to your pity. Perhaps, I fancy you may
be all the readier to believe me, if you know that what I
have said to you I have said with the certain knowledge in
me that I am  a dying man. There is no disguising, Mr.
Blake, that you interest me. I have attempted to make my
poor friend's loss of memory the means of bettering my acquaintance with you. I have speculated on the chance of
your feeling a passing curiosity about what he wanted to
say, and of my being able to satisfy it. Is there no excuse
for my intruding myself on you? Perhaps there is some excuse. A man who has lived as I have lived has his bitter
moments when he ponders over human destiny. You have
youth, health, riches, a place in the world, a prospect before
you-you, and such as you, show me the sunny side of human life, and reconcile me with the world that I am leaving,
before I go. However this talk between us may end, I shall
not forget that you have done me a kindness in doing that.
It rests with you, sir, to say what you proposed saying, or to
wish me good-morning."
I had but one answer to make to that appeal. Without a
moment's hesitation I told him the truth as unreservedly as
I have told it in these pages.
He started to his feet, and looked at me with breathless
eagerness as I approached the leading incident of my story.
It is certain that I went into the room'" I said; "it is




TEE MOONSTONE.                 401
certain that I took the Diamond. I can only meet those two
plain facts by declaring that, do what I might, I did it without my own knowledge. You may believe that I have spoken
the truth-"
Ezra Jennings caught me excitedly by the arm.
"Stop!" he said. "You have suggested more to me than
you suppose. Have you ever been accustomed to the use
of opium?"
"I never tasted it in my life."
"Were your nerves out of order at this time last year?
Were you unusually restless and irritable?"
"Yes."
"Did you sleep badly?"
"Wretchedly. Many nights I never slept at all."
"Was the birthday night an exception? Try and remember. Did you sleep well on that one occasion?"
"I do remember! I slept soundly."
He dropped my arm as suddenly as he had taken it-and
looked at me with the air of a man whose mind was relieved
of the last doubt that rested on it.
"This is a marked day in your life and in mine," he said,
gravely. "I am absolutely certain, Mr. Blake, of one thing
--  have got what Mr. Candy wanted to say to you, this
morning, in the notes that I took at my patient's bedside.
Wait! that is not all.  I am firmly persuaded that I can
prove you to have been unconscious of what you were about
when you entered the room and took the Diamond. Give
me time to think, and time to question you. I believe the
vindication of your innocence is in my hands!"
" Explain yourself, for God's sake! What do you mean?"
In the excitement of our colloquy we had walked on a few
steps beyond the clump of dwarf trees which had hitherto
screened us from view. Before Ezra Jennings could answer
me he was hailed from the high-road by a man, in great agitation, who had been evidently on the lookout for him.
"I am coming," he called back; "I am coming as fast as
I can!" Hie turned to me. " There is an urgent case waiting for me at the village yonder; I ought to have been there
half an hour since-I must attend to it at once. Give me
two hours from this time, and call at Mr. Candy's againand I will engage to be ready for you."
"How am I to wait!" I exclaimed, impatiently. "Can't
you quiet my mind by a word of explanation before we
part?"
"This is far too serious a matter to be explained in a hurry, Mr. Blake.  I am not willfully trying your patience-I
26




402                 THE AMOONXSTONE.
should only be adding to your suspense if I attempted to relieve it as things ale now. At Frizinghall, sir, in two hours'
time!"
The man on the high-road hailed him again. He hurried
away and left me.
CHAPTER X.
How the interval of suspense to which I was now condemned might have affected other men in my position, I can
not pretend to say. The influence of the two hours' probation upon my temperament was simply this: I felt physically incapable of remaining still in any one place, and morally incapable of speaking to any one human being, until I
had first heard all that Ezra Jennings had to say to me.
In this frame of mind I not only abandoned my contemplated visit to Mrs. Ablewhite-I even shrank from encountering Gabriel Betteredge himself.
Returning to Frizinghall, I left a note for Betteredge, telling him that I had been unexpectedly called away for a few
hours, but that he might certainly expect me to return toward three o'clock in the afternoon. I requested him, in the
interval, to order his dinner at the usual hour, and to amuse
himself as he pleased.  He had, as well as I knew, hosts of
friends in Frizinghall; and he would be at no loss how to
fill up his time until I returned to the hotel.
This done, I made the best of my way out of the town
again, and roamed the lonely moor-land country which surrounds Frizinghall, until my watch told me that it was time,
at last, to return to Mr. Candy's house.
I found Ezra Jennings ready and waiting for me.
He was sitting alone in a bare little room, which communicated by a glazed door with a surgery. Hideous colored
diagrams of the ravages of hideous diseases, decorated the
barren buff-colored walls.  A book-case filled with dingy
medical works, and ornamented at the top with a skull, in
place of the customary bust; a large deal table copiously
splashed with ink; wooden chairs of the sort that are seen
in kitchens and cottages; a threadbare drugget in the middle of the floor; a sink of water, with a basin and waste-pipe
roughly let into the wall, horribly suggestive of its connection with surgical operations-comprised the entire furniture
of the room. The bees were humming among a few flowers
placed in pots outside the window; the birds were singing




~~~Irl;~~~~~~~~~~~
I FOUND EZRA JENNINGS READY AND WAITING FOR Mv








THE MOONSTONE.                   405
in the gaitun; and the faint intermittent jingle of a tuneless
piano in some neighboring house, forced itself now and again
on the ear.  In any other place, these every-day sounds
might have spoken pleasantly of the every-day world outside.  Here they came in as intruders on a silence which
nothing but human suffering had the privilege to disturb.
I looked at the mahogany instrument-case, and at the huge
roll of lint, occupying places of their own on the bookshelves, and shuddered inwardly as I thought of the sounds,
familiar and appropriate to the every-day use of Ezra Jennings's room.
"I make no apology, Mr. Blake, for the place in which I
am receiving you," he said.  "It is the only room in the
house, at this hour of the day, in which we can feel quite
sure of being left undisturbed.  Here are my papers ready
for you; and here are two books to which we may have occasion to refer, before we have done. Bring your chair to
the table, and we shall be able to consult them together."
I drew up to the table; and Ezra Jennings handed me his
manuscript notes. They consisted of two large folio leaves
of paper. One leaf contained writing which only covered
the surface at intervals.  The other presented writing, in
red and black ink, which completely filled the page from
top to bottom. In the irritated state of my curiosity at that
moment, I laid aside the second sheet of paper in despair.
" Have some mercy on me!" I said. "Tell me what I am
to expect before I attempt to read this."
"Willingly, Mr. Blake. Do you mind my asking you on3
or two more questions?"
"Ask me any thing you like!"
He looked at me with the sad smile on his lips, and the
kindly interest in his soft brown eyes.
"You have already told me," he said, "that you have
never-to your knowledge-tasted opium in your life."
"To my knowledge?" I repeated.
"You will understand directly why I speak with that reservation. Let us go on. You are not aware of ever having
taken opium.  At this time, last year, you were suffering
from nervous irritation, and you slept wretchedly at night.
On the night of the birthday, however, there was an excep
tion to the rule-you slept soundly. Am I right, so far?"
" Quite right."
"Can you assign any cause for your nervous suffering and
your want of sleep?"
"I can assign no cause. Old Betteredge made a guess at
the cause, I remember. But that is hardly worth mentioning,"




406                 THE MOONSTONE.
"Pardon me. Any thing is worth mentioning in such a
case as this.  Betteredge attributed your sleeplessness to
something. To what?"
"To my leaving off smoking."
"Had you been an habitual smoker?"
"Yes."
"Did you leave off the habit suddenly?"
"Yes."
"Betteredge was perfectly right, Mr. Blake. When smoking is a habit, a man must have no common constitution who
can leave it off suddenly without some temporary damage
to his nervous system. Your sleepless nights are accounted
for, to my mind.  My next question refers to Mr. Candy.
Do you remember having entered into any thing like a dispute with him-at the birthday dinner or afterward-on the
subject of his profession?"
The question instantly awakened one of my dormant remembrances in connection with the birthday festival. The
foolish wrangle which took place on that occasion, between
Mr. Candy and myself, will be found, described at much
greater length than it deserves, in the tenth chapter of Betteredge's Narrative. The details there presented of the dispute-so little had I thought of it afterward-entirely failed
to recur to my memory. All that I could now recall, and
all that I could tell Ezra Jennings, was that I had attacked
the art of medicine at the dinner-table with sufficient rashness and sufficient pertinacity to put even Mr. Candy out of
temper for the moment. I also remembered that Lady Verinder had interfered to stop the dispute, and that the little
doctor and I had "made it up again," as the children say,
and had become as good friends as ever before we shook
hands that night.
" There is one thing more," said Ezra Jennings, "which it
is very important that I should know. Had you any reason
for feeling any special anxiety about the Diamond at this
time last year?"
"I had the strongest reasons for feeling anxiety about the
Diamond. I knew it to be the object of a conspiracy; and
I was warned to take measures for Miss Verinder's protection, as the possessor of the stone."
" Was the safety of the Diamond the subject of conversation between you and any other person immediately before
you retired to rest on the birthday night?"
"It was the subject of a conversation between Lady Verinder and her daughter-"
"Which took place in your hearing?"




THE MOONSTONE.                   407
" Yes."
Ezra Jennings took up his notes fiom the table and placed
them in my h::nds.
"Mr. Blake," he said, "if you read those notes now, by the
light which my questions and your answers have tlrown on
them, you will make two astounding discoveries concerningl
yourself. You will find: First, that you entered Miss Verinder's sitting-room and took the Diamond, in a state of
trance produced by opium. Secondly, that the opium was
given to you by Mr. Candy-without your own knowledge
-as a practical refutation of the opinions which you had
expressed to him at the birthday dinner."
I sat, with the papers in my hand, completely stupefied.
"Try and forgive poor Mr. Candy," said the assistant,
gently. "He has done dreadfhl mischief, I own; but he has
done it innocently. If you will look at the notes you will
see that-but for his illness-he would have returned to
Lady Verinder's the morning after the party, and would
have acknowledged the trick that he had played you. Miss
Verinder would have heard of it, and Miss Verinder would
have questioned him-and the truth which has laid hidden
for a year would have been discovered in a day."
I began to regain my self-possession. "Mr. Candy is beyond the reach of my resentment," I said, angrily.  "But
the trick that he played me is not the less an act of treachery for all that.  I may forgive, but I shall not forget it."
"Every medical man commits that act of treachery, Mr.
Blake, in the course of his practice. The ignorant distrust
of opium (in England) is by no means confined to the lower
and less cultivated classes. Every doctor in large practice
finds himself, every now and then, obliged to deceive his
patients, as Mr. Candy deceived you. I don't defend the
folly of playing you a trick under the circumstances. I only
plead with you for a more accurate and more merciful construction of motives."
" How was it done?" I asked. " Who gave me the laudanum without my knowing it myself?"
" I am not able to tell you. Nothing relating to that part
of the matter dropped from Mr. Candy's lips, all through his
illness. Perhaps your own memory may point to the person
to be suspected?"
" No."
"It is useless, in that case, to pursue the inquiry.  The
laudanum was secretly given to you in some way. Let us
leave it there and go on to matters of more immediate importance. Read my notes, if you can. Familiarize your




408                  THE MOONSTONE.
mind with what has happened in the past. I have something
very bold and very startling to propose to you which relates
to the future."'hose last words roused me.
I looked at the papers, in the order in which Ezra Jennings
had placed them in my hands. The paper which contained
the smaller quantity of writing was the uppermost of the
two. On this the disconnected words and fragments of sentences which had dropped from Mr. Candy in delirium  appeared, as follows:
".... Mr. Franklin Blake.... and agreeable....down a
peg.... medicine.... confesses.... sleep at night.... tell him....out of order.... medicine...he tells me.... and groping in the dark mean one and the same thing....:.l  the company at the dinner-table.... I say.... groping after sleep....
nothing but medicine....he says....lead.ing the blind....
know what it means... witty....a night's rest in spite of
his teeth.....wants sleep.... Lady Verinder's medicine-chest.... five-and-twenty minims.... without his knowing it....
to-morrow morning....Well, Mr. Blake.... medicine to-day.... never.... without it.... out, Mr. Candy.... excellent.... without it....down on him.... truth.... something besides.... excellent.... dose oflaudanum, sir.... bed.... what....medicine now."
There the first of the two sheets of paper came to an end.
I handed it back to Ezra Jennings.
"That is what you heard at his bedside?" I said.
" Literally and exactly what I heard," he answered; "except that the repetitions are not transferred here fiom  my
short-hand notes. He reiterated certain words and phrases
a dozen times over, fifty times over, just as he attached more
or less importance to the idea which they represented. The
repetitions, in this sense, were of some assistance to me in
putting together those fiagments.  Don't suppose," he added, pointing to the second sheet of paper, " liat I claim to
have reproduced the expressions which Mr. Candy himself
would have used if he had been capable of speaking connectedly.  I only say that I have penetrated through the obstacle of the disconnected expression to the thought which was
underlying it connectedly all the time.  Judge for yourself."
I turned to the second sheet of paper, which I now knew
to be the key to the first.
Once more, Mr. Candy's wanderings appeared, copied in
black ink; the intervals between the phrases being filled up
by Ezra Jennings in red ink. I reproduce the result here,
in one plain form; the original language and the interpreta



THE MOONSTONE.                  409
tion of it coming close enough together in these pages to be
easily compared and verified.
"....Mr. Franklin Blake is clever and agreeable, but he
wants taking down a peg when he talks of medicine. He
confesses that he has been suffering from want of sleep at
night. I tell him that his nerves are out of order, and that
be ought to take medicine. He tells me that taking medicine and groping in the dark mean one and the same thing.
This before all the company at the dinner-table. I say to
him, you are groping after sleep, and nothing but medicine
can help you to find it. He says to me, I have heard of the
blind leading the blind, and now I know what it means.
Witty-but I can give him a night's rest in spite of his teeth.
He really wants sleep; and Lady Verinder's medicine-chest
is at my disposal. Give him five-and-twenty minims of
laudanum to-night, without his knowing it; and then call
to-morrow morning.'Well, Mr. Blake, will you try a little
medicine to-day?  You will never sleep without it.'-' There
you are out, Mr. Candy: I have had an excellent night's rest
without it.' Then come down on him with the truth!'You
have had something besides an excellent night's rest; you
had a dose of laudanum, sir, before you went to bed. What
do you say to the art of medicine now? "
Admiration of the ingenuity which had woven this smooth
and finished texture out of the raveled skein was naturally
the first impression that I felt on handing the manuscript
back to Ezra Jennings. He modestly interrupted the first
few words in which my sense of surprise expressed itself, by
asking me if the conclusion which he had drawn from his
notes was also the conclusion at which my own mind had
arrived.
"Do you believe as I believe," he said, "that you were
acting under the influence of the laudanum in doing all that
you did, on the night of Miss Verinder's birthday, in Lady
Verinder's house?"
"I am too ignorant of the influence of laudanum to have
an opinion of my own," I answered. " I can only follow your
opinion, and feel convinced that you are right."
"Very well. The next question is this: You are convinced; and I am convinced-how are we to carry our conviction to the minds of other people?"
I pointed to the two manuscripts, lying on the table between us. Ezra Jennings shook his head.
"Useless, Mr. Blake! Quite useless, as they stand now,
for three unanswerable reasons. In the first place, those
notes have been taken under circumstances entirely out of




410                 THE MOONSTONE.
the experience of tihe mass of mankind. Against them, to
begin with! In the second place, those notes represent a
medical and metaphysical theory. Against them, once more!
In the third place, those notes are of my making; there is
nothing but my assertion to the contrary to guarantee that
they are not fabrications. Remember what I told you on
the moor-and ask yourself what my assertion is worth,
No! my notes have but one value, looking to the verdict of
the world outside. Your innocence is to be vindicated; and
they show how it can be done. We must put our conviction
to the proof-and You are the man to prove it."
" How?" I asked.
He leaned eagerly nearer to me across the table that divided us.
"Are you willing to try a bo'd experiment?"
"I will do any thing to clear myself of the suspicion that
rests on me now."
" Will you submit to some personal inconvenience for a
time?"
"To any inconvenience, no matter what it may be."
"Will you be guided implicitly by my advice?  It may
expose you to the ridicule of ibols; it may subject you to
the remonstrances of friends whose opinions you are bound
to respect-"
"Tell me what to do!" I broke out impatiently.  "And,
come what may, I'll do it."
"You shall do this, Mr. Blake," he answered.  "You shall
steal the Diamond, unconsciously, for the second time, in the
presence of witnesses whose testimony is beyond dispute."
I started to my feet. I tried to speak. I could only look
at him.
"I believe it can be done," he went on. "And it shall be
done-if you will only help me. Try to compose yourselfsit down, and hear what I have to say to you. You have
resumed the habit of smoking; I have seen that for myself.
How long have you resumed it?"
"For nearly a year."
"Do you smoke more or less than you did?"
" More."
"Will you give up the habit again? Suddenly, mind! as.ou gave it up before."
I began dimly to see his drift.  "I will give it up from
this moment," I answered.
l'f the same consequences follow  which followed last
June," said Ezra Jennings-" if you suffer once more as you
suffered then, from sleepless nights, we shall have gained out




THE MOONSTONE.                      4 1
first step.  We shall have put you back again into something
assimilating to your nervous condition on the birthday night.
If we can next revive, or nearly revive, the domestic circumstances which surrounded you; and if we can occupy your
mind again with the various questions concerning the Diamond which formerly agitated it, we shall have replaced you,
as nearly as possible, in the same position, physically and
morally, in which the opium found you last year. In that
case we may fairly hope that a repetition of the dose will
lead, in a greater or lesser degree, to a repetition of the result. There is my proposal, expressed in a few hasty words.
You shall now see what reasons I have to justify me in makina it."
He turned to one of the books at his side, and opened it
at a place marked by a small slip of paper.
"Don't suppose that I am going to weary you with a lecture on physiology," he said.  "I think myself bound to
prove, in justice to both of us, that I am not asking you to
try this experiment in deterence to any theory of my own
devising.  Admitted principles and recognized authorities
justify me in the view that I take. Give me five minutes
of your attention, and I will undertake to show  you that
science sanctions my proposal, fanciful as it may seem.
Here, in the first place, is the physiological principle on
which I am acting, stated by no less a person than Dr. Carpenter.  Read it for yourself:"
He handed me the slip of paper which had marked the
place in the book.  It contained a few lines of writing, as
follows:
"There seems much ground for the belief that every sensory impression
which has once been recognized by the perceptive consciousness, is registered
(so to speak) in the brain, and may be reproduced at some subsequent time,
although there may be no consciousness of its existence in the mind during
the whole intermediate period."
"Is that plain, so far?" asked Ezra Jennings.
"Perfectly plain."
He pushed the open book across the table to me, and pointed to a passage marked by pencil lines.
"Now," he said, "read that account of a case which has
-as I believe-a direct bearing on your own position, and
on the experiment which I am  tempting you to try.  Observe, Mr. Blake, before you begin, that I am  now referring
you to one of the greatest of English physiologists.  The
book in your hand is Doctor Elliotson's Human Physiology;
and the case which the doctor cites rests on the well-known
authority of Mr. Combe."




412                   THE MOONSTONE.
The passage pointed out to me was expressed in these
terms:
"Doctor Abel informed me," says Mr. Combe, "of an Irish porter to a
warehouse, who forgot, when sober, what he had done when drunk; but,
being drunk, again recollected the transactions of his former state of intoxication. On one occasion, being drunk, he had lost a parcel of some value,
and in his sober moments could give no account of it. Next time he was intoxicated he recollected that he had left a parcel at a certain house, and there
being no address on it, it had remained there safely, and was got on his calling for it."
"Plain again?" asked Ezra Jennings.
"As plain as need be."
He put back the slip of paper in its place, and closed the
book.
"Are you satisfied that I have not spoken without good
authority to support me?" he asked.  "If not, I have only
to go to those book-shelves, and you have only to read the
passages which I can point out to you."
"I am quite satisfied," I said,'" without reading a word
more."
" In that case, we may return to your own personal interest in this matter. I am bound to tell you that there is
something to be said against the experiment as well as for
it. If we could, this year, exactly reproduce, in your case,
the conditions as they existed last year, it is physiologically
certain that we should arrive at exactly the same result.
But this-there is no denying it-is simply impossible.  We
can only hope to approximate to the conditions; and if we
don't succeed in getting you nearly enough back to what
you were, this venture of ours will fail.  If we do succeedand I am myself hopeful of success-you may at least so far
repeat your proceedings on the birthday night as to satisfy
any reasonable person that you are guiltless, morally speaking, of the theft of the Diamond.  I believe, Mr. Blake, I
have now stated the question, on both sides of it, as fairly
as I can, within the limits that I have imposed on myself.
If there is any thing that I have not made clear to you, tell
me what it is-and if I can enlighten you, I will."
"All that you have explained to me," I said, "I understand perfectly. But I own I am puzzled on one point, which
you have not made clear to me yet."
" What is the point?"
" I don't understand the effect of the laudanum on me. I
don't understand my walking down stairs, and along corridors, and my opening and shutting the drawers of a cabinet,
and my going back again to my own room,  All these are




THB MOONSTONE.                  418
active proceedings. I thought the influence of opium was
first to stupefy you, and then to send you to sleep."
" The common error about opium, Mr. Blake! I am at this
moment exerting my intelligence (such as it is) in your service, under the influence of a dose of laudanum, some ten
times larger than the dose Mr. Candy administered to you.
