moment, the carriage came round to take Miss
Rachel to her aunt's.

"One thing at a time," said the Sergeant,
stopping me as 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 primrose-coloured 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 colour
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.

Sergeant Cuff was just as quick on his side.
He put Samuel 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,
from 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 carriage-door. 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 towards 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 last favour, 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
un-manned 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 towards 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.

"There's a time for everything," 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 anybody. We'll begin with Rosanna
Spearman. Where is Joyce?"

We both called for Joyce, and received no