THE MOONSTONE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE WOMAN IN WHITE," &c. &c.

SECOND PERIOD. THE DISCOVERY OF THE
TRUTH. (1848—1849.)

The Events related in several Narratives.

FIRST NARRATIVE.

Contributed by Miss Clack; Niece of the late
Sir John Verinder.

CHAPTER I.

I AM indebted to my dear parents (both now
in heaven) for having had habits of order and
regularity instilled into me at a very early age.

In that happy bygone time, I was taught to
keep my hair tidy at all hours of the day and
night, and to fold up every article of my
clothing carefully, in the same order, on the
same chair, in the same place at the foot of the
bed, before retiring to rest. An entry of the
day's events in my little diary 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 Britany,
inhabited by a select circle of serious English
friends, and possessed of the advantages of a
Protestant clergyman and a cheap market.

In this retirement—a Patmos amid the 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 while visiting at Aunt Verinder's
house in London. Pecuniary remuneration is
offered to me—with the want of feeling peculiar
to the rich. I am to re-open wounds that
Time has barely closed; I am to recal the most
intensely painful remembrances—and this done,
I am to feel myself compensated by a new
laceration, in the shape of Mr. Blake's cheque.
My nature is weak. It cost me a hard struggle,
before Christian humility conquered sinful
pride, and self-denial accepted the cheque.

Without my diary, I doubt—pray let me
express it in the grossest terms!—if I could have
honestly earned my money. With my diary, the
poor labourer (who forgives Mr. Blake for
insulting her) is worthy of her hire. Nothing
escaped me at the time when I was visiting dear
Aunt Verinder. Everything was entered (thanks
to my early training) day by day as it happened;
and everything, down to the smallest particular,
shall be told here. My sacred regard for truth is
(thank God) far above my respect for persons.
It will be easy for Mr. Blake to suppress what
may not prove to be sufficiently flattering in these
pages to the person chiefly concerned in them.
He has purchased my time; but not even his
wealth can purchase my conscience too.*

* 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; endorsed 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
recognise its unquestionable value as an instrument
for the exhibition of Miss Clack's character.