But don't trust to my authority-even on a question which
comes within my own personal experience. I anticipated
the objection you have just made; and I have again provided myself with independent testimony, which will carry
its due weight with it in your own mind, and in the minds
of your fiiends."
He handed me the second of the two books which he had
by him on the table.
"There," he said, "are the far-famed'Confessions of an
English Opium Eater!' Take the book away with you, and
read it. At the passage which I have marked you will find
that when De Quincey had committed what he calls'a debauch of opium,' he either went to the gallery at the Opera
to enjoy the music, or he wandered about the London markets on Saturday night, and interested himself in observing
all the little shifts and bargainings of the poor in providing
their Sunday dinners. So much for the capacity of a man
to occupy himself actively, and to move about from place to
place under the influence of opium."
"I am answered so far," I said; "but I am not answered
yet as to the effect produced by the opium on myself."
"I will try to answer you in few words," said Ezra Jennings. "The action of opium is comprised, in the majority
of cases, in two influences-a stimulating influence first, and
a sedative influence afterward. Under the stimulating influence, the latest and most vivid impressions left on your mind
-namely, the impressions relating to the Diamond-would
be likely, in your morbidly sensitive nervous condition, to
become intensified in your brain, and would subordinate to
themselves your judgment and your will-exactly as an ordinary dream subordinates to itself your judgment anid your
will. Little by little, under this action, any apprehensions
about the safety of the Diamond which you might have felt
during the day, would be liable to develop themselves from
the state of doubt to the state of certainty-would impel
you into practical action to preserve the jewel-would direct your steps, with that motive in view, into the room
which you entered-and would guide your hand to the drawers of the cabinet, until you had found the drawer which
held the stone. In the spiritualized intoxication of opium,




414                 THE MOONSTONE.
you would do all that. Later, as the sedative action began
to gain on the stimulant action, you wouid slowly become
inert and stupefied. Later still, you would fall into a deep
sleep. When the morning came, and the effect of the opium
had been all slept off, you would wake as absolutely ignorant of what you had done in the night as if you had been
living at the Antipodes.-Have I made it tolerably clear to
you, so far?"
"You have made it so clear," I said, " that I want you to
go farther. You have shown me how I entered the room
and how I came to take the Diamond. But Miss Verinder
saw me leave the room again, with the jewel in my hand
Can you trace my proceedings from that moment? Can you,
guess what I did next?"
"That is the very point I was coming to," he rejoined.
"It is a question with me whether the experiment which I
propose as a means of vindicating your innocence may not
also be made a means of recovering the lost Diamond as
well. When you left Miss Verinder's sitting-room, with the
jewel in your hand, you went back in all probability to your
own room-"
"Yes; and what then?"
"It is possible, Mr. Blake-I dare not say more-that your
idea of preserving the Diamond led, by a natural sequence,
to the idea of hiding the Diamond, and that the place in
which you hid it was somewhere in your bedroom. In that
event, the case of the Irish porter may be your case. You
may remember, under the influence of the second dose of
opium, the place in which you hid the Diamond under the
influence of the first."
It was my turn, now, to enlighten Ezra Jennings. I stopped him before he could say any more.
" You are speculating," I said, "on a result which can not
possibly take place. The Diamond is, at this moment, in
London."
He started, and looked at me in great surprise.
"In London?" he repeated. " How did it get to London
fiom Lady Verinder's house?"
"Nobody knows."
"You removed it with your own hand fiom Miss Verin
der's room. How was it taken out of your keeping?"
"I have no idea how it was taken out of my keeping."
"Did you see it, when you woke in the morning?"
"No."
"Has Miss Verinder recovered possession of it?"
" No."




THE MOONSTONE.                   415
"Mr. Blake! there seems to be something here which
wants clearing up. May I ask how you know that the Dianond is, at this moment, in London ""
I had put precisely the same question to Mr. Bruff, when
I made my first inquiries about the Moonstone, on my return
to England.  In answering Ezra Jennings, I accordingly repeated what I had myself heard fiom the lawyer's own lips
-and what is already familiar to the readers of these pages.
He showed plainly that he was not satisfied with my reply.
"With all deference to vou," he said, "and with all deference to your legal adviser, I maintain the opinion which I
expressed just now. It rests, I am well aware, on a mere assumption. Pardon me for reminding you that your opinion
also rests on a mere assumption as well."
The view he took of the matter was entirely new to me.
I waited anxiously to hear how he would defend it.
"I assume," pursued Ezra Jennings," that the influence
of the opium-after impelling you to possess yourself of the
Diamond, with the purpose of securing its safety- might
also impel you, acting under the same influence and the
same motive, to hide it somewhere in your own room.  You
assume that the Hindoo conspirators could by no possibility
commit a mistake. The Indians went to Mr. Luker's house
after the Diamond-and, therefore, in Mr. Luker's possession
the Diamond must be! Have you any evidence to prove
that the Moonstone was taken to London at all? You can't
even guess how, or by whom, it was removed fiom Lady
Verinder's house! Have you any evidence that the jewel
was pledged to Mr. Luker?  He declares that he never
heard of the Moonstone: and his bankers' receipt acknowledges nothing but the deposit of a valuable of great price.
The Indians assume that Mr. Luker is lying-and you assume again that the Indians are right.  All I say in defense
of my view is-that it is possible. What more, Mr. Blake,
either logically or legally, can be said for yours?"
It was put strongly; but there was no denying that it
was put truly as well.
"I confess you stagger me," I replied.  "Do you object
to my writing to Mr. Bruff, and telling him what you have
said?"' On the contrary, I shall be glad if you will write to Mr.
Bruff. If we consult his experience we may see the matter
under a new light.  For the present, let us return to our experiment with the opium. We have decided that you leave
off the habit of smoking from this moment?"
"From this moment."




416                  THE MOONSTONE.
"That this is the first step. The next step is to reproduce,
as nearly as we can, the domestic circumstances which suirounded you last year."
How was this to be done?  Lady Verinder was dead.
Rachel and I, so long as the suspicion of theft rested on
me, were parted irrevocably. Godfrey Ablewhite was away,
traveling on the Continent.  It was simply impossible to
re-assemble the people who had inhabited the house when I
had slept in it last.  The statement of this objection did not
appear to embarrass Ezra Jennings. He attached very little
importance, he said, to re-assembling the same people-seeing that it would be vain to expect them to re-assume the
various positions which they had occupied toward me in the
past time.  On the other hand, he considered it essential to
the success of the experiment that I should see the same objects about me which had surrounded me when I was last
in the house.
"Above all things," he said, "you must sleep in the room
which you slept in on the birthday night, and it must be
furnished in the same way. The stairs, the corridors, and
Miss Verinder's sitting-room, must also be restored to what
they were when you saw them last. It is absolutely necessary, Mr. Blake, to replace every article of furniture in that
part of the house which may now be put away. The sacrifice of your cigars will be useless unless we can get Miss Verinder's permission to do that."
"Who is to apply to her for permission?" I asked.
" Is it not possible for you to apply?"
"Quite out of the question.  After what has passed between us on the subject of the lost Diamond, I can neither
see her, nor write to her, as things are now."
Ezra Jennings paused, and considered for a moment.
" May I ask you a delicate question?" he said.
I signed to him to go on.
"Am  I right, Mr. Blake, in fancying (from  one or two
things which have dropped from you) that you felt no common interest in Miss Verinder in former times?"
"Quite right."
"Was the feeling returned?"
" It was."
"Do you think Miss Verinder would be likely to feel a
strong interest in the attempt to prove your innocence?"
"I am certain of it."
"In that case I will write to Miss Verinder-if you will
give me leave."
"Telling her of the proposal that you have made to me?"




THE MOONSTONE.                   417
"Telling her of every thing that has passed between us
to-day."
It is needless to say that I eagerly accepted the service
which he had offered to me.
"I shall have time to write by to-day's post," he said,
looking at his watch. "Don't forget to lock up your cigars
when you get back to the hotel! I will call to-morrow
morning and hear how you have passed the night."
I rose to take leave of him, and attempted to express the
grateful sense of his kindness which I really felt.
He pressed my hand gently.  "Remember what I told
you on thle moor," he answered. " If I can do you this little
service, Mr. Blake, I shall feel it like a last gleam of sunshine
falling on the evening of a long and cloudy day."
We parted.  It was then the fifteenth of June.  The
events of the next ten days-every one of them more or less
directly connected with the experiment of which I was the
passive object —are all placed on record, exactly as they
happened, in the Journal habitually kept by Mr. Candy's
assistant. In the pages of Ezra Jennings nothing is concealed, and nothing is forgotten. Let Ezra Jennings tell how
the venture with the opium was tried, and how it ended.
fourtl  Narrative.
Extracted from the Journal of Ezra Jennings.
1849.-June 15.... With some interruption from patients,
and some interruption from pain, I finished my letter to Miss
Verinder in time for to-day's post. I failed to make it as
short a letter as I could have wished. But I think I have
made it plain. It leaves her entirely mistress of her own
decision. If she consents to assist the experiment, she consents of her own free-will, and not as a favor to Mr. Franklin Blake or to me.
June 16.-Rose late, after a dreadful night; the vengeance
of yesterday's opium pursuing me through a series of frightful dreams. At one time, I was whirling through empty
space with the phantoms of the dead, friends and enemies
together. At another, the one beloved face which I shall
never see again rose at my bedside, hideously phosphorescent i., the black darkness, and glared and grinned at me.
27




418                 THE MOONSTONE.
A slight return of the old pain, at the usual time in the early
morning, was welcome as a change.  It dispelled the visions
-and it was bearable because it did that.
My bad night made it late in the morning before I could
get to Mr. Franklin Blake. I found him stretched on the
sofa, breakfasting on brandy and soda-water, and a dry biscuit.
"I am beginning as well as you could possibly wish," he
said. "A miserable, restless night; and a total failure of
appetite this morning. Exactly what happened last year
when I gave up my cigars. The sooner I am ready for my
second dose of laudanum the better I shall be pleased."
"You shall have it on the earliest possible day," I answered. " In the mean time, we must be as careful of your health
as we can. If we allow you to become exhausted, we shall
fail in that way. You must get an appetite for your dinner.
In other words, you must get a ride or a walk this morning
in the fresh air."
"I will ride, if they can find me a horse here. By-the-bye,
I wrote to Mr. Bruff yesterday. Have you written to Miss
Verinder?"
"Yes-by last night's post."
" Very good. We shall have some news worth hearing to
tell each other to-morrow. Don't go yet. I have a word
to say to you. You appeared to think, yesterday, that our
experiment with the opium was not likely to be viewed very
favorably by some of my friends. You were quite right; I
call old Gabriel Betteredge one of my friends, and you will
be amused to hear that he protested strongly when I saw
him  yesterday.'You have done a wonderful number of
foolish things in the course'of your life, Mr. Franklin; but
this tops them all!' There is Betteredge's opinion! You
will make allowances for his prejudices, I am sure, if you and
he happen to meet."
I left Mr. Blake, to go my rounds among my patients;
feeling the better and the happier even for the short interview that I had had with him.
What is the secret of the attraction that there is for me in
this man? Does it only mean that I feel the contrast between the fiankly kind manner in which he has allowed me
to become acquainted with him, and the merciless dislike
and distrust with which I am met by other people? Or is
there really something in him which answers to the yearning that I have for a little human sympathy-the yearning,
which has survived the solitude and persecution of many
years; which seems to grow keener and keener, as the time




THE MOONSTONE.                   419
comes nearer and nearer when I shall endure and feel no
more? How useless to ask these questions! Mr. Blake has
given me a new interest in life. Let that be enough, without seeking to know what the new interest is.
June 17. —Before breakfast this morning Mr. Candy informed me that he was going away for a fortnight, on a visit
to a fiiend in the south of England. He gave me as many
special directions, poor fellow, about the patients, as if he
still had the large practice which he possessed before he was
taken ill. The practice is worth little enough now! Other
doctors have superseded him; and nobody who can help it
will employ me.
It is perhaps fortunate that he is to be away just at this
time. He would have been mortified if I had not informed
him of the experiment which I am going to try with Mr.
Blake. And I hardly know what undesirable results might
not have happened if I had taken him into my confidence.
Better as it is. Unquestionably, better as it is.
The post brought me Miss Verinder's answer, after Mr.
Candy had left the house.
A charming letter! It gives me the highest opinion of
her. There is no attempt to conceal the interest that she
feels in our proceedings.  She tells me, in the prettiest manner, that my letter has satisfied her of Mr. Blake's innocence,
without the slightest need (so far as she is concerned) of putting my assertion to the proof. She even upbraids herselfmost undeservedly, poor thing!-for not having divined at
the time what the true solution of the mystery might really
be. The motive underlying all this proceeds evidently from
something more than a generous eagerness to make atonement for a wrong which she has innocently inflicted on another person. It is plain that she has loved him throughout
the estrangement between them. In more than one place
the rapture of discovering that he has deserved to be loved
breaks its way innocently through the stoutest formalities of
pen and ink, and even defies the stronger restraint still of
writing to a stranger.  Is it possible (I ask myself; in reading this delightful letter) that I, of all men in the world, am
chosen to be the means of bringing these two young people
together again? My own happiness has been trampled under foot; my own love has been torn fiom me. Shall I live
to see a happiness of others, which is of my making-a love
renewed, which is of my bringing back? Oh merciful Death,
let me see it before your arms enloild me, before your voice
whispers to me, "Rest at last!"




i20                 THE MOONSTONE.
There are two requests contained in the letter. One of
them prevents me from showing it to Mr. Franklin Blake. I
am authorized to tell him that Miss Verilder willingly consents to place her house at our disposal; and, that said, I
am desired to add no more.
So far, it is easy to comply with her wishes. But the second request embarrasses me seriously.
Not content with having written to Mr. Betteredge, instructing him to carry out whatever directions I may have
to give, Miss Verinder asks leave to assist me, by personally
superintending the restoration of her own sitting-room. She
only waits a word of reply from me, to make the journey to
Yorkshire, and to be present as one of the witnesses on the
night when the opium is tried for the second time.
Here, again, there is a motive under the surface; and,
here again, I fancy that I can find it out.
What she has forbidden me to tell Mr. Franklin Blake,
she is (as I interpret it) eager to tell him with her own lips,
before he isput to the test which is to vindicate his character in the eyes of other people. I understand and admire
this generous anxiety to acquit him, without waiting until
his innocence may, or may not, be proved. It is the atonement that she is longing to make, poor girl, after having innocently and inevitably wronged him. But the thing can
not be done.  I have no sort of doubt that the agitation
which a meeting between them would produce on both sides
-the old feelings which it would revive, the new hopes
which it would awaken-would, in their effect on the mind
of Mr. Blake, be almost certainly fatal to the success of our
experiment. It is hard enough, as things are, to re-produce
in him the conditions as they existed, or nearly as they existed, last year. With new interests and new emotions to
agitate him, the attempt would be simply useless.
And yet, knowing this, I can not find it in my heart to
disappoint her. I must try if I can discover some new arrangement, before post-time, which will allow me to say Yes
to Miss Verinder, without damage to the service which I
have bound myself to render to Mr. Franklin Blake.
Two o'clock. -I have just returned from my round of
medical visits; having begun, of course, by calling at the
hotel.
Mr. Blake's report of the night is the same as before. He
has had some intervals of broken sleep, and no more. But
he feels it less to-day, having slept after yesterday's dinner.
This after-dinner sleep is the result, no doubt, of the ride
which I advised him to take. I fear I shall have to curtail




THRB MOONSTONE.                 421
his restorative exercise in the fresh air. He must not be too
well; he must not be too ill.  It is a case (as the sailors
say) of very fine steering.
He has not heard yet from Mr. Bruff. I found him eager
to know if I had received any answer from Miss Verinder.
I told him exactly what I was permitted to tell, and no
more. It was quite needless to invent excuses for not showing him the letter. He told me bitterly enough, poor fellow,
that he understood the delicacy which disinclined me to produce it. "She consents, of course, as a matter of common
courtesy and common justice," he said. "But she keeps her
own opinion of me, and waits to see the result." I was sorely tempted to hint that he was now wronging her as she had
wronged him. On reflection, I shrank from forestalling her
in the double luxury of surprising and forgiving him.
My visit was a very short one. After the experience of
the other night, I have been compelled once more to give
up my dose of opium.  As a necessary result, the agony
of the disease that is in me has got the upper hand again.
I felt the attack coming on, and left abruptly, so as not to
alarm or distress him. It only lasted a quarter of an hour
this time, and it left me strength enough to go on with my
work.
Five o'clock.-I have written my reply, to Miss Verinder.
The arrangement I have proposed reconciles the interest
on both sides, if she will only consent to it. After first stating the objections that there are to a meeting between Mr.
Blake and herself, before the experiment is tried, I have suggested that she should so time her journey as to arrive at
the house privately, on the evening when we make the attempt. Traveling by the afternoon train from London, she
would delay her arrival until nine o'clock. At that hour, 1
have undertaken to see Mr. Blake safely into his bed-chamber; and so to leave Miss Verinder free to occupy her own
rooms until the time comes for administering the laudanum.
When that has been done, there can be no objection to her
watching the result, with the rest of us. On the next morning she shall show Mr. Blake (if she likes) her correspondence with me, and shall satisfy him in that way that he was
acquitted in her estimation, before the question of his innocence was put to the proof.
In that sense I have written to her. This is all that I can
do to-day. T,-morrow I must see Mr. Betteredge, and give
the necessary directions for re-opening the house.
June 18.-Late again, in calling on Mr. Franklin Blake.




422                 THE MOONSTONE.
More of that horrible pain in the early morning; followed,
this time, by complete prostration, for some hours. I toresee, in spite of the penalties which it exacts fiom me, that I
shall have to retunr to the opium for the hundredth time.
If I had only myself to think of, I should prefer the sharp
pains to the fiightful dreams. But the physical suffering
exhausts me. It I let myself sink, it may end in my becoming useless to Mr. Blake at the time when he wants me
most.
It was nearly nine o'clock before I could get to the hotel
to-day. The visit, even in my shattered condition, proved
to be a most amusing one-thanks entirely to the presence,
on the scene, of Gabriel Betteredge.
I found him in the room when I went in. He withdrew
to the window and looked out, while I put my first customary question to my patient.  Mr. Blake had slept badly
again, and he felt the loss of rest this morning more than he
had felt it yet.
I asked next if he had heard fiom Mr. Bruff.
A letter had reached him that morning.  Mr. Bruff expressed the strongest disapproval of the course which his
friend and client was taking under my advice. It was mischievous-for it excited hopes that might never be realized.
It was quite unintelligible to his mind, except that it looked
like a piece of trickery, akin to the trickery of mesmerism,
clairvoyance, and the like.  It unsettled Miss Verinder's
house, and it would end in unsettling Miss Verinder herself.
He had put the case (without mentioning names) to an eminent physician; and the eminent physician had smiled, had
shaken his head, and had said-nothing. On these grounds,
Mr. Bruff entered his protest, and left it there.
My next inquiry related to the subject of the Diamond.
Had the lawyer produced any evidence to prove that the
jewel was in London?
No, the lawyer had simply declined to discuss the question. He was himself satisfied that the Moonstone had been
pledged to Mr. Luker. His eminent absent fiiend, Mr. Murthwaite (whose consummate knowledge of the Indian character no one could deny), was satisfied also. Under these circumstances, and with the many demands already made on
him, he must decline entering into any disputes on the subject of evidence. Time would show; and Mr. Bruff was
willing to wait for time.
It was quite plain-even if Mr. Blake had not made it
plainer still by reporting the substance of the letter, instead
of reading what was actually written-that distrust of me




THE MOONSTONE.                   42.
was at the bottom of all this. Having myself foreseen that
result, I was neither mortified nor surprised.  I asked Mr.
Blake if his friend's protest had shaken him. He answered
emphatically that it had not produced the slightest effect on
his mind. I was fiee after that to dismiss Mr. Bruff from
consideration-and I did dismiss him, accordingly.
A pause in the talk between us followed-and Gabriel
Betteredge came out fiom his retirement at the window.
"Can you favor me with your attention, sir?" he inquired,
addressing himself to me.
"I am quite at your service," I answered.
Betteredge took a chair and seated himself at the table.
He produced a huge old-ftlshioned leather pocket-book, with
a pencil of dimensions to match. Having put on his spectacles, he opened the pocket-book, at a blank page, and addressed himself to me once more.
"I have lived," said Betteredge, looking at me sternly,
"nigh on fifty years in the service of my late lady. I was
page-boy before that in the service of the old lord, her father.
I am now somewhere between seventy and eighty years of
age-never mind exactly where! I am reckoned to have
got as pretty a knowledge and experience of the world as
most men. And what does it all end in?  It ends, Mr. Ezra
Jennings, in a conjuring trick being performed on Mr. Franklin Blake by a doctor's assistant with a bottle of laudanum;
and, by the living jingo, I'm appointed, in my old age, to be
conjurer's boy!"
Mr. Blake burst out laughing. I attempted to speak.
Betteredge held up his hand, in token that he had not done
yet.
"Not a word, Mr. Jennings!" he said. "It don't want a
word, sir, from you. I have got my principles, thank God.
