"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. She was just as immovable
as ever. My mind was in a strange conflict of
feelings about her when I left her that day.
She was obstinate; she was wrong. She was
interesting; she was admirable; she was deeply
to be pitied. I made her promise to write to
me the moment she had any news to send. And
I went back to my business in London, with a
mind exceedingly ill at ease.

On the evening of my return, before it was
possible for me to receive my promised letter, I
was surprised by a visit from Mr. 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 would have helped him
to anything 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 splendour 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 my 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 the quiet and repose which she sadly
needed, poor thing, in my house at Hampstead.
She honoured us by making a long stay. My
wife and daughters were charmed with her; and,
when the executors decided on the appointment
of a new guardian, I feel sincere pride and
pleasure in recording 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 a card in his hand, and
informed me that a gentleman was below, who
wanted to speak to me.

I looked at the card. There was a foreign
name written on it, which has escaped my
memory. It was followed by a line written in
English at the bottom of the card, which I
remember perfectly well:

"Recommended by Mr. Septimus Luker."

The audacity of a person in Mr. Luker's
position presuming to recommend anybody 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, favoured 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 anybody who may read
these lines, that no living person (in England,
at any rate) can claim to have had such an
intimate connexion with the romance of the