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

He answered, "That is all."

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

                            IV

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

Whether this be true or not, I cannot 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 cannot
even declare that he killed the third man inside
—for I cannot 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 towards 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 Story

FIRST PERIOD. THE LOSS OF THE DIAMOND
                      (1848)

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

                      CHAPTER I

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

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

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

"Betteredge," says Mr. Franklin, "I have
been to the 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 already—as 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 see what I myself had to do
with it, so far.

"We have certain events to relate," Mr.
Franklin proceeded; "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 of the Moonstone in turn—as
far as our own personal experience extends,
and no farther. 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
afterwards. 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