If an order comes to me which is own brother to an order
come fiom Bedlam, it don't matter.  So long as I get it from
my master or mistress, as the case may be, I obey it. I may
have my own opinion, which is also, you will please to remember, the opinion of Mr. Bruff-the Great Mr. Bruff!"
said Betteredge, raising his voice, and shaking his head at
me solemnly.  "It don't matter; I withdraw  my opinion,
for all that. My young lady says,'Do it.' And I say,'Miss, it shall be done.' Here I am, with my book and my
pencil-the latter not pointed so well as I could wish; but
when Christians take leave of their senses, who is to expect
that pencils will keep their points? Give me your orders,
Mr. Jennings. I'll have them in writing, sir. I'm determined
not to be behind'em, or before'em, by so much as a hair'




424                 THE MOONSTONE
breadth. I'm  a blind agent-that's what I am. A blind
agent!" repeated Betteredge, with infinite relish of his own
description of himself:
"I am  very sorry," I began, "that you and I don't
agree-"
"Don't bring me into it!" interposed Betteredge.  "This
is not a matter of agreement, it's a matter of obedience. Issue
your directions, sir-issue your directions!"
Mr. Blake made me a sign to take him at his word. I
"issued my directions" as plainly and as gravely as I could.
" I wish certain parts of the house to be re-opened," I said,
"and to be furnished exactly as they were furnished at this
time last year."
Betteredge gave his imperfectly-pointed pencil a preliminary lick with his tongue. "Name the parts, Mr. Jennings!"
he said, loftily.
" First, the inner hall, leading to the chief staircase."
"' First, the inner hall,'" Betteredge wrote.  "Impossible
to firnish that, sir, as it was furnished last year-to begin
with."
" Why?"
"Because there was a stuffed buzzard, Mr. Jennings, in the
hall last year.  When the family left, the buzzard was put
away with the other things.  When the buzzard was put
away, he burst."
"We will except the buzzard, then."
Betteredge took a note of the exception.  "'The inner
hall to be furnished again, as furnished last year. A burst
buzzard alone excepted.' Please to go on, Mr. Jennings."
"The carpet to be laid down on the stairs, as before."
"'The carpet to be laid down on the stairs, as before.'
Sorry to disappoint you, sir. But that can't be done either."
"Why not?"
"Because the man who laid that carpet down is dead, Mr.
Jennings; and the like of him for reconciling together a carpet and a corner is not to be found in all England, look where
you may."
"Very well.  We must try the next best man in England."
Betteredge took another note, and I went on issuing my
directions.
"Miss Verinder's sitting-room to be restored exactly to
what it was last year. Also, the corridor leading from the
sitting-room to the first landing.  Also, the second corridor,
leading from the second landing to the best bedrooms. Also,
the bedroom occupied last June by Mr. Franklin Blake."
Betteredge'E blunt pencil followed me conscientiously,




THE MOONSTONE.                    425
word by word.  "Go on, sir," he said, with sardonic gravity.
"There's a deal of writing left in the point of this pencil
yet."
I told him that I had no more directions to give.  "Sir,"
said Betteredge," in that case, I have a point or two to put
on my own behalf."  He opened the pocket-book at a new
page, and gave the inexhaustible pencil another preliminary
lick.
"I wish to know," he began, "whether I may, or may not,
wash my hands-"
"You may, decidedly," said Mr. Blake.  "I'll ring for the
waiter."
"-of certain responsibilities," pursued Betteredge, impenetrably declining to see any body in the room but himself and me. "As to Miss Verinder's sitting-room, to begin
with. When we took up the carpet last year, Mr. Jennings,
we found a surprising quantity of pins. Am I responsible
for putting back the pins?"
" Certainly not."
Betteredge made a note of that concession on the spot.
"As to the first corridor, next," he resumed. "When we
moved the ornaments in that part, we moved a statue of a
fat naked child-profanely described in the catalogue of the
house as'Cupid, god of Love.' He had two wings last year,
in the fleshy part of his shoulders. My eye being off him
for the moment, he lost one of them. Am I responsible for
Cupid's wing?"
I made another concession, and Betteredge made another
note.
"As to the second corridor," he went on. "There having been nothing in it last year but the doors of the rooms
(to every one of which I c'.;n swear, if necessary), my mind
is easy, I admit, respecting that part of the house only. But,
as to Mr. Franklin's bedroom  (if that is to be put back to
what it was before), I want to know who is responsible for
keeping it in a perpetual state of litter, no matter how often
it may be set right-his trowsers here, his towels there, and
his French novels everywhere-I say, who is responsible for
untidying the tidiness of Mr. Franklin's room-him or me?"
Mr. Blake declared that he would assume the whole responsibility with the greatest pleasure. Betteredge obstinately declined to listen to any solution of the difficulty
without first referring it to my sanction and approval. I
accepted Mr. Blake's proposal; and Betteredge made a last
entry in the pocket-book to that effect.
" Look in when you like, Mr. Jennings, beginning from to



42"                 THE MOONSTONE.
morrow," he said, getting on his legs.  "You will find me
at work, with tihe necessary persons to assist me. I respectfilly beg to thank youl, sir, for overlooking the case of the
stuffed buzzard, and the other case of the Cupid's wing-as
also for permitting me to wash my hands of all responsibility in respect of the pins on the carpet, and the litter in Mr.
Franklin's room. Speaking as a servant, I am deeply indebted to you. Speaking as a man, I consider you to be a
person whose head is full of maggots; and I take up my
testimony against your experiment as a delusion and a snare.
Don't be afraid, on that account, of my feelings as a man
getting in the way of my duty as a servant! You shall
be obeyed-the maggots notwithstanding, sir, you shall be
obeyed. If it ends in your setting the house on fire, damme
if I send for the engines, unless you ring the bell and order
them first!"
With that farewell assurance he made me a bow, and
walked out of the room.
" Do you think we can depend on him?" I asked.
" Implicitly," answered Mr. Blake. "When we go to the
house, we shall find nothing neglected, and nothing forgotten."
June 19.-Another protest against our contemplated proceedings! From a lady this time.
The morning's post brought me two letters.  One from
Miss Verinder, consenting, in the kindest manner, to the arrangement that I have proposed. The other from the lady
under whose care she is living —one Mrs. Merridew.
Mrs. Merridew presents her compliments, and does not
pretend to understand the subject on which I have been
corresponding with Miss Verinder, in its scientific bearings.
Viewed in its social bearings, however, she feels free to pronounce an opinion. I am probably, Mrs. Merridew thinks,
not aware that Miss Verinder is barely nineteen years of
age. To allow a young lady, at her time of life, to be present (without a " chaperon ") in a house full of men among
whom a medical experiment is being carried on, is an outrage on propriety which Mrs. Merridew can not possibly
permit. If the matter is allowed to proceed, she will feel it
to be her duty-at a serious sacrifice of her own personal
convenience-to accompany Miss Verinder to Yorkshire.
Under these circumstances she ventures to request that I
will kindly reconsider the subject; seeing that Miss Verinder declines to be guided by any opinion but mine. Her
presence can not possibly be necessary, and a word from




THE MOONSTONE.                     427
me to that effect would relieve both Mrs. Merridew and myself of a very unpleasant responsibility.
Translated from  polite commonplace into plain English,
the meaning of this is, as I take it, that Mrs. Merridew stands
in mortal fear of the opinion of the world.  She has unfortunately appealed to the very last man in existence who
has any reason to regard that opinion with respect.  I won't
disappoint Miss Verinder; and I won't delay a reconciliation between two young people who love each other, and
who have been parted too long already.  Translated from
plain English into polite commonplace, this means that Mr.
Jennings presents his compliments to Mrs. Merridew, and
regrets that he can not ieel justified in interfering any far.
ther in the matter.
Mr. Blake's report of himself this morning was the same
as before.  We -determined not to disturb Betteredge by
overlooking him  at the house to-day.  To-morrow will be
time enough for our first visit of inspection.
June 20.-Mr. Blake is beginning to feel his continued
restlessness at night.  The sooner the rooms are refurnished
now the better.
On our way to the house this morning he consulted me,
with some nervous impatience and irresolution, about a letter (forwarded to him from London) which he had received
from Sergeant Cuff.
The Sergeant writes from Ireland.  He acknowledges the
receipt (through his housekeeper) of a card and message
which Mr. Blake left at his residence near Dorking, and announces his return to England as likely to take place in a
week or less.  In the mean time he requests to be:fvored
with Mr. Blake's reasons for wishing to speak to him  (as
stated in the message) on the subject of the Moonstone.  If
Mr. Blake can convict him of having made any serious mistake, in the course of his last year's inquiry concerning the
Diamond, he will consider it a duty (after the liberal manner in which he was treated by the late Lady Verinder) to
place himself at that gentleman's disposal.  If not, he begs
permission to remain in his retirement, surrounded by the
peaceful floricultural attractions of a country life.
After reading the letter, I had no hesitation in advising
Mr. Blake to inform Sergeant Cuff, in reply, of all that had
happened since the inqlilrv wtus suspended last year, and to
leave himn to dr:the plai:n facts.
On second thouglts, I also slgrescted inviting the Sergeant to be present at the experiment, in the event of his red




428                 THE MOONSTONE.
turning to England in time to join us. He would be a valuable witness to have in any case; and, if I proved to be
wrong in believing the I)amond to be hidden in Mr. Blake's
room, his advice might be of great importance, at a future
stage of the proceedings over which I could exercise no control. This last consideration appeared to decide Mr. Blake.
He promised to follow my advice.
The sound of the hammer informed us that the work of refurnishing was in full progress, as we entered the drive that
led to the house.
Betteredge, attired for the occasion in a fisherman's red
cap and an apron of green baize, met us in the outer hall.
The moment he saw me he pulled out the pocket-book and
pencil, and obstinately insisted on taking notes of every
thing that I said to him. Look where we might, we found,
as Mr. Blake had foretold, that the work was advancing as
rapidly and as intelligently as it was possible to desire. But
there was still much to be done in the inner hall, and in Miss
Verinder's room. It seemed doubtful whether the house
would be ready for us before the end of the week.
Having congratulated Betteredge on the progress that he
had made (he persisted in taking notes every time I opened
my lips; declining, at the same time, to pay the slightest attention to any thing said by Mr. Blake), and having promised to return for a second visit of inspection in a day or two,
we prepared to leave the house, going out by the back way.
Before we were clear of the passages down stairs I was stopped by Betteredge, just as I was passing the door which led
into his own room.
"Could I say two words to you in private?" he asked, in
a mysterious whisper.
I consented, of course. Mr. Blake walked on to wait for
me in the garden, while I accompanied Betteredge into his
room. I fully anticipated a demand fbo certain new concessions, following the precedent already established in the
cases of the stuffed buzzard and the -Cupid's wing. To my
great surprise, Betteredge laid his hand confidentially on my
arm, and put this extraordinary question to me:
"Mr. Jennings, do you happen to be acquainted with Robinson Crusoe?"
I answered that I had read Robinson Crusoe when I was
a child.
"Not since then?" inquired Betteredge.
"Not since then."
He fell back a few steps, and looked at me with an expression
of compassionate curiosity, tempered by superstitious awe.




"TO THE REMEDY, SIR, WHICH HAS NEVER FAILED ME TET FOR THE
LAST THIRTY YEARS AND MORE-TO THIS BOOK!"








THE MOONSTONE.                   431
"He has not read Robinson Crusoe since he was a child,"
said Betteredge, speaking to himself —not to me. "Let's
try how Robinson Crusoe strikes him now!"
He unlocked a cupboard in a corner, and produced a dirty
and dog's-eared book, which exhaled a strong odor of stale
tobacco as he turned over the leaves. Having fbunil a passage of which he was apparently in search, he reques ted me
to join him in the corner; still mysteriously confidenti l, and
still speaking under his breath.
" In respect to this hocus-pocus of yours, sir, with the 1. idanum and Mr. Franklin Blake," he began. "While the workpeople are in the house, my duty as a servant gets the better of my feelings as a man. When the work-people are
gone, my feelings as a man get the better of my duty as a
servant.  Very good. Last night, Mr. Jennings, it was
borne in powerfully on my mind that this new medical enterprise of yours would end badly.  If I had yielded to that secret Dictate, I should have put all the furniture away again
with my own hands, and have warned the workmen off the
premises when they came the next morning."
" I am glad to find, from what I have seen up stairs," I
said," that you resisted the secret Dictate."
"Resisted isn't the word," answered Betteredge. "Wrostled is the word. I wrostled, sir, between the silent orders
in my bosom pulling me one way, and the written orders in
my pocket-book pushing me the other, until (saving your
presence) I was in a cold sweat.  In that dreadful perturbation of mind and laxity of body, to what remedy did I apply?
To the remedy, sir, which has never failed me yet for the
last thirty years and more-to This Book!"
He hit the book a sounding blow. with his open hand,
and struck out of it a stronger smell of stale tobacco than
ever.
"What did I find here," pursued Betteredge, "at the first
page I opened? This awful bit, sir, page one hundred and
seventy-eight, as follows:'Upon these, and many like Reflections, I afterward made it a certain rule with me, That
whenever I found those secret Hints or Pressings of my
Mind, to doing, or not doing any Thing that presented; or
to going this Way, or that Way, I never failed to obey the
secret Dictate.' As I live by bread, Mr. Jennings, those
were the first words that met my eye, exactly at the time
when I myself was setting the secret Dictate at defiance t
You don't see any thing at all out of the common in that,
do you, sir?"
"I see a coincidence-nothing more."




432                 THE MOONSTONE.
"You don't feel at all shaken, Mr. Jennings, in respect to
this medical enterprise of yours?"
"Not the least in the world."
Betteredge stared hard at me, in dead silence. He closed
the book with great deliberation; he locked it up again in
the cupboard with extraordinary care; he wheeled round,
and sta ed hard at me once more. Then he spoke.
"Sir'he said, gravely, " there are great allowances to be
made -or a man who has not read Robinson Crusoe since he
was  child. I wish you good-morning."
He opened his door with a low bow, and left me at liberty to find my own way into the garden. I met Mr. Blake
returning to the house.
"You needn't tell me what has happened," he said. "Betteredge has played his last card: he has made another prophetic discovery in Robinson Crusoe. Have you humored
his favorite delusion? No? You have let him see that you
don't believe in Robinson Crusoe? Mr. Jennings!' you have
fallen to the lowest possible place in Betteredge's estimation.
Say what you like, and do what you like, for the future.
You will find that he won't waste another word on you now."
June 21.-A short entry must suffice in my journal to-day.
Mr. Blake has had the worst night that he has passed yet.
I have been obliged, greatly against my will, to prescribe
for him. Men of his sensitive organization are fortunately
quick in feeling the effect of remedial measures. Otherwise
I should be inclined to fear that he will be totally unfit for
the experiment, when the time comes to try it.
As for myself, after some little remission of my pains for
the last two days, I had an attack this morning, of which I
shall say nothing but that it has decided me to return to
the opium. I shall close this book, and take my full dosefive hundred drops.
June 22.-Our prospects look better to-day. Mr. Blake's
nervous suffering is greatly allayed. He slept a little last
night. My night, thanks to the opium, was the night of a
man who is stunned. I can't say that I woke this morning;
the fitter expression would be, that I recovered my senses.
We drove to the house to see if the refurnishing was done.
It will be completed to-morrow-Saturday. As Mr. Blake
foretold, Betteredge raised no further obstacles. From first
to last he was ominously polite, and ominously silent.
My medical enterprise (as Betteredge calls it) must now
inevitably be delayed until Monday next. To-morrow even



THE MOONSTONE.                   433
ing the workmen will be late in the house.  On the next
day the established Sunday tyranny, which is one of the
institutions of this fiee country, so times the trains as to
make it impossible to ask any body to travel to us from
London. Until Monday comes there is nothing to be done
but to _tch Mr. Blake carefully, and to keep him, if possible, in the same state in which I find him to-day.
In the mean while I have prevailed on him to write to Mr.
Bruff, making a point of it that he shall be present as one
of the witnesses. I especially choose the lawyer, because he
is strongly prejudiced against us. If we convince him, we
place our victory beyond the possibility of dispute.
Mr. Blake has also written to Sergeant Cuff; and I have
sent a line to Miss Verinder.  With these, and with old Betteredge (who is really a person of importance in the family),
we shall have witnesses enough for the purpose-without including Mrs. Merridew, if Mrs. Merridew persists in sacrificing herself to the opinion of the world.
June 23.-The vengeance of the opium overtook me again
last night. No matter; I must go on with it now till Monday is passed and gone.
Mr. Blake is not so well again to-day. At two this morning he confesses that he opened the drawer in which his cigars are put away. He only succeeded in locking it up again
by a violent effort. His next proceeding, in case of accident,
was to throw the key out of window. The waiter brought
it in this morning, discovered at the bottom of an empty
cistern-such is Fate! I have taken possession of the key
until Tuesday next.
June 24.-Mr. Blake and I took a long drive in an open
carriage. We both felt beneficially the blessed influence of
the soft summer air. I dined with him at the hotel. To
my great relief-for I fiund him in an overwrought, overexcited state this morning —he had two hours' sound sleep
on the sofa after dinner. If he has another bad night nowI am not afraid of the consequences.
June 25, Monday.-The day of the experiment! It is five
o'clock in the afternoon. We have just arrived at the house.
The first and foremost question is the question of Mr.
Blake's health.
So far as it is possible for me to judge, he promises (physically speaking) to be quite as susceptible to the action of
the opium to-night as he was at this time last year. He is,
28




434                 THE MOONSTONE.
this afternoon, in a state of nervous sensitiveness which just
stops short of nervous irritation. He changes color readily;
his hand is not quite steady; and he starts at chance noises,
and at unexpected appearances of persons and things.
These results have all been produced by deprivation of
sleep, which is in its turn the nervous consequence of a sudden cessation in the habit of smoking, after that habit has
been carried to an extreme.  Here are the same causes at
work again, which operated last year; and here are, apparently, the same effects. Will the parallel still hold good,
when the final test has been tried? The events of the night
must decide.
While I write these lines, Mr. Blake is amusing himself
at the billiard-table in the inner hall, practicing different
strokes in the game, as he was accustomed to practice them
when he was a guest in this house in June last. I have
brought my journal here, partly with a view to occupying
the idle hours which I am sure to have on my hands between
this and to-morrow morning; partly in the hope that something may happen which it may be worth my while to place
on record at the time.
Have I omitted any thing, thus far? A glance at yesterday's entry shows me that I have forgotten to note the arrival of the morning's post. Let me set this right, before I
close these leaves for the present and join Mr. Blake.
I received a few lines then, yesterday, from Miss Verinder.
She has arranged to travel by the afternoon train, as I recommended.  Mrs. Merridew has insisted on accompanying
her. The note hints that the old lady's generally excellent
temper is a little ruffled, and requests all due indulgence for
her, in consideration of her age and her habits. I will endeavor, in my relations with Mrs. Merridew, to emulate the
moderation which Betteredge displays in his relations with
me.  He received us to-day, portentously arrayed in his
best black suit and his stiffest white cravat. Whenever he
looks my way, he remembers that I have not read Robinson
Crusoe since I was a child, and he respectfully pities me.
Yesterday, also, Mr. Blake had the lawyer's answer. Mr.
Bruff accepts the invitation-under protest. It is, he thinks,
clearly necessary that a gentleman possessed of the average
allowance of common sense, should accompany Miss Verinder
to the scene of, what he will venture to call, the proposed
exhibition. For want of a better escort, Mr. Bruff himself
will be that gentleman.-So here is poor Miss Velinder provided with two " chaperons." It is a relief to think that the
opinion of the world must surely be satisfied with this I




THE MOONSTONE.                  435
Nothing has been heard of Sergeant Cuff.  He is no
doubt still in Ireland. We must not expect to see him tonight.
Betteredge has just come in, to say that Mr. Blake has
asked for me. I must lay down my pen for the present.
Seven o'clock.- We have been all over the refurnished
rooms and staircases again; and we have had a pleasant
stroll in the shrubbery, which was Mr. Blake's favorite walk
when he was here last. In this way, I hope to revive the
old impressions of places and things as vividly as possible
in his mind.
We are now going to dine, exactly at the hour at which
the birthday dinner was given last year. My object, of
course, is a purely medical one in this case. The laudanum
must find the process of digestion, as nearly as may be,
where the laudanum found it last vear.
At a reasonable time after dinner, I propose to lead the
conversation back again-as inartificially as I can-to the
subject of the Diamond, and of the Indian conspiracy to
steal it. When I have filled his mind with these topics, I
shall have done all that it is in my power to do, before the
time comes for giving him the second dose.
*      *       *       *       *      *       *
Half-past eight.-I have only this moment found an opportunity of attending to the most important duty of allthe duty of looking in the family medicine-chest for the
laudanum which Mr. Candy used last year.
Ten minutes since I caught Betteredge at an unoccupied
moment, and told him what I wanted. Without a word of
objection, without so much as an attempt to produce his
pocket-book, he led the way (making allowances for me at
every step) to the store-room in which the medicine-chest
was kept.
I found the bottle, carefilly guarded by a glass stopper
tied over with leather. The preparation of opium which
it contained was, as I had anticipated, the common tincture
of laudanum. Finding the bottle still well filled, I have resolved to use it in preference to employing either of the two
preparations with which I had taken care to provide myself,
in case of emergency.
The question of the quantity which I am to administer
presents certain difficulties. I have thought it over, and
have decided on increasing the dose.
My notes inform me that Mr. Candy only administered
twenty-five minims. This is a small dose to have produced




486                 THE MOONSTONE.
the results which followed-even in the case of a person so
sensitive as Mr. Blake. I think it highly probable that Mr.
