what happened at our house in Yorkshire and
what has happened since, here in London?"

"The public curiosity, in certain quarters, is,
I fear, taking that turn."

"The people who say that the three unknown
men who ill used you and Mr. Luker are the
three Indians, also say that the valuable
gem——?"

There she stopped. She had become
gradually, within the last few moments, whiter and
whiter in the face. The extraordinary
blackness of her hair made this paleness, by contrast,
so ghastly to look at, that we all thought she
would faint, at the 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
human heart! She sneered. I blush to record
it—she sneered at him to his face.

"Keep your beautiful language for your
Ladies' Committees, Godfrey. I am certain
that the scandal which has assailed Mr. Luker,
has not spared You."

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

"My dear Rachel," she remonstrated, "you
have really no right to say that!"

"I mean no harm, mamma—I mean good.
Have a 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 unladylike length—
of taking him by the hand.

"I am certain," she said, "that I have
found out the true reason of your unwillingness
to speak of this matter before my mother and
before me. An unlucky accident has associated
you in people's minds with Mr. Luker. You
have told me what scandal says of him. What
does scandal say of you?"

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 backwards and forwards from Mr.
Godfrey to my aunt, and from my aunt to Mr.
Godfrey, in such a frantic manner that I really
thought she had gone mad.

"Don't speak to me! Don't touch me!" she
exclaimed, shrinking back from all of us (I
declare like some hunted animal!) into a corner
of the room. "This is my fault! I must set it
right. I have sacrificed myself—I had a right
to do that, if I liked. But to let an innocent
man be ruined; to keep a secret which destroys
his character for life—Oh, good God, it's too
horrible! I can't bear it!"

My aunt half rose from her chair, then
suddenly sat down again. She called to me faintly,
and pointed to a little phial in her work-box.

"Quick!" she whispered. "Six drops, in
water. Don't let Rachel see."

Under other circumstances, I should have
thought this strange. There was no time now
to think—there was only time to give the
medicine. Dear Mr. Godfrey unconsciously
assisted me in concealing what I was about