Candy gave more than he supposed himself to have givenknowing, as I do, that he has a keen relish of the pleasures
of the table, and that he measured out the laudanum on the
birthday, after dinner. In any case, I shall run the risk of
enlarging the dose to forty minims. On this occasion Mr
Blake knows beforehand that he is going to take the laudanum-which is equivalent, physiologically speaking, to his
having (unconsciously to himself) a certain capacity in him
to resist the effects. If my view is right, a larger quantity
is therefore imperatively required this time, to repeat the
results which the smaller quantity produced last year.
Ten o'clock.-The witnesses, or the company (which shall
I call them?), reached the house an hour since.
A little before nine o'clock I prevailed on Mr. Blake to
accompany me to his bedroom; stating, as a reason, that I
wished him to look round it, for the last time, in order to
make quite sure that nothing had been forgotten in the refurnishing of the room. I had previously arranged with
Betteredge that the bed-chamber prepared for Mr. Bruff
should be the next room to Mr. Blake's, and that I should
be informed of the lawyer's arrival by a knock at the door.
Five minutes after the clock in the hall had struck nine I
heard the knock; and, going out immediately, met Mr. Bruff
in the corridor.
My personal appearance (as usual) told against me. Mr.
Bruff's distrust looked at me plainly enough out of Mr.
Bruff's eyes.  Being well used to producing this effect on
strangers, I did not hesitate a moment in saying what I
wanted to say before the lawyer found his way into Mr.
Blake's room.
"You have traveled here, I believe, in company with Mrs.
Merridew and Miss Verinder?" I said.
"Yes," answered Mr. Bruff, as dryly as might be.
"Miss Verinder has probably told you that I wish her
presence in the house (and Mrs. Merridew's presence of
course) to be kept a secret from Mr. Blake until my experiment on him has been tried first?"
"I know that I am  to hold my tongue, sir!" said Mr.
Bruff, impatiently.  "Being habitually silent on the subject
of human folly, I am all the readier to keep my lips closed
on this occasion. Does that satisfy you?"
I bowed, and left Betteredge to show him to his room.
Betteredge gave me one look at parting which said, as if in
~    3    9   ~-       b~~~




THE MOONSTONE.                   437
so many words, "You have caught a Tartar, Mr. Jenningsand the name of him is Bruff."
It was next necessary to get the meeting over with the
two ladies. I descended the stairs-a little nervously, I
confess-on my way to Miss Verinder's sitting-room.
The gardener's wife (charged with looking after the accommodation of the ladies) met me in the first-floor corridor.
This excellent woman treats me with an excessive civility
which is plainly the offspring of downright terror. She
stares, trembles, and courtesies whenever I speak to her.
On my asking for Miss Verinder, she stared, trembled, and
would no doubt have courtesied next, if Miss Verinder herself had not cut that ceremony short by suddenly opening
her sitting-room door.
"Is that Mr. Jennings?" she asked.
Before I could answer she came out eagerly to speak to
me in the corridor. We met under the light of a lamp on
a bracket. At the first sight of me Miss Verinder stopped
and hesitated. She recovered herself instantly, colored for
a moment, and then, with a charming frankness, offered me
her hand.
"I can't treat you like a stranger, Mr. Jennings," she said.
"Oh, if you only knew how happy your letters have made
me!"
She looked at my ugly wrinkled face with a bright gratitude so new to me in my experience of my fellow-creatures
that I was at a loss how to answer her. Nothing had prepared me for her kindness and her beauty.  The misery of
many years has not hardened my heart, thank God. I was
as awkward and as shy with her as if I had been a lad in
my teens.
"Where is he now?" she asked, giving free expression to
her one dominant interest    the interest in Mr. Blake.
"What is he doing? Has he spoken of me? Is he in good
spirits? How does he bear the sight of the house after what
happened in it last year? When are you going to give him
the laudanum?  May I see you pour it out?  I am so interested; I am so excited-I have ten thousand things to
say to you, and they all crowd together so that I don't know
what to say first. Do you wonder at the interest I take in
this?"
"No," I said. "I venture to think that I thoroughly understand it."
She was far above the paltry affectation of being confised.
She answered me as she might have answered a brother or
a father.




438                 THE MOONSTONE.
"You have relieved me of indescribable wretchednese;
you have given me a new life. How can I be ungrateful
enough to have any concealments from you?  I love him,"
she said, simply; " I have loved him fiom first to last-even
when I was wronging him in my own thoughts; even when
I was saying the hardest and the cruelest words to him. Is
there any excuse for me in that?  I hope there is-I am
afraid it is the only excuse I have. When to-morrow comes,
and he knows that I am in the house, do you think —?"
She stopped again, and looked at me very earnestly.
When to-morrow comes," I said, "I think you have only
to tell him what you have just told me."
Her face brightened; she came a step nearer to me. Her
fingers trifled nervously with a flower which I had picked in
the garden, and which I had put into the button-hole of my
coat.
"You have seen a great deal of him  lately," she said.
"Have you really and truly seen that?"
"Really and truly," I answered.  "I am quite certain of
what will happen to-morrow. I wish I could feel as certain
of what will happen to-night."
At that point in the conversation we were interrupted by
the appearance of Betteredge with the tea-tray. He gave
me another significant look as he passed on into the sittingroom. "Ay! ay! make your hay while the sun shines.
The Tartar's up stairs, Mr. Jennings-the Tartar's up stairs!"
We followed him into the room. A little old lady, in a
corner, very nicely dressed, and very deeply absorbed over a
smart piece of embroidery, dropped her work in her lap, and
uttered a faint little scream at the first sight of my gypsy
complexion and my piebald hair.
"Mrs. Merridew," said Miss Verinder, "this is Mr. Jennings."
"I beg Mr. Jennings's pardon," said the old l:ady, looking
at Miss Verinder, and speaking at me.  " R:ailway traveling
always makes me nervous. I am endeavoring to quiet my
mind by occupying myself as usual. I don't know whether
my embroidery is out of place, on this extraordinary occasion. If it interferes with Mr. Jennings's medical views, I
shall be happy to put it away, of course."
I hastened to sanction the presence of the embroidery, exactly as I had sanctioned the absence of the burst buzzard
and the Cupid's wing. Mrs. Merridew made an effort-a
grateful effort-to look at my hair. No! it was not to be
done. Mrs. Merridew looked back again at Miss Verinder.
"If Mr. Jennings will permit me," pursued the old lady,




THE MOONSTONE.                  439
"I should like to ask a favor. Mr. Jennings is about to try
a scientific experiment to-night. I used to attend scientific
experiments when I was a girl at school. They invariably
ended in an explosion. If Mr. Jennings will be so very kind,
I should like to be warned of the explosion this time. With
a view to getting it over, if possible, before I go to bed."
I attempted to assure Mrs. Merridew that an explosion
was not included in the programme on this occasion.
"No," said the old lady. "I am much obliged to Mr.
Jennings-I am aware that he is only deceiving me for my
own good. I prefer plain dealing. I am quite resigned to
the explosion-but I do want to get it over, if possible, before I go to bed."
Here the door opened, and Mrs. Merridew uttered another
little scream. The advent of the explosion? No: only the
advent of Betteredge.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Jennings," said Betteredge, in
his most elaborately confidential manner. "Mr. Franklin
wishes to know where you are. Being under your orders to
deceive him, in respect to the presence of my young lady in
the house, I have said I don't know. That, you will please
to observe, was a lie. Having one foot already in the grave,
sir, the fewer lies you expect me to tell, the more I shall
be indebted to you, when my conscience pricks me and my
time comes."
There was not a moment to be wasted on the purely speculative question of Betteredge's conscience. Mr. Blake might
make his appearance in search of me, unless I went to him
at once in his own room. Miss Verinder followed me out
into the corridor.
"They seem to be in a conspiracy to persecute you," she
said. " What does it mean?"
" Only the protest of the world, Miss Verinder-on a very
small scale-against any thing that is new."
"What are we to do with Mrs. Merridew?"
"Tell her the explosion will take place at nine to-morrow
morning."
"So as to send her to bed?"
"Yes-so as to send her to bed."
Miss Verinder went back to the sitting-room, and I went
up stairs to Mr. Blake.
To my surprise, I found him alone; restlessly pacing his
room, and a little irritated at being left by himself.
" Where is Mr. Bruff?" I asked.
He pointed to the closed door of communication between
the two rooms. Mr. Bruff had looked in on him for a mo



440                 THE: MOONSTONE.
ment; had attempted to renew his protest against our pro
ceedings; and had once more failed to produce the smallest
impression on Mr. Blake. Upon this, the lawyer had taken
reflge in a black leather bag, filled to bursting with protfssional papers. "The serious business of life," he admitted,
" was sadly out of place on such an occasion as the present.
But the serious business of life must be carried on, for all
that. Mr. Blake would perhaps kindly make allowance foi
the old-fashioned habits of a practical man. Time was money-and, as for Mr. Jennings, he might depend on it that
Mr. Bruff would be forthcoming when called upon." With
that apology the lawyer had gone back to his own room,
and had immersed himself obstinately in his black bag.
I thought of Mrs. Merridew and her embroidery, and of
Betteredge and his conscience. There is a wonderful sameness in the solid side of the English character-just as there
is a wonderful sameness in the solid expression of the English face.
"When are you going to give me the laudanum?" asked
Mr. Blake, impatiently.
"You must wait a little longer," I said. " I will stay and
keep you company till the time comes."
It was not then ten o'clock. Inquiries which I had made at
various times of Betteredge and Mr. Blake had led me to the
conclusion that the dose of laudanum given by Mr. Candy could
not possibly have been administered before eleven. I had accordingly determined not to try the second dose until that time.
We talked a little; but both our minds were preoccupied
by the coming ordeal. The conversation soon flagged-then
dropped altogether. Mr. Blake idly turned over the books
on his bedroom table. I had taken the precaution of looking
at them, when we first entered the room. The Guardian;
The Tattler; Richardson's Pamela; Mackenzie's Man of Feeling; Roscoe's Lorenzo de' Medici; and Robertson's Charles
the Fifth-all classical works; all (of course) immeasurably
superior to any thing produced in later times, and all (fiom
my present point of view) possessing the one great merit of
enchaining nobody's interest, and exciting nobody's brain.
I left Mr. Blake to the composing influence of Standard Literature, and occupied myself in making this entry in my
journal.
My watch informs me that it is close on eleven o'clock. I
must shut up these leaves once more.
*      *       *       *       *      *       *
Two o'clock A.M.-The experiment has been tried. With
what result I am now to describe.




THE MOONSTONE.                  441
At eleven o'clock I rang the bell for Betteredee, and told
Mr. Blake that he might at last prepare himself?or bed.
I looked out of window at the night. It was mild and
rainy, resembling, in this respect, the night of the birthday
-the twenty-first of June, last year. Without professing to
believe in omens, it was at least encouraging to find no direct nervous influences-no stormy or electric perturbations
-in the atmosphere. Betteredge joined me at the window,
and mysteriously put a little slip of paper into my hand. It
contained these lines:
" Mrs. Merridew has gone to bed, on the distinct understanding that the explosion is to take place at nine to-morrow morning, and that I am not to stir out of this part of
the house until she comes and sets me free. She has no idea
that the chief scene of the experiment is my sitting-roomor she would have remained in it for the whole night! I
am alone, and very anxious. Pray let me see you measure
out the laudanum; I want to have something to do with it,
even in the unimportant character of a mere looker-on.
" R. V."
I followed Betteredge out of the room, and told him to
remove the medicine -chest into Miss Verinder's sittingroom.
The order appeared to take him completely by surprise.
He looked as if he suspected me of some occult medical design on Miss Verinder! "Might I presume to ask," he said,
"what my young lady and the medicine-chest have got to
do with each other?"
"Stay in the sitting-room, and you will see."
Betteredge appeared to doubt his own unaided capacity
to superintend me effectually on an occasion when a medicine-chest was included in the proceedings.
"Is there any objection, sir," he asked, "to taking Mr.
Bruff into this part of the business?"
"Quite the contrary! I am now going to ask Mr. Bruff
to accompany me down stairs."
Betteredge withdrew to fetch the medicine-chest without
another word. I went back into Mr. Blake's room, and
knocked at the door of communication. Mr. Bruff opened
it, with his papers in his hand-immersed in Law, impenetrable to Medicine.
"I am sorry to disturb you," I said. "But I am golng to
prepare the laudanum for Mr. Blake; and I must request you
to be present, and to see what I do."
"Yes?" said Mr. Bruff, with nine-tenths of his attention




442                 THE MOONSTONE.
riveted on his papers, and with one-tenth unwillingly atc
corded to me. "Any thing else?"
"I must trouble you to return here with me, and to see
me administer the dose."
"Any thing else?"
" One thing more. I must put you to the inconvenience
of remaining in Mr. Blake's room, and of waiting to see what
h ippens."
"Oh, very good!" said Mr. Bruff. "iMy room  or Mr.
Blake's room-it doesn't matter which; I can go on with my
papers anywhere. Unless you object, Mr. Jennings, to my importing that amount of common sense into the proceedings?"
Before I could answer, Mr. Blake addressed himself to the
lawyer, speaking from his bed.
"Do you really mean to say that you don't feel any interest in what you are going to do?" he asked. "Mr. Bruff,
you have no more imagination than a cow!"
"A cow is a very useful animal, Mr. Blake," said the lawyer. With that reply he followed me out of the room, still
keeping his papers in his hand.
We found Miss Verinder, pale and agitated, restlessly
pacing her sitting-room from end to end. At a table in a
corner stood Betteredge, on guard over the medicine-chest.
Mr. Bruff sat down on the first chair that he could find, and
(emulating the usefulness of the cow) plunged back again
into his papers on the spot.
Miss Verinder drew me aside, and reverted instantly to
her one all-absorbing interest-the interest in Mr. Blake.
" How is he now?" she asked. " Is he nervous? is he out
of temper?  Do you think it will succeed? Are you sure
it will do no harm?"
"Quite sure. Come and see me measure it out."
"One moment! It is past eleven now. How long will it
be before any thing happens?"
" It is not easy to say. An hour, perhaps."
"I suppose the room must be dark, as it was last year?"
"Certainly."
"I shall wait in my bedroom-just as I did before. I
shall keep the door a little way open. It was a little way
open last year. I will watch the sitting-room door; and the
moment it moves I will blow out my light. It all happened
in that way on my birthday night. And it must all happen
again in the same way, mustn't it?"
"Are you sure you can control yourself, Miss Verinder?"
"In his interests I can do any thing!" she answered, fervently.




THE MOONSTONE.                  443
One look at her face told me that I could trust her. I
addressed myself again to Mr. Bruff.
"I must trouble you to put your papers aside for a moment," I said.
" Oh, certainly!"  He got up with a start-as if I had disturbed him at a particularly interesting place-and followed
me to the medicine-chest. There, deprived of the breathless
excitement incidental to the practice of his profession, he
looked at Betteredge, and yawned wearily.
Miss Verinder joined me with a glass jug of cold water,
which she had taken fiom a side-table. "Let me pour out
the water," she whispered. "I must have a hand in it!"
I measured out the forty minims fiom  the bottle, and
poured the laudanum into a medicine-glass. "Fill it till it
is three parts full," I said, and handed the glass to Miss Verinder. I then directed Betteredge to lock up the medicinechest; informing him that I had done with it now. A look
of unutterable relief overspread the old servant's countenance. He had evidently suspected me of a medical design
on his young lady!
After adding the water as I had directed, Miss Verinder
seized a moment-while Betteredge was locking the chest,
and while Mr. Bruff was looking back at his papers-and
slyly kissed the rim of the medicine-glass. "When you give
it to him," whispered the charming girl," give it to him on
that side!"
I took the piece of crystal which was to represent the
Diamond fiom my pocket and gave it to her.
"You must have a hand in this, too," I said. "You must
put it where you put the Moonstone last year."
She led the way to the Indian cabinet, and put the mock
Diamond into the drawer which the real Diamond occupied
on the birthday night. Mr. Bruff witnessed this proceeding,
under protest, as he had witnessed every thing else. But
the strong dramatic interest which the experiment was now
assuming proved (to my great amusement) to be too much
for Betteredge's capacity of self-restraint. His hand trembled as he held the candle, and he whispered anxiously,
"Are you sure, miss, it's the right drawer?"
I led the way out again, with the laudanum and water in
my hand. At the door I stopped to address a last word to
Miss Verinder.
"Don't be long in putting out the lights," I said.
"I will put them out at once," she answered. "And I will
wait in my bedroom, with only one candle alight."
She closed the sitting-room door behind us. Followed




444                THE MOONSTONE.
by Mr. Bruff and Betteredge, I went back to Mr. Blake's
room.
We found him moving restlessly from side to side of the
bed, and wondering irritably whether he was to have the
laudanum that night. In the presence of the two witnesses
I gave him the dose, and shook up his pillows, and told him
to lie down again quietly and wait.
His bed, provided with light chintz curtains, was placed,
with the head against the wall of the room, so as to leave a
good open space on either side of it. On one side I drew
the curtains completely-and in the part of the room thus
screened from his view I placed Mr. Bruff and Betteredge to
wait for the result. At the bottom of the bed I half drew
the curtains-and placed my own chair at a little distance,
so that I might let him see me or not see me, speak to me
or not speak to me, just as the circumstances might direct.
Having already been informed that he always slept with a
light in the. room, I placed one of the two lighted candles on
a little table at the head of the bed, where the glare of the
light would not strike on his eyes. The other candle I gave
to Mr. Bruff; the light, in this instance, being subdued by
the screen of the chintz curtains. The window was open at
the top so as to ventilate the room. The rain fell softly, the
house was quiet. It was twenty minutes past eleven, by my
watch, when the preparations were completed, and I took my
place on the chair set apart at the bottom of the bed.
Mr. Bruff resumed his papers, with every appearance of
being as deeply interested in them as ever. But looking toward him now, I saw certain signs and tokens which told me
that the Law was beginning to lose its hold on him at last.
The suspended interest of the situation in which we were
now placed was slowly asserting its influence even on his
unimaginative mind.  As for Betteredge, consistency of
principle and dignity of conduct had become, in his case,
mere empty words.  He forgot that I was performing a
conjuring trick on Mr. Franklin Blake; he forgot that I had
upset the house fiom top to bottom; he forgot that I had
not read Robinson Crusoe since I was a child. "For the
Lord's sake, sir," he whispered to me, "tell us when it will
begin to work."
" Not before midnight," I whispered back. "Say nothing
and sit still."
Betteredge dropped to the lowest depth of familiarity
with me, without a struggle to save himself. He answered
me by a wink!
Looking next toward Mr. Blake, I found him as restless as




THE MOONSTONE.                  445
ever in his bed; fietfully wondering why the influence of
the laudanum  had not begun to assert itself yet. To tell
him, in his present humor, that the more he fidgeted and
wondered the longer he would delay the result for which
we were now waiting would have been simply useless. The
wiser course to take was to dismiss the idea of the opium
from his mind by leading him insensibly to think of something else.
With this view I encouraged him to talk to me, contriving so to direct the conversation, on my side, as to lead him
back again to the subject which had engaged us earlier in
the evening-the subject of the Diamond. I took care to
revert to those portions of the story of the Moonstone which
related to the transport of it fi'om London to Yorkshire; to
the risk which Mr. Blake had run in removing it fiom the
bank at Frizinghall; and to the unexpected appearance of
the Indians at the house on the evening of the birthday.
And I purposely assumed, in referring to these events, to
have misunderstood much of what Mr. Blake himself had
told me a few hours since. In this way I set him talking
on the subject with which it was now vitally important to
fill his mind-without allowing him to suspect that I was
making him talk for a purpose. Little by little he became
so interested in putting me right that he forgot to fidget in
the bed. His mind was far away from the question of the
opium at the all-important time when his eyes first told me
that the opium was beginning to lay its hold on his brain.
I looked at my watch. It wanted five minutes to twelve
when the premonitory symptoms of the working of the laudanum first showed themselves to me.
At this time no unpracticed eye would have detected any
change in him. But, as the minutes of the new morning
wore away, the swiftly-subtle progress of the influence began to show itself more plainly. The sublime intoxication
of opium gleamed in his eyes; the dew of a stealthy perspiration began to glisten on his face. In five minutes more
the talk which he still kept up with me failed in coherence.
He held steadily to the subject of the Diamonyd; but he
ceased to complete his sentences.  A little later the sentences dropped to single words. Then there was an interval of silence. Then he sat up in bed. Then, still busy with
the subject of the Diamond, he began to talk again-not to
me, but to himself. That change told me that the first stage
in the experiment was reached. The stimulant influence of
the opium had got him.
The time, now, was twenty-three minutes past twelve




446                 THE MOONSTONE.
The next half hour, at most, would decide the question of
whether he would, or would not, get up from his bed and
leave the room.
In the breathless interest of watching him-in the unutterable triumph of seeing the first result of the experiment
declare itself in the manner, and nearly at the time, which I
had anticipated-I had utterly forgotten the two companions of my night vigil. Looking toward them now, I saw
the Law (as represented by Mr. Bruff's papers) lying unheeded on the floor. Mr. Bruff himself was looking eagerly
through a crevice left in the imperfectly-drawn curtains of
the bed. And Betteredge, oblivious of all respect for social
distinctions, was peeping over Mr. Bruff's shoulder.
They both started back, on finding that I was looking at
them, like two boys caught out by their school-master in a
fault. I signed to them to take off their boots quietly, as I
was taking off mine. If Mr. Blake gave us the chance of
following him, it was vitally necessary to follow him without noise.
Ten minutes passed —and nothing happened. Then he
suddenly threw the bed-clothes off him. He put one leg out
of bed. He waited.
"I wish I had never taken it out of the bank," he said to
himself. "It was safe in the bank."
My heart throbbed fast: the pulses at my temples beat
firiously. The doubt about the safety of the Diamond was,
once more, the dominant impression in his brain! On that
one pivot the whole success of the experiment turned. The
prospect thus suddenly opened before me was too much for
my shattered nerves. I was obliged to look away fiom him,
or I should have lost my self-control.
There was another interval of silence.
When I could trust myself to look back at him he was
)Dut of his bed, standing erect at the side of it. The pupils
of his eyes were now contracted; his eyeballs gleamed in
the light of the candle as he moved his head slowly to and
fio. He was thinking; he was doubting-he spoke again.
"How do I know?" he said. "The Indians may be hidden in the house."
He stopped, and walked slowly to the other end of the
room. He turned-waited-came back to the bed.
"It's not even locked up," he went on. " It's in the drawer
of her cabinet. And the drawer doesn't lock."
He sat down on the side of the bed. "Any body might
take it," he said.
He rose again restlessly, and reiterated his first words.




THE MOONSTONE.                 447
"How do I know?  The Indians may be hidden in the
house."
He waited again. I drew back behind the half:curtain
of the bed.  He looked about the room, with the vacant
glitter in his eyes.  It was a breathless moment. There
was a pause of some sort. A pause in the action of the opium? a pause in the action of the brain? Who could tell?
Every thing depended, now, on what he did next.
He laid himself down again on the bed!
A horrible doubt crossed my mind. Was it possible that
the sedative action of the opium was making itself felt already? It was not in my experience that it should do this.
But what is experience where opium is concerned? There
are probably no two men in existence on whom the drug
acts in exactly the same manner. Was some constitutional
peculiarity in him, feeling the influence in some new way?
Were we to fail, on the very brink of success?
No! He got up again abruptly. "How the devil am I
to sleep," he said, "with this on my mind?"
He looked at the light, burning on the table at the head
of his bed. After a moment he took the candle in his hand.
I blew out the second candle, burning behind the closed
curtains. I drew back, with Mr. Bruff and Betteredge, into
the farthest corner by the bed. I signed to them to be silent, as if their lives had depended on it.
We waited-seeing and hearing nothing.  We waited,
hidden from him by the curtains.
The light which he was holding on the other side of us
moved suddenly. The next moment he passed us, swift and
noiseless, with the candle in his hand.
He opened the bedroom door and went out.
We followed him along the corridor. We followed him
down the stairs. We followed him along the second corridor. He never looked back; he never hesitated.
He opened the sitting-room door and went in, leaving it
open behind him.
The door was hung (like all the other doors in the house)
on large old-fashioned hinges. When it was opened, a crevice was opened between the door and the post. I signed to
my two companions to look through this, so as to keep them
from showing themselves. I placed myself-outside the door
also —on the opposite side. A recess in the wall was at my
left hand, in which I could instantly hide myself if he showed any signs of looking back into the corridor.
He advanced to the middle of the room, with the candle still
in his hand; he looked about him, but he never looked back.




448                THE MOONSTONE.
I saw the door of Miss Verinder's bedroom standing aja;
She had put out her light. She controlled herself nobly.
The dim white outline of her summer dress was all that I
could see. Nobody who had not known it beforehand would
have suspected that there was a living creature in the room.
She kept back in the dark; not a word, not a movement escaped her.
It was now ten minutes past one. I heard, through the
dead silence, the soft drip of the rain, and the tremulous passage of the night air through the trees.
After waiting irresolute for a minute or more in the middle of the room, he moved to the corner near the window,
where the Indian cabinet stood.
He put his candle on the top of the cabinet. He opened
and shut one drawer after another, until he came to the
drawer in which the mock Diamond was put. He looked
into the drawer for a moment. Then he took the mock Diamond out with his right hand. With the other hand he
took the candle from the top of the cabinet.
He walked back a few steps toward the middle of the
room, and stood still again.
Thus far he had exactly repeated what he had done on
the birthday night.  Would his next proceeding be the
same as the proceeding of last year?  Would he leave the
room?  Would he go back now, as I believed he had gone
back then, to his bed-chamber?  Would he show us what
he had done with the Diamond when he had returned to his
town room?
His first action, when he moved once more, proved to be
an action which he had not performed when he was under
the influence of the opium for the first time. He put the
candle down on a table, and wandered on a little toward the
farther end of the room. There was a sofa here. He leaned
heavily on the back of it with his left hand-then roused
himself, and returned to the middle of the room. I could
now see his eyes. They were getting dull and heavy; the
glitter in them was fast dying out.
The suspense of the moment proved too much for Miss
Verinder's self-control. She advanced a few steps —then
stopped again. Mr. Bruff and Betteredge looked across the
open door-way at me for the first time. The prevision of a
coming disappointment was impressing itself on their minds
as well as on mine.
Still, so long as he stood where he was, there was hope.
We waited, in unutterable expectation, to see what would
happen next.




THE MOONSTONE.                  449
The next event was decisive. He let the mock Diamond
drop out of his hand.
It fell on the floor before the door-way-plainly visible to
him and to every one. He made no effort to pick it up: he
looked down at it vacantly, and, as he looked, his head sank
on his breast. He staggered-roused himself for an instant
-walked back unsteadily to the sofa —and sat down on it.
He made a last effort; he tried to rise, and sank back. His
head fell on the sofa cushions. It was then twenty-five minutes past one o'clock. Before I had put my watch back in
my pocket he was asleep.
It was all over now. The sedative influence had got him;
the experiment was at an end.
I entered the room, telling Mr. Bruff and Betteredge that
they might follow me. There was no fear of disturbing
him. We were fiee to move and speak.
" The first thing to settle," I said, " is the question of what
we are to do with him. He will probably sleep for the next
six or seven hours at least. It is some distance to carry
him back to his own room. When I was younger I could
have done it alone. But my health and strength are not
what they were-I am afiaid I must ask you to help me."
Before they could.answer Miss Verinder called to me softly. She met me at the door of her room with a light shawl
and with the counterpane fiom her own bed.
"Do you mean to watch him while he sleeps?" she asked.
"Yes. I am not sure enough of the action of the opium,
in his case, to be willing to leave him alone."
She handed me the shawl and the counterpane.
"Why should you disturb him?" she whispered. "Make
his bed on the sofa. I can shut my door and keep in my
room."
It was infinitely the simplest and the safest way of disposing of him for the night. I mentioned the suggestion to
Mr. Bruff and Betteredge, who both approved of my adopting it. In five minutes I had laid him comfortably on the
sofa, and had covered him lightly with the counterpane and
the shawl. Miss Verinder wished us good-night, and closed
the door. At my request we three then drew round the table in the middle of the room, on which the candle was still
burning, and on which writing materials were placed.
"Before we separate," I began, "I have a word to say
about the experiment which has been tried to-night. Two
distinct objects were to be gained by it. The first of these
objects was to prove that Mr. Blake entered this room and
9




450                 THE MOONSTONE.
took the Diamond last year, acting unconsciously and irresponsibly, under the influence of opium. After what you
have both seen, are you both satisfied, so far?"
They answered me in the affirmative, without a moment's
hesitation.
"The second object," I went on, " was to discover what he
did with the Diamond after he was seen by Miss Verinder
to leave her sitting-room with the jewel in his hand on the
birthday night. The gaining of this object depended, of
course, on his still continuing exactly to repeat his proceed.
ings of last year. He has failed to do that; ana the purpose of the experiment is defeated accordingly. I can't assert that I am not disappointed at the result-but I can honestly say that I am not surprised by it. I told Mr. Blake
from the first that our complete success in this matter depended on our completely reproducing in him the physical
and moral conditions of last year; and I warned him that
this was the next thing to a downright impossibility. We
have only partially reproduced the conditions, and the experiment has been only partially successful in consequence.
It is also possible that I may have administered too large a
dose of laudanum. But I myself look upon the first reason
that I have given as the true reason why we have to lament
a failure, as well as to rejoice over a success."
After saying those words I put the writing materials before Mr. Bruff, and asked him if he had any objection-before we separated for the night-to draw out, and sign, a
plain statement of what he had seen. He at once took the
pen, and produced the statement with the fluent readiness
of a practiced hand.
"   owe you this," he said, signing the paper, "as some
atonement for what passed between us earlier in the evening. I beg your pardon, Mr. Jennings, for having doubted
you. You have done Franklin Blake an inestimable service.
In our legal phrase, you have proved your case."
Betteredge's apology was characteristic of the man.
"Mr. Jennings," he said, " when you read Robinson Crusoe
again (which I strongly recommend you to do), you will find
that he never scruples to acknowledge it when he turns out
to have been in the wrong. Please to consider me, sir, as
doing what Robinson Crusoe did on the present occasion."
With those words he signed the paper in his turn.
Mr. Bruff took me aside as we rose from the table.
"One word about the Diamond," he said. "Your theory
is, that Franklin Blake hid the Moonstone in his room. My
theory is, that the Moonstone is in the possession of Mr.




THE MOONSTONE.                  451
Luker's bankers in London. We won't dispute which of us
is right. We will only ask, which of us is in a position to
put his theory to the test first?"
" The test, in my case," I answered, "has been tried tonight, and has failed."
" The test, in my case," rejoined Mr. Bruff, " is still in process of trial. For the last two days I have had a watch set
for Mr. Luker at the bank; and I shall cause that watch to
be continued until the last day of the month. I know that
he must take the Diamond himself out of his bankers' hands
-and I am acting on the chance that the person who has
pledged the Diamond may force him to do this by redeeming the pledge. In that case I may be able to lay my hand
on the person. And there is a prospect of our clearing up
the mystery, exactly at the point where the mystery baffles
us now! Do you admit that, so far?"
I admitted it readily.
" I am going back to town by the ten o'clock train," pursued the lawyer. "I may hear, when I get back, that a discovery has been made-and it may be of the greatest importance that I should have Franklin Blake at hand to appeal
to if necessary. I intend to tell him, as soon as he wakes,
that he must return with me to London. After all that has
happened, may I trust to your influence to back me?"
"Certainly!" I said.
Mr. Bruff shook hands with me and left the room. Betteredge followed him out.
I went to the sofa to look at Mr. Blake. He had not
moved since I had laid him down and made his bed-he lay
locked in a deep and quiet sleep.
While I was still looking at him I heard the bedroom
door softly opened. Once more Miss Verinder appeared on
the threshold in her pretty summer dress.
"Do me a last favor,"she whispered. "Let me watch
him with you."
I hesitated-not in the interests of propriety; only in the
interest of her night's rest. She came close to me and took
my hand.
"I can't sleep; I can't even sit still in my own room," she
said. "Oh, Mr. Jennings, if you were me, only think how
you would long to sit and look at him! Say yes! Do I"
Is it necessary to mention that I gave way? Surely not!
She drew a chair to the foot of the sofa. She looked at
him in a silent ecstasy of happiness till the tears rose in her
eyes.  She dried her eyes, and said she would fetch her




452                 THE MOONSTONE.
work. She fetched her work, and never did a single stitch
of it. It lay in her lap-she was not even able to look away
from him long enough to thread her needle. I thought of
my own youth; I thought of the gentle eyes which had
once looked love at me. In the heaviness of my heart I
turned to my Journal for relief, and wrote in it what is written here.
So we kept our watch together in silence. One of us absorbed in his writing; the other absorbed in her love.
Hour after hour he lay in his deep sleep. The light of
the new day grew and grew in the room, and still he never
moved.
Toward six o'clock I felt the.varning which told me that
my pains were coming back. I was obliged to leave her
alone with him for a little while. I said I would go up
stairs and fetch another pillow for him out of his room. It
was not a long attack this time. In a little while I was
able to venture back and let her see me again.
I found her at the head of the sofa when I returned.  She
was just touching his forehead with her lips. I shook my
head-as soberly as I could, and pointed to her chair. She
looked back at me with a bright smile and a charming color
in her face. "You would have done it," she whispered, "in
my place!"
*       *       *      *       *        *       *
It is just eight o'clock. He is beginning to move for the
first time.
Miss Verinder is kneeling by, the side of the sofa. She
has so placed herself that when his eyes first open they must
open on her face.
Shall I leave them together?
Yes!
Eleven o'clock.-They have arranged it among themselves;
they have all gone to London by the ten o'clock train. My
brief dream of happiness is over. I have awakened again to
the realities of my fiiendless and lonely life.
I dare not trust myself to write down the kind words that
have been said to me, especially by Miss Verinder and Mr.
Blake. Besides, it is needless. Those words will come back
to me in my solitary hours, and will help me through what
is left of the end of my life. Mr. Blake is to write, and tell
me what happens in London. Miss Verinder is to return to
Yorkshire in the autumn (for her marriage, no doubt); and
I am to take a holiday, and be a guest in the house. Oh
me, how I felt it, as the grateful happiness looked at me out




THEl MOONSTONE.                 453
of her eyes, and the warm pressure of her hand said, "This
is your doing!"
My poolr patients are waiting for me. Back agail, this
morning, to the old routine! Back again, to-night, to the
dreadful alternative between the opium and the pain!
God be praised for his mercy! I have seen a little sunshine-I have had a happy time.
fftl) Narrative.
The Story resumed by Franklin Blake.
CHAPTER I.
BUT few words are needed, on my part, to complete the
narrative that has been presented in the Journal of Ezra
Jennings.
Of myself, I have only to say that I awoke on the morning
of the twenty-sixth, perfectly ignorant of all that I had said
and done under the influence of the opium-from the time
when the drug first laid its hold on me, to the time when I
opened my eyes on the sofa in Rachel's sitting-room.
Of what happened after my waking, I do not feel called
upon to render an account in detail. Confining myself
merely to results, I have to report that Rachel and I thoroughly understood each other before a single word of explanation had passed on either side. I decline to account, and
Rachel declines to account, for the extraordinary rapidity of
our reconciliation. Sir and Madam, look back to the time
when you were passionately attached to each other-and
you will know what happened, after Ezra Jennings had shut
the door of the sitting-room, as well as I know it myself.
I have, however, no objection to add, that we should have
been certainly discovered by Mrs. Merridew but for Rachel's
presence of mind. She heard the sound of the old lady's
dress in the corridor, and instantly ran out to meet her. I
heard Mrs. Merridew say," What is the matter?" and I heard
Rachel answer, "The explosion!" Mrs. Merridew instantly
permitted herself to be taken by the arm and led into the
garden, out of the v::.- o th,:1 il:pending shock. On her return to the house she met me in the hall, and expressed herself as greatly struck by the vast improvement in Science




464                 THE MOONSTONE.
since the time when she was a girl at school. "Explosions
Mr. Blake, are infinitely milder than they were. I assure
you, I barely heard Mr. Jennings's explosion from the garden. And no smell afterward, that I can detect, now  we
have come back to the house! I must really apologize to
your medical friend. It is only due to him to say that he
has managed it beautifully!"
So, after vanquishing Betteredge and Mr. Bruff, Ezra Jennings vanquished Mrs. Merridew herself. There is a great
deal of undeveloped liberal feeling in the world, after all!
At breakfast Mr. Bruff made no secret of his reasons for
wishing that I should accompany him to London by the
morning train. The watch kept at the bank, and the result
which might yet come of it, appealed so irresistibly to Rachel's curiosity that she at once decided (if Mrs. Merridew
had no objection) on accompanying us back to town-so as
to be within reach of the earliest news of our proceedings.
Mrs. Merridew proved to be all pliability and indulgence,
after the truly considerate manner in which the explosion
had conducted itself; and Betteredge was accordingly informed that we were all four to travel back together by the
morning train. I fully expected that he would have asked
leave to accompany us. But Rachel had wisely provided
her faithful old servant with an occupation that interested
him. He was charged with completing the refurnishing of
the house, and was too full of his domestic responsibilities
to feel the "detective-fever" as he might have felt it under
other circumstances.
Our one subject of regret, in going to London, was the
necessity of parting, more abruptly than we could have
wished, with Ezra Jennings.  It was impossible to persuade
him to accompany us. I could only promise to write to
him; and Rachel could only insist on his coming to see her
when she returned to Yorkshire. There was every prospect
of our meeting again in a few months; and yet there was
something very sad in seeing our best and dearest friend
left standing alone on the platform as the train moved out
of the station.
On our arrival in London, Mr. Bruff was accosted at the
terminus by a small boy, dressed in a jacket and trowsers
of threadbare black cloth, and personally remarkable in virtue of the extraordinary prominence of his eyes. They projected so far, and they rolled about so loosely, that you
wondered uneasily why they remained in their sockets. After listening to the boy, Mr. Bruff asked the ladies whether




THE MOONSTONE.                  455
they would excuse our accompanying them back to Portland Place. I had barely time to promise Rachel that I
would return, and tell her every thing that had happened,
before Mr. Bruff seized me by the arm and hurried me into
a cab. The boy with the ill-secured eyes took his place on
the box by the driver, and the driver was directed to go to
Lombard Street.
"News from the bank?" I asked, as we started.
" News of Mr. Luker," said Mr. Bruff. "An hour ago he
was seen to leave his house at Lambeth in a cab, accompanied by two men, who were recognized by my men as police officers in plain clothes. If Mr. Luker's dread of the Indians is at the bottom of this precaution, the inference is
plain enough. He is going to take the Diamond out of the
bank."
" And we are going to the bank to see what comes of it?"
" Yes-or to hear what has come of it, if it is all over by
this time. Did you notice my boy-on the box there?"
" I noticed his eyes!"
Mr. Bruff laughed. "They call the poor little wretch'Gooseberry' at the office," he said. "I employ him to go
on errands-and I only wish my clerks who have nicknamed
him were as thoroughly to be depended on as he is. Gooseberry is one of the sharpest boys in London, Mr. Blake, in
spite of his eyes."
It was twenty minutes to five when we drew up before
the bank in Lombard Street. Gooseberry looked longingly
at his master as he opened the cab door.
" Do you want to come in too?" asked Mr. Bruff, kindly.
"Come in, then, and keep at my heels till further orders.
He's as quick as lightning," pursued Mr. Bruff, addressing
me in a whisper. "Two words will do with Gooseberry
where twenty would be wanted with another boy."
We entered the bank. The outer office-with the long
counter, behind which the cashiers sat-was crowded with
people; all waiting their turn to take money out, or to pay
money in, before the bank closed at five o'clock.
Two men among the crowd approached Mr. Bruff as soon
as he showed himself.
"Well," asked the lawyer. "Have you seen him?"
"He passed us here half an hour since, sir, and went on
into the inner office."
"Has he not come out again yet?"
"No, sir."
Mr. Bruff-turned to me. "Let us wait," he said.
I looked round among the people about me for the three




456                 THE MOONSTONE.
Indians. Not a sign of them was to be seen anywhere
The only person present with a noticeably dark complexion
was a tall man in a pilot coat and a round hat, who looked
like a sailor. Could this be one of them in disguise? Impossible! The man was taller than any of the Indians;
and his face, where it was not hidden by a bushy black
beard, was twice the breadth of any of their faces at least.
"They must have their spy somewhere," said Mr. Bruff,
looking at the dark sailor in his turn. "And he may be the
man."
Before he could say any more his coat-tail was respectfully pulled by his attendant sprite with the gooseberry eyes.
Mr. Bruff looked where the boy was looking. "Hush!" he
said. "Here is Mr. Luker!"
The money-lender came out from  the inner regions of
the bank, followed by his two guardian policemen in plain
clothes.
"Keep your eye on him," whispered Mr. Bruff. "If he
passes the Diamond to any body, he will pass it here."
Without noticing either of us, Mr. Luker slowly made his
way to the door-now in the thickest, now in the thinnest
part of the crowd. I distinctly saw his hand move as he
passed a short, stout man, respectfully dressed in a suit of
sober gray. The man started a little, and looked after him.
Mr. Luker moved on slowly through the crowd. At the
door his guard placed themselves on either side of him.
They were all three followed by one of Mr. Bruff's two men,
and I saw them no more.
I looked round at the lawyer, and then looked significantly toward the man in the suit of sober gray. " Yes!" whispered Mr. Bruff, " I saw it too!"  He turned about in search
of his second man. The second man was nowhere to be
seen.  He looked behind him  for his attendant sprite.
Gooseberry had disappeared.
"What the devil does it mean!" said Mr. Bruff, angrily.
"They have both left us at the very time when we want
them most."
It came to the turn of the man in the gray suit to transact his business at the counter. He paid in a check-received a receipt for it-and turned to go out.
" What is to be done?" asked Mr. Bruff. " We can't degrade ourselves by following him."
"I can!" I said. "I wouldn't lose sight of that man for
ten thousand pounds!"
"In that case," rejoined Mr. Bruff, "I wouldn't lose sight
of you for twice the money. A nice occupation for a man




THE MOONSTONE.                  467
in my position," he muttered to himself, as we followed the
stranger out of the bank. " For Heaven's sake, don't mention it! I should be ruined if it was known."
The man in the gray suit got into an omnibus going westward. We got in after him. There were latent reserves of
youth still left in Mr. Bruff. I assert it positively-when he
took his seat in the omnibus he blushed!
The man with the gray suit stopped the omnibus and got
out in Oxford Street. We followed him again. He went
into a chemist's shop.
Mr. Bruff started. "My chemist!" he exclaimed. "I ar
afraid we have made a mistake."
We entered the shop. Mr. Bruff and the proprietor exchanged a few words in private. The lawyer joined me
again, with a very crest-fallen face.
" It's greatly to our credit," he said, as he took my arm
and led me out-" that's one comfort!"
"What is to our credit?" I asked.
"Mr. Blake! you and I are the two worst amateur detect
ives that ever tried their hands at the trade. The man in
the gray suit has been thirty years in the chemist's service.
He was sent to the bank to pay money to his master's account-and he knows no more of the Moonstone than the
babe unborn."
I asked what was to be done next.
" Come back to my office," said Mr. Bruff. "Gooseberry
and my second man have evidently followed somebody else.
Let us hope that they had their eyes about them, at any rate!"
When we reached Gray's Inn Square the second man had
arrived there before us. He had been waiting for more than
a quarter of an hour.
"Well!" asked Mr. Bruff. "What's your news?"
"I am sorry to say, sir." replied the man, " that I have
made a mistake. I could have taken my oath that I saw
Mr. Luker pass something to an elderly gentleman in a lightcolored paletot. The elderly gentleman turns out, sir, to be
a most respectable master iron-monger in Eastcheap."
" Where is Gooseberry?" asked Mr. Bruff, resignedly.
The man stared. "I don't know, sir.  I have seen nothing of him since I left the bank."
Mr. Bruff dismissed the man. "One of two things," he
said to me. "Either Gooseberry has run away, or he is
hunting on his own account.  What do you say to dining
here, on the chance that the boy may come back in an hour
or two?  I have got some good wine in the cellar, and we
can get a chop from the coffee-house."




458                THE MOONSTONE.
We dined at Mr. Bruff's chambers. Before the cloth was
removed "a person" was announced as wanting to speak to
the lawyer. Was the person Gooseberry? No: only the
man who had been employed to follow Mr. Luker when he
left the bank.
The report, in this case, presented no feature of the slightest interest. Mr. Luker had gone back to his own house,
and had there dismissed his guard. He had not gone out
again afterward. Toward dusk the shutters had been put
up and the doors had been bolted. The street before the
house, and the alley behind the house, had been carefully
watched. No signs of the Indians had been visible.  No
person whatever had been seen loitering about the premises.
Having stated these facts, the man waited to know whether
there were any further orders. Mr. Bruff dismissed him for
the night.
"Do you think Mr. Luker has taken the Moonstone home
with him 9" I asked.
"Not he," said Mr. Bruff. "He would never have dismissed his two policemen if he had run the risk of keeping
the Diamond in his own house again."
We waited another half hour for the boy, and waited in
vain. It was then time for Mr. Bruff to go to Hampstead,
and for me to return to Rachel in Portland Place. I left
my card, in charge of the porter at the chambers, with a
line written on it to say that I should be at my lodgings at
half-past ten that night. The card was to be given to the
boy, if the boy came back.
Some men have a knack of keeping appointments; and
other men have a knack of mnissing them. I am one of the
other men. Add to this that I passed the evening at Port
land Place, on the same seat with Rachel, in a room forty
feet long, with Mrs. Merridew at the farther end of it. Does
any body wonder that I got home at half-past twelve instead of half-past ten? How thoroughly heartless that person must be! And how earnestly I hope I may never make
that person's acquaintance!
My servant handed me a morsel of paper when he let
me in.
I read, in a neat, legal handwriting, these words: " If you
please, sir, I am getting sleepy. I will come back to-morrow morning, between nine and ten." Inquiry proved that
a boy, with very extraordinary-looking eyes, had called, had
presented my card and message, had waited an hour, had
done nothing but fall asleep and wake up again, had written a line for me, and had gone home-after gravely inform



THE MOONSTONE.                   459
ing the servant that "he was fit for nothing unless he got
his night's rest."
At nine the next morning I was ready for my visitor. At
half-past nine I heard steps outside my door. "Come in,
Gooseberry!" I called out. "Thank you, sir," answered a
grave and melancholy voice. The door opened. I started
to my feet and confionted-Sergeant Cuff!
" I thought I would look in here, Mr. Blake, on the chance
of your being in town, before I wrote to Yorkshire," said
the Sergeant.
He was as dreary and as lean as ever. His eyes had not
lost their old trick (so subtly noticed in Betteredge's Narrative) of "looking as if they expected something more fiom
you than you were aware of yourself." But, so far as dress
can alter a man, the great Cuff was changed beyond all recognition.  He wore a broad-brimmed white hat, a light
shooting-jacket, white trowsers, and drab gaiters. He carried a stout oak stick. His whole aim and object seemed to
be to look as if he had lived in the country all his life.
When I complimented him  on his metamorphosis, he declined to take it as joke. He complained, quite gravely, of
the noises and the smells of London. I declare I am far
from sure that he did not speak with a slightly rustic accent! I offered him  breakfast. The innocent countryman
was quite shocked. His breakfast-hour was half-past sixand he went to bed with the cocks and hens!
"I only got back from Ireland last night," said the Sergeant, coming round to the practical object of his visit, in
his own impenetrable manner.  "Before I went to bed I
read your letter, telling me what has happened since my inquiry after the Diamond was suspended last year. There's
only one thing to be said about the matter, on my side. I
completely mistook my case. How any man living was to
have seen things in their true light, in such a situation as
mine was at the time, I don't profess to know. But that,
doesn't alter the facts as they stand. I own that I made a'
mess of it.  Not the first mess, Mr. Blake, which has distinguished my professional career! It's only in books that
the officers of the detective force are superior to the weakness of making a mistake."
"You have come in the nick of time to recover your reputation," I said.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Blake," rejoined the Sergeant.
"Now  I have retired fiom business I don't care a straw
about my reputation.  I have done with my reputation,
thank God! I am here, sir, in grateful remembrance of the




O60                 THE MOONSTONE.
late Lady Verinder's liberality to me. I will go back to
my old work-if you want me, and if you will trust me-on
that consideration, and on no other. Not a farthing of money is to pass, if you please, from you to me. This is on honor. Now tell me, Mr. Blake, how the case stands since you
wrote to me last."
I told him of the experiment with the opium, and of what
had occurred afterward at the bank in Lombard Street. He
was greatly struck by the experiment —it was something
entirely new in his experience. And he was particularly interested in the theory of Ezra Jennings, relating to what I
had done with the Diamond, after I had left Rachel's sitting-room, on the birthday night.
"I don't hold with Mr. Jennings that you hid the Moonstone," said Sergeant Cuff. "But I agree with him that you
must certainly have taken it back to your own room."
" Well?" I asked. "And what happened then?"
"Have you no suspicion yourself of what happened, sir?"
"None whatever."
"Has Mr. Bruff no suspicion?"
" No more than I have."
Sergeant Cuff rose, and went to my writing-table. He
came back with a sealed envelope. It was marked "Private;" it was addressed to me; and it had the Sergeant's
signature in the corner.
" I suspected the wrong person last year," he said; "and
1 may be suspecting the wrong person now. Wait to open
the envelope, Mr. Blake, till you have got at the truth; and
then compare the name of the guilty person with the name
that I have written in that sealed letter."
I put the letter into my pocket, and then asked for the
Sergeant's opinion of the measures which we had taken at
the bank.
"Very well intended, sir," he answered," and quite the
right thing to do.  But there was another person who
ought to have been looked after besides Mr. Luker."
"The person named in the letter you have just given to
me?"
" Yes, Mr. Blake, the person named in the letter. It can't
be helped now. I shall have something to propose to you
and Mr. Bruff, sir, when the time comes. Let's wait, first,
and see if the boy has any thing to tell us that is worth
hearing."
It was close on ten o'clock, and the boy had not yet made
his appearance. Sergeant Cuff talked of other matters. He
asked after his old friend Betteredge, and his old enemy the




THE MOONSTONE.                  461
gardener. In a minute more he would no doubt have got
firom this to the subject of his favorite roses, if my servant
had not interrupted us by announcing that the boy was
below.
On being brought into the room, Gooseberry stopped at
the threshold of the door, and looked distrustfully at the
stranger who was in my company. I called to the boy to
come to me.
"You may speak before this gentleman," I said. "He is
here to assist me, and he knows all that has happened.
Sergeant Cuff," I added, "this is the boy from Mr. Bruff's
office."
In our modern system of civilization, celebrity (no matter
of what kind) is the lever that will move any thing. The
fame of the great Cuff had even reached the ears of the
small Gooseberry. The boy's ill-fixed eyes rolled, when I
mentioned the illustrious name, till I thought they really
must have dropped'tf the carpet.
"Come here, my lad," said the Sergeant, "and let's hear
what you have got to tell us."
The notice of the great man-the hero of many a famous
story in every lawyer's office in London-appeared to fascinate the boy. He placed himself in front of Sergeant Cuff,
and put his hands behind him, after the approved fashion of
a neophyte who is examined in his catechism.
"What is your name?" said the Sergeant, beginning with
the first question in the catechism.
"Octavius Guy," answered the boy.  "They call me
Gooseberry at the office, because of my eyes."
"Octavius Guy, otherwise Gooseberry," pursued the Sergeant, with the utmost gravity, "you were missed at the
bank yesterday.  What were you about?"
" If you please, sir, I was following a man."
"Who was he?"
"A tall man, sir, with a big black beard, dressed like a
sailor."
"I remember the man!" I broke in. "Mr. Bruff and I
thought he was a spy, employed by the Indians."
Sergeant Cuff did not appear to be much impressed by
what Mr. Bruff and I had thought. He went on catechising
Gooseberry.
"Well," he said; "and why did you follow the sailor?"
"If you please, sir, Mr. Bruff wanted to know  whether
Mr. Luker passed any thing to any body on his way out of
the bank. I saw Mr. Luker pass something to the sailor
with the black beard."




462                 THE MOONSTONE.
"Why didn't you tell Mr. Bruff what you saw?"
"I hadn't time to tell any body, sir, the sailor went out
in such a hurry."
"And you ran out after him —eh?"
"Yes, sir."
Gooseberry," said the Sergeant, patting his head, "you
have got something in that small skull of yours-and it isn't
cotton-wool. I am greatly pleased with you, so far."
The boy blushed with pleasure. Sergeant Cuff went on
"Well, and what did the sailor do when he got into tlb
street?"
"He called a cab, sir."
"And what did you do?"
" Held on behind, and run after it."
Before the Sergeant could put his next question, another visitor was announced-the head clerk from Mr. Bruff's office.
Feeling the importance of not interrupting Sergeant Cuff's
examination of the boy, I received the clerk in another room.
He came with bad news of his employer. The agitation and
excitement of the last two days had proved too much for
Mr. Bruff. He had awoke that morning with an attack of
gout; he was confined to his room at Hampstead; and, in
the present critical condition of our affairs, he was very uneasy at being compelled to leave me without the advice and
assistance of an experienced person. The chief clerk had received orders to hold himself at my disposal, and was willing
to do his best to replace Mr. Bruff.
I wrote at once to quiet the old gentleman's mind, by telling him of Sergeant Cuff's visit: adding that Gooseberry
was at that moment under examination; and promising to
inform Mr. Bruff, either personally or by letter, of whatever
might occur later in the day. Having dispatched the clerk
to Hampstead with my note, I returned to the room which I
had left, and found Sergeant Cuff at the fire-place, in the act
of ringing the bell.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Blake," said the Sergeant. "I
was just going to send word by your servant that I wanted
to speak to you. There isn't a doubt on my mind that this
boy —this most meritorious boy," added the Sergeant, patting Gooseberry on the head, "has followed the right man.
Precious time has been lost, sir, through your unfortunately
not being at home at half-past ten last night. The only
thing to do, now, is to send for a cab immediately."
In five minutes more Sergeant Cuff and I (with Gooseberry on the box to guide the driver) were on our way eastward, toward the City.




THE MOONSTONE.                  46 
"One of these days," said the Sergeant, pointing through
the front window of the cab, "that boy will do great things
in my late profession. He is the brightest and cleverest little chap I have met with for many a long year past. You
shall hear the substance, Mr. Blake, of what he told me while
you were out of the room. You were present, I think, when
he mentioned that he held on behind the cab, and ran after
it?"
"Yes."
" Well, sir, the cab went from Lombard Street to the Tower Wharf. The sailor with the black beard got out, and
spoke to the steward of the Rotterdar  steamboat, which
was to start the next morning. He asked if he could be allowed to go on board at once, and sleep in his berth overnight. The steward said, No. The cabins, and.berths, and
bedding were all to have a thorough cleaning that evening,
and no passenger could be allowed to come on board before
the morning. The sailor turned round, and left the wharf.
When he got into the street again the boy noticed, for the
first time, a man dressed like a respectable mechanic, walking on the opposite side of the road, and apparently keeping
the sailor in view. The sailor stopped at an eating-house in
the neighborhood, and went in. The boy-not being able
to make up his mind at the moment-hung about among
some other boys, staring at the good things in the eatinghouse window. He noticed the mechanic, waiting, as he
himself was waiting-but still on the opposite side of the
street. After a minute a cab came by slowly, and stopped
where the mechanic was standing. The boy could only see
plainly one person in the cab, who leaned forward at the
window to speak to the mechanic. He described that person, Mr. Blake, without any prompting from me, as having a
dark face, like the face of an Indian."
It was plain, by this time, that Mr. Bruff and I had made
another mistake. The sailor with the black beard was
clearly not a spy in the service of the Indian conspiracy.
Was he, by any possibility, the man who had got the Diamond?
"After a little," pursued the Sergeant, "the cab moved
on slowly down the street. The mechanic crossed the road,
and went into the eating-house. The boy waited outside
till he was hungry and tired-and then went into the eatinghouse, in his turn. He had a shilling in his pocket; and he
dined sumptuously, he tells me, on a black pudding, an eelpie, and a bottle of ginger-beer. WVlat can a boy not digest? The substance in question has never been found yet."




464                 THIE MOONSTONE.
" What did he see in the eating-house?" I asked.
"Well, Mr. Blake, he saw the sailor reading the newspaper at one table, and the mechanic reading the newspaper
at another. It was dusk before the sailor got up and left
the place. He looked about him suspiciously when he got
out into the street. The boy —being a boy-passed unnoticed. The mechanic had not come out yet. The sailor
walked on, looking about him, and apparently not very certain of where he was going next. The mechanic appeared
once more, on the opposite side of the road. The sailor
went on, till he got to Shore Lane, leading into Lower
Thames Street. There he stopped before a public-house under the sign of The Wheel of Fortune, and, after examining
the place outside, went in. Gooseberry went in too. There
were a great many people, mostly of the decent sort, at the
bar. The Wheel of Fortune is a very respectable house,
Mr. Blake; famous for its porter and pork-pies."
The Sergeant's digressions irritated me. He saw it, and
confined himself more strictly to Gooseberry's evidence
when he went on.
"The sailor," he resumed, " asked if he could have a bed.
The landlord said'No; they were full.' The bar-maid corrected him, and said'Number Ten was empty.' A waiter
was sent for to show the sailor to Number Ten. Just before that, Gooseberry had noticed the mechanic among the
people at the bar. Before the waiter had answered the call,
the mechanic had vanished. The sailor was taken off to his
room. Not knowing what to do next, Gooseberry had the
wisdom to wait and see if any thing happened. Something
did happen. The landlord was called for. Angry voices
were heard up stairs. The mechanic suddenly made his appearance again, collared by the landlord, and exhibiting, to
Gooseberry's great surprise, all the signs and tokens of being
drunk. The landlord thrust him out at the door, and threatened him with the police if he came back. From the altercation between them, while this was going on, it appeared
that the man had been discovered in Number Ten, and had
declared with drunken obstinacy that he had taken the
room. Gooseberry was so struck by this sudden intoxication of a previously sober person, that he couldn't resist running out after the mechanic into the street. As long as he
was in sight of the public- ouse, the man reeled about in the
most disgraceful manner. The moment he turned the corner
of the street he recovered his balance instantly, and became
as sober a member of society as you could wish to see.
Gooseberry went back to The Wheel of Fortune in a very




THE MOONSTONE.                  465
bewildered state of mind. He waited about again, on the
chance of something happening. Nothing happened; and
nothing more was to be heard or seen of the sailor. Gooseberry decided on going back to the office. Just as he came
to this conclusion, who should appear, on the opposite side
of the street as usual, but the mechanic again! He looked
up at one particular window at the top of the public-house,
which was the only one that had a light in it. The light
seemed to relieve his mind. He left the place directly. The
boy made his way back to Gray's Inn, got your card and
message, called, and failed to find you. There you have the
state of the case, Mr. Blake, as it stands at the present time."
"What is your opinion of the case, Sergeant?"
"I think it's serious, sir. Judging by what the boy saw,
the Indians are in it, to begin with."
"Yes. And the sailor is evidently the man to whom Mr.
Luker passed the Diamond. It seems odd that Mr. Bruff
and I, and the man in Mr. Bruff's employment, should all
have been mistaken about who the person was."
"Not at all, Mr. Blake. Considering the risk that person
ran, it's likely enough that Mr. Luker purposely misled you
by previous arrangement between them."
" Do you understand the proceedings at the public-house?"
I asked. "The man dressed like a mechanic was acting, of
course, in the employment of the Indians. But I am as
much puzzled to account for his sudden assumption of
drunkenness as Gooseberry himself."
" I think I can give a guess at what it means, sir," said
the Sergeant. "If you will reflect, you will see that the
man must have had some pretty strict instructions firom the
Indians. They were far too noticeable themselves to risk
being seen at the bank or in the public-house-they were
obliged to trust every thing to their deputy. Very good.
Their deputy hears a certain number named in the publichouse as the number of the room which the sailor is to have
for the night-that being also the room (unless our notion
is all wrong) which the Diamond is to have for the night
too. Under those circumstances the Indians, you may rely
on it, would insist on having a description of the room-of
its position in the house, of its capability of being approached fiom the outside, and so on. What was the man to do,
with such orders as these?  Just what he did! He ran up
stairs to get a look at the room before the sailor was taken
into it.' He was found there making his observations-and
he shammed drunk as the easiest way of getting out of the
difficulty. That's how I read the riddle. After he was turn30




466                THE MOONSTONE.
ed out of the public-house he probably went with his report
to the place where his employe'  Were waiting for him. And
his employers, no doubt, sent him back to make sure that
the sailor was really settled at the public-house till the next
morning. As for what happened at The Wheel of Fortune
after the boy left, we ought to have discovered that last
night. It's eleven in the morning now. We must hope for
the best and find out what we can."
In a quarter of an hour more the cab stopped in Shore
Lane, and Gooseberry opened the door for us to get out.
"All right?" asked the Sergeant.
" All right," answered the boy.
The moment we entered The Wheel of Fortune it was
plain, even to my inexperienced eyes, that there was something wrong in the house.
The only person behind the counter at which the liquors
were served was a bewildered servant-girl, perfectly ignorant of the business. One or two customers, waiting for
their morning drink, were tapping impatiently on the counter with their money. The bar-maid appeared from the inner regions of the parlor, excited and preoccupied. She answered Sergeant Cuff's inquiry for the landlord by telling
him sharply that her master was up stairs, and was not to
be bothered by any body.
"Come along with me, sir," said Sergeant Cuff, coolly
leading the way up stairs, and beckoning to the boy to follow him.
The bar-maid called to her master, and warned him that
strangers were intruding themselves into the house. On the
first-loor we were encountered by the landlord, hurrying
down, in a highly irritated state, to see what was the matter.
" Who the devil are you? and what do you want here?"
he asked.
"Keep your temper," said the Sergeant, quietly. "I'll
tell you who I am, to begin with. I am Sergeant Cuff."
The illustrious name instantly produced its effect. The.
angry landlord threw open the door of a sitting-room, and
asked the Sergeant's pardon.
"I am annoyed and out of sorts, sir-that's the truth,"
he said. " Something unpleasant has happened in the house
this morning. A man in my way of business has a deal to
upset his temper, Sergeant Cuff."
"Not a doubt of it, said the Sergeant. "I'll come at
once, if you will allow me, to what brings us here. This
gentleman and I want to trouble you with a few inquiries
on a matter of some interest to both of us."




'TUB MOONSTONZ.                 46 
^Relating to what, sir?" asked the landlord.
"Relating to a dark man, dressed like a sailor, who slept
here last night."
"Good God! that's the man who is upsetting the whole
house at this moment!" exclaimed the landlord. "Do you,
or does this gentleman, know any thing about him?"
"We can't be certain till we see him," answered the Sergeant.
"See him?" echoed the landlord. "That's the one thing
that nobody has been able to do since seven o'clock this
morning. That was the time when he left word, last night,
that he was to be called. He was called-and there was
no getting an answer from him. They tried again at eight,
and they tried again at nine. No use! There was the door
still locked-and not a sound to be heard in the room! I
have been out this morning-and I only got back a quarter
of an hour ago. I have hammered at the door myself-and
all to no purpose. The pot-boy has gone to fetch a carpenter. If you can wait a few minutes, gentlemen, we will have
the door opened, and see what it means."
"Was the man drunk last night?" asked Sergeant Cuff.
"Perfectly sober, sir-or I would never have let him sleep
in my house."
"Did he pay for his bed beforehand?"
"No."
"Could he leave the room in any way, without going out
by the door?"
"The room is a garret," said the landlord. "But there's
a trap-door in the ceiling, leading out on to the roof-and a
little lower down the street there's an empty house under
repair. Do you think, Sergeant, the blackguard has got off
in that way, without paying?"
"A sailor," said Sergeant Cuff, "might have done it-early in the morning, before the street was astir. He would be
used to climbing, and his head wouldn't fail him on the roofs
of the houses."
As he spoke the arrival of the carpenter was announced.
We all went up stairs, at once, to the top story. I noticed
that the Sergeant was unusually grave, even for him. It
also struck me as odd that he told the boy (after having
previously encouraged him to follow us) to wait in the room
below till we came down again.
The carpenter's hammer and chisel disposed of the resistance of the door in a few minutes. But some article of furniture had been placed against it inside, as a barricade. By
pushing at the door we thrust this obstacle aside, and so got




468                 THE MOONSTONE.
admission to the room. The landlord entered first; the Ser.
geant second; and I third. The other persons present fob
lowed us.
We all looked toward the bed, and all started.
The man had not left the room. He lay, dressed, on the
bed, with a white pillow over his face, which completely hid
it from view.
"What does that mean?" said the landlord, pointing to
the pillow.
Sergeant Cuff led the way to the bed, without answering,
and removed the pillow.
The man's swarthy face was placid and still; his black
hair and beard were slightly, very slightly discomposed.
His eyes stared wide open, glassy and vacant, at the ceiling.
The filmy look and the fixed expression of them horrified
me. I turned away, and went to the open window. The
rest of them  remained, where Sergeant Cuff remained, at
the bed.
"He's in a fit!" I heard the landlord say.
"He's dead," the Sergeant answered. " Send for the nearest doctor, and send for the police."
The waiter was dispatched on both errands. Some strange
fascination seemed to hold Sergeant Cuff to the bed. Some
strange curiosity seemed to keep the rest of them waiting
to see what the Sergeant would do next.
I turned again to the window. The moment afterward I
felt a soft pull at my coat-tails, and a small voice whispered,
"Look here, sir!"
Gooseberry had followed us into the room. His loose
eyes rolled frightfully-not in terror, but in exultation. He
had made a detective discovery on his own account. "Look
here, sir," he repeated-and led me to a table in a corner of
the room.
On the table stood a little wooden box open, and empty.
On one side of the box lay some jeweler's cotton. On the
other side was a torn sheet of white paper, with a seal on it,
partly destroyed, and with an inscription in writing, which
was still perfectly legible. The inscription was in these
words:
"Deposited with Messrs. Bushe, Lysaught, and Bushe, by
Mr. Septimus Luker, of Middlesex Place, Lambeth, a small
wooden box, sealed up in this envelope, and containing a
valuable of great price. The box, when claimed, to be only
given up by Messrs. Bushe and Co. on the personal application of Mr. Luker."
Those lines removed all further doubt on one point at




'*LOOK AT THE MAN'S FACE. IT XS A FACE DISGUISED-AND HERE'S THE PROOF OF IT!"








THE MOONSTONE.                 471
least. The sailor had been in possession of the Moonstone
when he had left the bank on the previous day.
I felt another pull at my coat-tails. Gooseberry had not
done with me yet.
"Robbery!" whispered the boy, pointing, in high delight,
to the empty box.
" You were told to wait down stairs," I said. "Go away!'
" And Murder!" added Gooseberry, pointing, with a keener
relish still, to the man on the bed.
There was something so hideous in the boy's enjoyment
of the horror of the scene that I took him by the two shoulders and put him out of the room.
At the moment when I crossed the threshold of the door
I heard Sergeant Cuff's voice asking where I was. He met
me, as I returned into the room, and forced me to go back
with him to the bedside.
" Mr. Blake!" he said. "Look at the man's face. It is a
face disguised-and here's the proof of it!"
He traced with his finger a thin line of livid white, running backward from the dead man's forehead, between the
swarthy complexion and the slightly-disturbed black hair.
"Let's see what is under this," said the Sergeant, suddenly
seizing the black hair with a firm grip of his hand.
My nerves were not strong enough to bear it. I turned
away again from the bed.
The first sight that met my eyes, at the other end of the
room, was the irrepressible Gooseberry, perched on a chair,
and looking with breathless interest, over the heads of his
elders, at the Sergeant's proceedings.
" He's pulling off his wig!" whispered Gooseberry, cowpassionating my position, as the only person in the room
who could see nothing.
There was a pause-and then a cry of astonishment among
the people round the bed.
"  e's pulled off his beard!" cried Gooseberry.
There was another pause. Sergeant Cuff asked for something. The landlord went to the washhand-stand, and returned to the bed with a basin of water and a towel.
Gooseberry danced with excitement on the chair. "Come
up here, along with me, sir! He's washing off his complexion."
The Sergeant suddenly burst his way through the people
about him, and came, with horror in his face, straight to the
place where I was standing.
"Come back to the bed, sir!" he began. He looked at
me closer, and checked himself. " No!" he resumed. " Open
the sealed letter first-the letter I gave you this morning."




472                THE MOONSTONE.
I opened the letter.
"Read the name, Mr. Blake, that I have written inside."
I read the name that he had written. It was- Godfrej
Ablewhite.
"Now," said the Sergeant, " come with me, and look at
the man on the bed."
I went with him, and looked at the man on the bed.
GODFREY ABLEWHITE I
Oiixtl) Narratict.
Contributed by Sergeant Cuff.
I.
DORKING, Surrey, July 30, 1849.-To Franklin Blake, Esq.
Sir,-I beg to apologize for the delay that has occurred in
the production of the Report with which I engaged to furnish you. I have waited to make it a complete Report;
and I have been met, here and there, by obstacles which it
was only possible to remove by some little expenditure of
patience and time.
The object which I proposed to myself has now, I hope,
been attained. You will find, in these pages, answers tothe
greater part-if not all-of the questions, concerning the late
Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, which occurred to your mind when
I last had the honor of seeing you.
I propose to tell you-in the first place-what is known
of the manner in which your cousin met his death; appending to the statement such inferences and conclusions as we
are justified (according to my opinion) in drawing from the
facts.
I shall then endeavor-in the second place-to put you in
possession of such discoveries as I have made, respecting the
proceedings of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, before, during, and
after the time, when you and he met as guests at the late
Lady Verinder's country house.
IL
As to your cousin's death, then, first.
It appears to me to be established, beyond any reasonable
doubt, that he was killed (while he was asleep, or immediately on his waking) by being smothered with a pillow
from his bed-that the persons guilty of murdering him are




THE MOONSTONE.                  473
the three Indians-and that the object contemplated (and
achieved) by the crime was to obtain possession of the diamond, called The Moonstone.
The facts fiom which this conclusion is drawn are derived
partly from an examination of the room at the tavern, and
partly from the evidence obtained at the Coroner's Inquest.
On forcing the door of the room the deceased gentleman
was discovered, dead, with the pillow of the bed over his
face. The medical man who examined him, being informed
of this circumstance, considered the post-mortem appearances
as being perfectly compatible with murder by smotheringthat is to say,/with murder committed by some person, or
persons, pressing the pillow over the nose and mouth of the
deceased, until death resulted from congestion of the lungs.
Next, as to the motive for the crime.
A small box, with a sealed paper torn off from it (the paper containing An inscription), was found open, and empty,
on a table in the room. Mr. Luker has himself personally
identified the box, the seal, and the inscription. He has declared that the box did actually contain the diamond, called
the Moonstone; and he has admitted having given the box
(thus sealed up) to Mr. Godfiey Ablewhite (then concealed
under a disguise), on the afternoon of the twenty-sixth of
June last. The fair inference from all this is, that the stealing of the Moonstone was the motive of the crime,
Next, as to the manner in which the crime was committed.
On examination of the room (which is only seven feet
high), a trap-door in the ceiling, leading out on to the roof
of the house, was discovered open. The short ladder, used
for obtaining access to the trap-door (and kept under the
bed), was found placed at the opening, so as to enable any
person, or persons, in the room, to leave it again easily. In
the trap-door itself was found a square aperture cut in the
wood, apparently with some exceedingly sharp instrument,
just behind the bolt which fastened the door on the inner
side. In this way any person from the outside could have
drawn back the bolt, and opened the door, and have dropped
(or have been noiselessly lowered by an accomplice) into the
room-its height, as already observed, being only seven feet.
That some person, or persons, must have got admission in
this way, appears evident from the fact of the aperture being there. As to the manner in which he (or they) obtained
access to the roof of the tavern, it is to be remarked that the
third house, lower down in the street, was empty and under
repair-that a long ladder was left by the workmen, leading
from the pavement to the top of the house-and that, on re



474                THE MOONSTONE.
turning to their work, on the morning of the 27th, the men
found the plank which they had tied to the ladder, to prevent any one from using it in their absence, removed, and
lying on the ground. As to the possibility of' ascending by
this ladder, passing over the roofs of the houses, passing
back, and descending again, unobserved-it is discovered on
the evidence of the night policeman, that he only passes
through Shore Lane twice in an hour when out on his beat.
The testimony of the inhabitants also declares that Shore
Lane, after midnight, is one of the quietest and loneliest
streets in London. Here again, therefore, it seems fair to
infer that-with ordinary caution and presence of mind —
any man, or men, might have ascended by the ladder, and
might have descended again, unobserved. Once on the roof
of the tavern, it has been proved, by experiment, that a man
might cut through the trap-door while lying down on it,
and that in such a position the parapet in front of the house
would conceal him from the view of any one passing in the
street.
Lastly, as to the person, or persons, by whom the crime
was committed.
It is known (1) that the Indians had an interest in possessing themselves of the Diamond. (2) It is at least probable
that the man looking like an Indian, whom Octavius Guy
saw at the window of the cab speaking to the man dressed
like a mechanic, was one of the three Hindoo conspirators.
(3) It is certain that this same man dressed like a mechanic,
was seen keeping Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite in view all through
the evening of the 26th, and was found in the bedroom (before Mr. Ablewhite was shown into. it) under circumstances
which lead to the suspicion that he was examining the room.
(4) A morsel of torn gold thread was picked up in the bedroom, which persons expert in such matters declare to be of
Indian manufacture, and to be a species of gold thread not
known in England. (5) On the morning of the 27th, three
men, answering to the description of the three Indians, were
observed in Lower Thames Street, were traced to the Tower
Wharf, and were seen to leave London by the steamer bound
for Rotterdam.
There is here moral, if not legal, evidence that the murder was committed by the Indians.
Whether the man personating a mechanic was, or was not,
an accomplice in the crime, it is impoasilte to say. That he
could have committed the murder alone seems beyond the
limits of probability. Acting by himself, he could hardly
have smothered Mr. Ablewhite-who was the taller and the




mx M1ONoyrNB.                   415
stronger man of the two-without a struggle taking place, or
a crybeing heard. A servant-girl, sleeping in the next room,
heard nothing. The landlord, sleeping in the room below,
heard nothing. The whole evidence points to the inference
that more than one man was concerned in this crime —and
the circumstances, I repeat, morally justify the conclusion
that the Indian committed it.
I have only to add that the verdict at the Coroner's Inquest was Willful Murder against some person, or persons,
unknown.  Mr. Ablewhite's family have offered a reward,
and no effort has been left untried to discover the guilty
persons. The man dressed like a mechanic has eluded all
inquiries. The Indians have been traced. As to the prospect of ultimately capturing these last, I shall have a word
to say to you on that head when I reach the end of the present Report.
In the mean while, having now written all that is needful
on the subject of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's death, I may pass
next to the narrative of his proceedings, before, during, and
after the time when you and he met at the late Lady Verinder's house.
III.
With regard to the subject now in hand, I may state, at
the outset, that Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's life had two sides
to it.
The side turned up to the public view presented the spectacle of a gentleman, possessed of considerable reputation as
a speaker at charitable meetings, and endowed with administrative abilities, which he placed at the disposal of various
Benevolent Societies, mostly of the female sort. The side
kept hidden from the general notice exhibited this same
gentleman in the totally different character of a man of
pleasure, with a villa in the suburbs which was not taken
in his own name, and with a lady in the villa who was not
taken in his own name either.
My investigations in this villa have shown me several fine
pictures and statues; furniture tastefully selected and admirably made; and a conservatory of the rarest flowers, the
match of which it would not be easy to find in all London.
My investigation of the lady has resulted in the discovery
of jewels which are worthy to take rank with the flowers,
and of carriages and horses which have (deservedly) produced a sensation in the Park among persons well qualified
to judge of the build of the one and the breed of the others.
All this s. so far, common enough.  The villa and the




416                 THE MOONSTONE.
lady are such familiar objects in London life that I ought to
apologize for introducing them to notice. But what is not
common and not familiar (in my experience) is that all these
fine things were not only ordered but paid for. The pice
tures, the statues, the flowers, the jewels, the carriages, and
the horses -inquiry proved, to my indescribable astonishment, that not a sixpence of debt was owing on any of them.
As to the villa, it had been bought, out and out, and settled
on the lady.
I might have tried to find the right reading of this riddle,
and tried in vain-but for Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's death,
which caused an inquiry to be made into the state of his affairs.
The inquiry elicited these facts:
That Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was intrusted with the care
of a sum of twenty thousand pounds-as one of two Trustees for a young gentleman, who was still a minor in the
year eighteen hundred and forty-eight. That the Trust was
to lapse, and that the young gentleman was to receive the
twenty thousand pounds on the day when he came of age,
in the month of February, eighteen hundred and fifty. That,
pending the arrival of this period, an income of six hundred
pounds was to be paid to him by his two Trustees, half yearIy-at Christmas and at Midsummer-Day. That this income
was regularly paid by the active Trustee, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. That the twenty thousand pounds (from which the
income was supposed to be derived) had, every farthing of
it, been sold out of the Funds, at different periods, ending
with the end of the year eighteen hundred and forty-seven.
That the power of attorney, authorizing the bankers to sell
out the stock, and the various written orders telling them
what amounts to sell out, were formally signed by both the
Trustees. That the signature of the second Trustee (a retired army officer, living in the country) was a signature
forged, in every case, by the active Trustee-otherwise Mr.
Godfrey Ablewhite.
In these facts lies the explanation of Mr. Godfrey's honorable conduct in paying the debts incurred for the lady and
the villa-and (as you will presently see) of more besides.
We may now advance to the date of Miss Verinder's
birthday (in the year eighteen hundred and forty-eight)-the
twenty-first of June.
On the day before, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite arrived at his
father's house, and asked (as I know from Mr. Ablewhite,
senior, himself) for a loan of three hundred pounds. Mark




THE MOONSTONE.                 477
the sum; and remember at the same time that the half-yearly payment to the young gentleman was due on the twenty-fourth of the month. Also, that the whole of the young
gentleman's fortune had been spent by his Trustee by the
end of the year'forty-seven.
Mr. Ablewhite, senior, refused to lend his son a farthing.
The next day Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite rode over, with you,
to Lady Verinder's house. A few hours afterward Mr. Godfrey (as you yourself have told me) made a proposal of marriage to Miss Verinder. Here he saw his way, no doubtif accepted-to the end of all his money anxieties, present
and future. But, as events actually turned out, what happened? Miss Verinder refused him.
On the night of the birthday, therefore, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's pecuniary position was this: IIe had three hundred
pounds to find on the twenty-fourth of the month, and twenty thousand pounds to find in February, eighteen hundred
and fifty.  Failing to raise these sums, at these times, he
was a ruined man.
Under those circumstances, what takes place next?
You exasperate Mr. Candy, the doctor, on the sore subject
of his profession, and he plays you a practical joke, in return,
with a dose of laudanum. He trusts the administration of
the dose (prepared in a little phial) to Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, who has himself confessed the share he had in the
matter, under circumstances which shall presently be related
to you. Mr. Godfrey is all the readier to enter into the conspiracy, having himself suffered from your sharp tongue, in
the course of the evening. He joins Betteredge in persuading you to drink a little brandy-and-water before you go to
bed. He privately drops the dose of laudanum into your
cold grog. And you drink the mixture.
Let us now shift the scene, if you please, to Mr. Luker's
house at Lambeth. And allow me to remark, by way of
preface, that Mr. Bruff and I, together, have found a means
of forcing the money-lender to make a clean breast of it.
We have carefully sifted the statement he has addressed to
us; and here it is at your service.
Iv.
Late on the evening of Friday, the twenty-third of June
('forty-eight), Mr. Luker was surprised by a visit from Mr.
Godfrey Ablewhite. He was more than surprised when Mr.
Godfrey produced the Moonstone. No such diamond (according to Mr. Luker's experience) was in the possession of
any private person in Europe.




478                THE MOONSTONZ.
Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite had two modest proposals to mak.
in relation to this magnificent gem. First, would Mr. Luker be so good as to buy it? Secondly, would Mr. Luker
(in default of seeing his way to the purchase) undertake to
sell it on commission, and to pay a sum down, on the anticipated result?
Mr. Luker tested the Diamond, weighed the Diamond,
and estimated the value of the Diamond, before he answered
a word. His estimate (allowing for the flaw in the stone)
was thirty thousand pounds.
Having reached that result, Mr. Luker opened his lips, and
put a question: " How did you come by this?" Only six
words! But what volumes of meaning in them!
Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite began a story. Mr. Luker opened his lips again, and only said three words this time.
"That won't do!"
Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite began another story. Mr. Luker
wasted no more words on him. He got up and rang the
bell for the servant to show the gentleman out.
Upon this compulsion, Mr. Godfrey made an effort, and
came out with a new and amended version of the affair,
to the following effect.
After privately slipping the laudanum into your brandy.
and-water, he wished you good-night, and went into his own
room. It was the next room to yours, and the two had a door
of communication between them. On entering his own room,
Mr. Godfrey (as he supposed) closed this door. His money
troubles kept him awake. He sat, in his dressing-gown and
slippers, for nearly an hour, thinking over his position. Just
as he was preparing to get into bed, he heard you talking to
yourself in your own room, and going to the door of communication, found that he had not shut it as he supposed.
He looked into your room to see what was the matter.
He discovered you with the candle in your hand, just leaving your bed-chamber. He heard you say to yourself, in a
voice quite unlike your own voice, " How do I know? The
Indians may be hidden in the house."
Up to that time he had simply supposed himself (in giving
you the laudanum) to be helping to make you the victim of
a harmless practical joke. It now occurred to him that the
laudanum had taken some effect on you which had not been
foreseen by the doctor, any more than by himself. In the
fear of an accident happening, he followed you softly to see
what you would do.
He followed you to Miss Verinder's sittin3-;nm, and saw
ou go in. You left the door open. He looked through the




THI MOONSTONE.                 479
crevice thus produced, between the door and the post, before
he ventured into the room himself.
In that position he not only detected you in taking the
Diamond out of the drawer-he also detected Miss Verin(lel, silently watching you from her bedroom, through her
open door  He saw that. she saw you take the Diamond
too.
Before you left the sitting-room again, you hesitated a little. Mr. Godfrey took advantage of this hesitation to get
back again to his bedroom before you came out and discovered him. He had barely got back, before you got back too.
You saw him (as he supposes) just as he was passing through
the door of communication. At any rate, you called to him
in a strange, drowsy voice.
He came back to you. You looked at him in a dull sleepy
way. You put the Diamond into his hand. You said to
him, " Take it back, Godfrey, to your father's bank. It's safe
there-it's not safe here."  You turned away unsteadily,
and put on your dressing-gown. You sat down in the large
arm-chair in your room. You said, "I can't take it back to
the bank. My head's like lead-and I can't feel my feet under me." Your head sank on the back of the chair-you
heaved a heavy sigh-and you fell asleep.
Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite went back, with the Diamond, into
his own room. His statement is, that he came to no conclusion at that time-except that he would wait, and see what
happened in the morning.
When the morning came, your language and conduct
showed that you were absolutely ignorant of what you had
said and done overnight. At the same time, Miss Verinder's
language and conduct showed that she was resolved to say
nothing (in mercy to you) on her side. If Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite chose to keep the Diamond, he might do so with
perfect impunity. The Moonstone stood between him and
ruin. He put the Moonstone into his pocket.
V.
This was the story told by your cousin (under pressure of
necessity) to Mr. Luker.
Mr. Luker believed the story to be, as to all main essentials, true-on this ground, that Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was
too great a fool to have invented it. Mr. Bruff and I agree
with Mr. Luker, in considering this test of the truth of the
story to be a perfectly reliable one.
The next. question was the question of what Mr. Luker
would do in the matter of the Moonstone. He proposed the




480                THE MOONSTONE.
following terms, as the only terms on which he would con
sent to mix himself up with what was (even in his line of
business) a doubtful and dangerous transaction.
Mr. Luker would consent to lend Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite
the sum of two thousand pounds, on condition that the
Moonstone was to be deposited with him as a pledge. If,
at the expiration of one year from that date, Mr. Godfrey
Ablewhite paid three thousand pounds to Mr. Luker, he was
to receive back the Diamond, as a pledge redeemed. If he
failed to produce the money at the expiration of the year,
the pledge (otherwise the Moonstone) was to be considered
as forfeited to Mr. Luker-who would, in this latter case,
generously make Mr. Godfiey a present of certain promissory
notes of his (relating to former dealings) which were then in
the money-lender's possession.
It is needless to say that Mr. Godfrey indignantly refused
to listen to these monstrous terms. Mr. Luker, thereupon,
handed him back the Diamond, and wished him good-night.
Your cousin went to the door, and came back again. How
was he to be sure that the conversation of that evening
would be kept strictly a secret between his friend and himself?
Mr. Luker didn't profess to know how. If Mr. Godfrey
had accepted his terms, Mr. Godfrey would have made him
an accomplice, and might have counted on his silence as on
a certainty. As things were, Mr. Luker must be guided by
his own interests. If awkward inquiries were made, how
could he be expected to compromise himself, for the sake of
a man who had declined to deal with him?
Receiving this reply, Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite did, what
all animals (human and otherwise) do, when they find themselves caught in a trap. He looked about him in a state of
helpless despair. The day of the month, recorded on a neat
little card in a box on the money-lender's chimney-piece, happened to attract his eye. It was the twenty-third of June.
On the twenty-fourth he had three hundred pounds to pay
to the young gentleman for whom he was trustee, and no
chance of raising the money, except the chance that Mr.
Luker had offered to him. But for this miserable obstacle,
he might have taken the Diamond to Amsterdam, and have
made a marketable commodity of it, by having it cut up into
separate stones. As matters stood, he had no choice but to
accept Mr. Luker's terms. After all, he had a year at his
disposal in which to raise the three thousand pounds-and a
year is a long time.
Mr. Luker drew out the necessary documents on the spot.




THE MOONSTONE.                  481
When they were signed, he gave Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite
two checks. One, dated June 23d, for three hundred pounds.
Another, dated a week on, for the remaining balance-seventeen hundred pounds.
How the Moonstone was trusted to the keeping of Mr.
Luker's bankers, and how the Indians treated Mr. Luker and
Mr. Godfrey (after that had been done) you know already.
The next event in your cousin's life refers again to Miss
Verinder. He proposed marriage to her for the second time
-and (after having been accepted) he consented, at her request, to consider the marriage as broken off. One of his
reasons for making this concession has been penetrated by
Mr. Bruff. Miss Verinder had only a life-interest in her
mother's property-and there was no raising the missing
twenty thousand pounds on that.
But you will say, he might have saved the three thousand
pounds to redeem the pledged Diamond, if he had married.
He might have done so, certainly-supposing neither his
wife, nor her guardians and trustees, objected to his anticipating more than half of the income at his disposal, for some
unknown purpose, in the first year of his marriage. But
even if he got over this obstacle, there was another waiting
for him in the background. The lady at the Villa had heard
of his contemplated marriage. A superb woman, Mr. Blake,
of the sort that are not to be trifled with-the sort with the
light complexion and the Roman nose. She felt the utmost
contempt for Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. It would be silent
contempt if he made a handsome provision for her. Otherwise, it would be contempt with a tongue to it. Miss Verinder's life-interest allowed him no more hope of raising the
"provision" than of raising the twenty thousand pounds.
He couldn't marry-he really couldn't marry, under all the
circumstances.
How he tried his luck again with another lady, and how
that marriage also broke down on the question of money,
you know already. You also know of the legacy of five
thousand pounds, left to him shortly afterward, by one of
those many admirers among the soft sex whose good graces
this fascinating man had contrived to win. That legacy (as
the event has proved) led him to his death.
I have ascertained that when he went abroad, on getting
his five thousand pounds, he went to Amsterdam. There he
made all the necessary arrangements for having the Diamond
cut into separate stones. He came back (in disguise), and
redeemed the Moonstone on the appointed day. A few days
were allowed to elapse (as a precaution agreed to by both
31




482                 THE MOONSTONE.
parties) before the jewel was actually taken out of the bank.
If he had got safe with it to Amsterdam, there would have
been just time between July'forty-nine and February'fifty
(when the young gentleman came of age) to cut the Diamond, and to make a marketable commodity (polished or unpolised) of the separate stones. Judge fiom this what motives he had to run the risk which he actually ran. It was
" neck or nothing " with him-if ever it was " neck or nothing" with a man yet.
I have only to remind you, before closing this Report, that
there is a chance of laying hands on the Indians, and of recovering the Moonstone yet. They are now (there is every
reason to believe) on their passage to Bombay in an East Indiaman. The ship (barring accidents) will touch at no other
port on her way out; and the authorities of Bombay (already
communicated with by letter overland) will be prepared to
board the vessel the moment she enters the harbor.
I have the honor to remain, dear sir, your obedient servant, RICHARD CUFF (late sergeant in the Detective Force,
Scotland Yard, London).*
Tetnth  NarratiDe.
In a Letter from Mr. Candy.
FRIZINGHALL, Wednesday, Sept. 26, 1849.-Dear Mr. Frank,
lin Blake, you will anticipate the sad news I have to tell you,
on finding your letter to Ezra Jennings returned to you, un.
opened, in this inclosure. He died in my arms, at sunrise, on
Wednesday last.
I am not to blame for having failed to warn you that his
end was at hand. He expressly forbade me to write to you.
" I am indebted to Mr. Franklin Blake," he said, " for having
seen some happy days. Don't distress him, Mr. Candydon't distress him."
His sufferings, up to the last six hours of his life, were terrible to see. In the intervals of remission, when his mind
was clear, I entreated him to tell me of any relatives of his
to whom I might write. He asked to be forgiven for refusing any thing to me. And then he said-not bitterly-that
he would die as he had lived, forgotten and unknown. He
* NoTE.-Wherever the report touches on the events of the birthday, or of
the three days that followed it, compare with Betteredge's Narrative-Chapl
ers VIII. to XIII.




THE MOONSTONE.                  483
maintained that resolution to the last. There is no hope
now of making any discoveries concerning him. His story
is a blank.
The day before he died he told me where to find all his
papers. I brought them to him on his bed. There was a
little bundle of old letters which he put aside. There was
his unfinished book. There was his Diary-in many locked
volumes. He opened the volume for this year, and tore out,
one by one, the pages relating to the time when you and
he were together. " Give those," he said, "to Mr. Franklin
Blake. In years to come he may feel an interest in looking
back at what is written there." Then he clasped his hands,
and prayed God fervently to bless you, and those dear to
you. He said he should like to see you again. But the
next moment he altered his mind. "No," he answered,
when I offered to write-" I won't distress him! I won't
distress him!"
At his request I next collected the other papers-that is
to say, the bundle of letters, the unfinished book, and the
volumes of the Diary-and inclosed them all in one wrapper,
sealed with my own seal. "Promise," he said, "that you
will put this into my coffin with your own hand; and that
you will see that no other hand touches it afterward."
I gave him my promise. And the promise has been performed.
He asked me to do one other thing for him, which it cost
me a hard struggle to comply with. He said, "Let my
grave be forgotten. Give me your word of honor that you
will allow no monument of any sort-not even the commonest tombstone-to mark the place of my burial. Let me
sleep, nameless. Let me rest, unknown." When I tried to
plead with him to alter his resolution he became for the
first, and only time, violently agitated. I could not bear to
see it; and I gave way. Nothing but a little grass mound
marks the place of his rest. In time the tombstones will
rise round it. And the people who come after us will look,
and wonder, at the nameless grave.
As I have told you, for six hours before his death his sufferings ceased. He dozed a little. I think he dreamed.
Once or twice he smiled. A woman's name, as I supposethe name of " Ella "-was often on his lips at this time. A
few minutes before the end came he asked me to lift him on
his pillow, to see the sun rise through the window. He was
very weak. His head fell on my shoulder. He whispered,
"It's coning!"  Then he said, "Kiss me!"  I kissed his
forehead. On a sudden he lifted his head. The sunlight




484                 THE MOONSTONE.
touched his face. A beautiful expression, an angelic expression, came over it. He cried out three times, "Peace!
peace! peace!"  His head sank back again on my shoulder,
and the long trouble of his life was at an end.
So he has gone from us. This was, as I think, a great
man-though the world never knew him. He bore a hard
life bravely. He had the sweetest temper I have ever met
with. The loss of him makes me feel very lonely. Perhaps
I have never been quite myself again since my illness.
Sometimes I think of giving up my practice and going
away, and trying what some of the foreign baths and waters
will do for me.
It is reported here that you and Miss Verinder are to be
married next month. Please to accept my best congratulations.
The pages of my poor friend's Journal are waiting for you
at my house-sealed up, with your name on the wrapper. I
was afraid to trust them to the post.
My best respects and good wishes attend Miss Verinder.
I remain, dear Mr. Franklin Blake, truly yours,
THOMAS CANDY.
Qi~lttl) Narratnie.
Contributed by Gabriel Betteredge.
I AM the person (as you remember, no doubt) who led the
way in these pages, and opened the story. I am also the
person who is left behind, as it were, to close the story up.
Let nobody suppose that I have any last words to say
here concerning the Indian Diamond. I hold that unlucky
jewel in abhorrence; and I refer you to other authority
than mine for such news of the Moonstone as you may, at
the present time, be expecting to receive. My purpose, in
this place, is to state a fact in the history of the family
which has been passed over by every body, and which I
won't allow to be disrespectfully smothered up in that way.
The fact to which I allude is-the marriage of Miss Rachel
and Mr. Franklin Blake. This interesting event took place
at our house in Yorkshire, on Tuesday, October ninth, eighteen hundred and forty-nine. I had a new suit of clothes on
the occasion. And the married couple went to spend the
honey-moon in Scotland.
Family festivals having been rare enough at our house,




THE MOONSTONE.                   485
since my poor mistress's death, I own-on this occasion of
the wedding-to having (toward the latter part of the day)
taken a drop too much on the strength of it.
If you have ever done the same sort of thing yourself, you
will understand and feel for me. If you have not, you will
very likely say, "Disgusting old man! why does he tell us
this?"  The reason why is now to come.
Having, then, taken my drop (bless you! you have got
your favorite vice, too: only your vice isn't mine, and mine
isn't yours), I next applied the one infallible remedy-that
remedy being, as you know, Robinson Crusoe.  Where I
opened that unrivaled book I can't say. Where the lines
of print at last left off running into each other I know, however, perfectly well. It was at page three hundred and
eighteen-a domestic bit concerning Robinson Crusoe's marriage, as follows:
"With those Thoughts I considered my new  Engagement, that I had a Wife "-(Observe! so had Mr. Franklin!)
-"one Child born "-(Observe again! that might yet be
Mr. Franklin's case, too!)  " and my Wife then-"  What
Robinson Crusoe's wife did or did not do "then," I felt no
desire to discover. I scored the bit about the Child with
my pencil, and put a morsel of paper for a mark to keep the
place: "Lie you there," I said, "till the marriage of Mr.
Franklin and Miss Rachel is some months older-and then
we'll see!"
The months passed (more than I had bargained for), and
no occasion presented itself for disturbing that mark in the
book. It was not till this present month of November,
eighteen hundred and fifty, that Mr. Franklin came into my
room, in high good spirits, and said, "Betteredge! I have
got some news for you! Something is going to happen in
the house before we are many months older."
" Does it concern the family, sir?" I asked.
"It decidedly concerns the family," says Mr. Franklin.
"Has your good lady any thing to do with it, if you
please, sir?"
" She has a great deal to do with it," says Mr. Franklin,
beginning to look a little surprised.
"You needn't say a word more, sir," I answered. "God
bless you both! I'm heartily glad to hear it."
Mr. Franklin stared like a person thunderstruck.  "May
I venture to inquire where you got your information?" he
asked. "I only got mine (imparted in the strictest secrecy)
five minutes since."
Here was an opportunity of producing Robinson Crusoe!




486                 THE MOONSTONE.
Here was a chance of reading that domestic bit about the
child, which I had marked on the day of Mr. Franklin's marriaae! I read those miraculous words with an emphasis
which did them justice-and then I looked him severely in
the face. "Now, sir, do you believe in Robinson Crusoe?"
I asked, with a solemnity suitable to the occasion.
"Betteredge!" says Mr. Franklin, with equal solemnity,
"I'm convinced at last."  He shook hands with me-and I
felt that I had converted him.
With the relation of this extraordinary circumstance, my
re-appearance in these pages comes to an end. Let nobody
laugh at the unique anecdote here related. You are welcome to be as merry as you please over every thing else I
have written. But when I write of Robinson Crusoe, by
the Lord, it's serious-and I request you to take it accordingly!
When this is said, all is said. Ladies and gentlemen, I
make my bow, and shut up the story.
EPILOGUE.
THE FINDING OF THE DIAMOND.
I.
The Statement of Sergeant Cuff's Man (1849).
ON the twenty-seventh of June last I received instructions
from Sergeant Cuff to follow three men, suspected of murder, and described as Indians. They had been seen on the
Tower Wharf that morning, embarking on board the steam.
er bound for Rotterdam.
I left London by a steamer belonging to another company,
which sailed on the morning of Thursday, the 28th.
Arriving at Rotterdam, I succeeded in finding the commander of the Wednesday's steamer. He informed me that
the Indians had certainly been passengers on board his vessel-but as far as Gravesend only. Off that place, one of
the three had inquired at what time they would reach Calais. On being informed that the steamer was bound to Rotterdam, the spokesman of the party expressed the greatest
surprise and distress at the mistake which he and his two
friends had made. They w3re all willing (he said) to sacrifice their passage-money, if the commander of the steamer
would only put them ashore. Commiserating their position,




THE MOONSTONE.                  487
as foreigners in a strange land, and knowing no reason tor
detaining them, the commander signaled for a shore boat,
and the three men left the vessel.
This proceeding of the Indians having been plainlv resolved on beforehand, as a means of preventing their being
traced, I lost no time in returning to England. I left the
steamer at Gravesend, and discovered that the Indians had
gone fiom  that place to London. Thence I again traced
them as having left for Plymouth. Inquiries made at Plymouth proved that they had sailed, forty-eight hours previously, in the Bewley Castle East Indiaman, bound direct for
Bombay.
On receiving this intelligence, Sergeant Cuff caused the
authorities at Bombay to be communicated with overlandso that the vessel might be boarded by the police immediately on her entering the port. This step having been
taken, my connection with the matter came to an end. I
have heard nothing more of it since that time.
II.
The Statement of the Captain (1849).
I am requested by Sergeant Cuff to set in writing certain
facts, concerning three men (believed to be Hindoos) who
were passengers, last summer, in the ship Bewley Castle,
bound for Bombay direct, under my command.
The Hindoos joined us at Plymouth. On the passage out
I heard no complaint of their conduct. They were berthed
in the forward part of the vessel. I had but few occasions
myself of personally noticing them.
In the latter part of the voyage we had the misfortune to
be becalmed for three days and nights off the coast of India.
I have not got the ship's Journal to refer to, and I can not
now call to mind the latitude and longitude. As to our position, therefore, I am only able to state generally that the
currents drifted us in toward the land, and that, when the
wind found us again, we reached our port in twenty-four
hours afterward.
The discipline of a ship (as all sea-faring persons know)
becomes relaxed in a long calm. The discipline of my ship
became relaxed. Certain gentlemen among the passengers
got some of the smaller boats lowered, and amused themselves by rowing about, and swimming, when the sun, at
evening-time, was cool enough to let them divert themselves
in that way. The boats, when done with, ought to have
been slung up again in their places. Instead of this they




488                THE MOONSTONE.
were left moored to the ship's side. What with the heat,
and what with the vexation of the weather, neither officers
nor men seemed to be in heart for their duty while the calm
lasted.
On the third night nothing unusual was heard or seen by
the watch on deck. When the morning came the smallest
of the boats was missing-and the three Hindoos were next
reported to be missing too.
If these men had stolen the boat shortly after dark (which
I have no doubt they did), we were near enough to the land
to make it vain to send in pursuit of them, when the discovery was made in the morning. I have no doubt they got
ashore, in that calm weather (making all due allowance for
fatigue and clumsy rowing), before day-break.
On reaching our port, I there learned, for the first time,
the reason my three passengers had for seizing their opportunity of escaping from the ship. I could only make the
same statement to the authorities which I have made here.
They considered me to blame for allowing the discipline of
the vessel to be relaxed. I have expressed my regret on
this score to them and to my owners. Since that time nothing has been heard, to my knowledge, of the three Hindoos.
I have no more to add to what is here written.
III.
The Statement of Mr. Murthwaite (1850).
(IN A LETTER TO MR. BRUFF.)
Have you any recollection, my dear sir, of a semi-savage
person whom you met out at dinner, in London, in the autumn of'forty-eight? Permit me to remind you that the
person's name was Murthwaite, and that you and he had a
long conversation together after dinner. The talk related
to an Indian Diamond, called the Moonstone, and to a conspiracy then in existence to get possession of the gem.
Since that time I have been wandering in Central Asia.
Thence, I have drifted back to the scene of some of my past
adventures in the north and north-west of India. About a
fortnight since I found myself in a certain district or province (but little known to Europeans) called Kattiawar.
Here an adventure befell me, in which (incredible as it
may appear) you are personally interested.
In the wild regions of Kattiawar (and how wild they are
you will understand, when I tell you that even the husbandmen plow the land armed to the teeth) the population is
fanatically devoted to the old Hindoo religion-to the an



THE MOONSTONE.                 489
cient worship of Brahmah and Vishnu. The few Mohammedan families, thinly scattered about the villages in the interior, are afraid to taste meat of any kind. A Mohammedan
even suspected of killing that sacred animal, the cow, is, as
a matter of course, put to death without mercy in these
parts, by the pious Hindoo neighbors who surround him.
To strengthen the religious enthusiasm of the people, two
of the most famous shrines of Hindoo pilgrimage are contained within the boundaries of Kattiawar. One of them is
Dwarka, the birth-place of the god Krishna. The other is
the sacred city of Somnauth-sacked and destroyed, as long
since as the eleventh century, by the Mohammedan conqueror, Mahmoud of Ghizni.
Finding myself, for the second time, in these romantic regions, I resolved not to leave Kattiawar without looking
once more on the magnificent desolation of Somnauth. At
the place where I planned to do this, I was (as nearly as I
could calculate it) some three days distant, journeying on
foot, from the sacred city.
I had not been long on the road before I noticed that other people-by twos and threes-appeared to be traveling in
the same direction as myself.
To such of these as spoke to me I gave myself out as a
Hindoo-Buddhist, from a distant province, bound on a pilgrimage. It is needless to say that my dress was of the
sort to carry out this description. Add, that I know the
language as well as I know my own, and that I am lean
enough and brown enough to make it no easy matter to de-.tect my European origin-and you will understand that I
passed muster with the people readily; not as one of themselves, but as a stranger from a distant part of their own
country.
On the second day the number of Hindoos traveling in
my direction had increased to fifties and hundreds. On the
third day the throng had swollen to thousands; all slowly
converging to one point-the city of Somnauth.
A trifling service which I was able to render to one of my
fellow-pilgrims during the third day's journey proved the
means of introducing me to certain Hindoos of the higher
caste. From these men I learned that the multitude was on
its way to a great religious ceremony, which was to take
place on a hill at a little distance from Somnauth. The ceremony was in honor of the god of the Moon; and it was to
be held at night.
The crowd detained us as we drew near to the place of
celebration. By the time we reached the hill the moon was




490                 THE MOONSTONE.
high in the heavens. My Hindoo friends possessed some
special privileges which enabled them to gain access to
the shrine. They kindly allowed me to accompany them.
When we arrived at the place we found the shrine hidden
from our view by a curtain hung between two magnificent
trees. Beneath the trees a flat projection of rock jutted
out, and formed a species of natural platform. Below this I
stood, in company with my Hindoo friends.
Looking back down the hill, the view presented the grandest spectacle of Nature and Man, in combination, that I have
ever seen. The lower slope of the eminence melted imperceptibly into a grassy plain, the place of the meeting of
three rivers. On one side the graceful winding of the waters stretched away, now visible, now hidden by trees, as far
as the eye could see. On the other the waveless ocean slept
in the calm of the night. People this lovely scene with tens
of thousands of human creatures, all dressed in white, stretchinng down the sides of the hill, overflowing into the plain, and
fringing the nearer banks of the winding rivers. Light this
halt of the pilgrims by the wild red flames of cressets and
torches, Streaming up at intervals from every part of the
innumerable throng. Imagine the moonlight of the East,
pouring in unclouded glory over all  and you will form
some idea of the view that met me, when I looked forth
from the summit of the hill.
A strain of plaintive music, played on stringed instruments and flutes, recalled mv attention to the hidden shrine.
I turned, and saw on the rocky platform  the figures of
three men. In the central figure of the three I recognized
the man to whom I had spoken in England, when the Indians appeared on the terrace at Lady Verinder's house.
The other two, who had been his companions on that occasion, were no doubt his companions also on this.
One of the Hindoos, near whom I was standing, saw me
start. In a whisper he explained to me the apparition of
the three figures on the platform of rock.
They were Brahmans (he said) who had forfeited their
caste in the service of the god. The god had commanded
that their purification should be the purification bypilgrimage. On that night the three men were to part.  n three
separate directions, they were to set forth as pilgrims to the
shrines of India.  Never more were they to look on each
other's faces. Never more were they to rest on their wanderings, from the day which witnessed their separation to
the day which witnessed their death.
As those words were whispered to me the plaintive music




THE MOONSTONE.                  491
ceased. The three men prostrated themselves on the rock,
before the curtain which hid the shrine.  They rose-they
looked on one another-they embraced. Then they descended separately among the people. The people made way for
them in dead silence. In three different directions I saw the
crowd part at one and the same moment. Slowly the grand,
white mass of the people closed together again. The track
of the doomed men through the ranks of their fellow-mortals
was obliterated. We saw them no more.
A new strain of music, loud and jubilant, rose from the
hidden shrine. The crowd around me shuddered and pressed
together.
The curtain between the trees was drawn aside, and the
shrine was disclosed to view.
There, raised high on a throne, seated on his typical antelope, with his four arms stretching toward the four corners
of the earth, there soared above us, dark and awful in the
mystic light of heaven, the god of the Moon. And there,
in the forehead of the deity, gleamed the yellow Diamond,
whose splendor had last shone on me, in England, from the
bosom of a woman's dress!
Yes; after the lapse of eight centuries the Moonstone
looks forth once more over the walls of the sacred city in
which its story first began. How it has found its way back
to its wild native land-by what accident, or by what crime,
the Indians regained possession of their sacred gem-may be
in your knowledge, but is not in mine. You have lost sight
of it in England, and (if I know any thing of this people) you
have lost sight of it forever.
So the years pass, and repeat each other; so the same
events revolve in the cycles of time. What will be the next
adventures of the Moonstone? Who can tell?
THE END.