taken the liberty of mentioning already. Give
me your pocket-book, and I'll make a note for
you of his name and address—so that there
may be no mistake about it if the thing really
happens."

He wrote accordingly on a blank leaf:—
"Mr. Septimus Luker, Middlesex-place, Lambeth,
London."

"There," he said, pointing to the address,
"are the last words, on the subject of the
Moonstone, which I shall trouble you with for the
present. Time will show whether I am right
or wrong. In the mean while, sir, I carry away
with me a sincere personal liking for you, which
I think does honour to both of us. If we don't
meet again before my professional retirement
takes place, I hope you will come and see me
in a little house near London, which I have got
my eye on. There will be grass walks, Mr.
Betteredge, I promise you, in my garden. And
as for the white moss rose——"

"The deil a bit ye'll get the white moss rose
to grow, unless ye bud him on the dogue-rose
first," cried a voice at the window.

We both turned round. There was the
everlasting Mr. Begbie, too eager for the controversy
to wait any longer at the gate. The Sergeant
wrung my hand, and darted out into the courtyard,
hotter still on his side. "Ask him about
the moss rose, when he comes back, and see if
I have left him a leg to stand on!" cried the
great Cuff, hailing me through the window
in his turn. "Gentlemen, both!" I answered,
moderating them again as I had moderated
them once already. "In the matter of the
moss rose there is a great deal to be said on
both sides!" I might as well (as the Irish say)
have whistled jigs to a milestone. Away they
went together, fighting the battle of the roses
without asking or giving quarter on either side.
The last I saw of them, Mr. Begbie was shaking
his obstinate head, and Sergeant Cuff had got
him by the arm like a prisoner in charge. Ah,
well! well! I own I couldn't help liking the
Sergeant—though I hated him all the time.

Explain that state of mind, if you can. You
will soon be rid, now, of me and my
contradictions. When I have reported Mr. Franklin's
departure, the history of the Saturday's
events will be finished at last. And when I
have next described certain strange things that
happened in the course of the new week, I
shall have done my part of the Story, and shall
hand over the pen to the person who is
appointed to follow my lead. If you are as tired
of reading this narrative as I am of writing it—
Lord, how we shall enjoy ourselves on both
sides a few pages further on!

CHAPTER XXIII.

I HAD kept the pony chaise ready, in case
Mr. Franklin persisted in leaving us by the
train that night. The appearance of the
luggage, followed down-stairs by Mr. Franklin
himself, informed me plainly enough that he
had held firm to a resolution, for once in his
life.

"So you have really made up your mind,
sir?" I said, as we met in the hall. "Why
not wait a day or two longer, and give Miss
Rachel another chance?"

The foreign varnish appeared to have all
worn off Mr. Franklin, now that the time had
come for saying good-bye. Instead of replying to
me in words, he put the letter which her ladyship
had addressed to him into my hand. The
greater part of it said over again what had been
said already in the other communication
received by me. But there was a bit about Miss
Rachel added at the end which will account for
the steadiness of Mr. Franklin's determination,
if it accounts for nothing else.

"You will wonder, I dare say" (her ladyship
wrote) "at my allowing my own daughter to
keep me perfectly in the dark. A Diamond
worth twenty thousand pounds has been lost—
and I am left to infer that the mystery of its
disappearance is no mystery to Rachel, and
that some incomprehensible obligation of silence
has been laid on her, by some person or persons
utterly unknown to me, with some object in
view at which I cannot even guess. Is it
conceivable that I should allow myself to be trifled
with in this way? It is quite conceivable, in
Rachel's present state. She is in a condition
of nervous agitation pitiable to see. I dare
not approach the subject of the Moonstone
again until time has done something to quiet
her. To help this end, I have not hesitated to
dismiss the police-officer. The mystery which
baffles us, baffles him too. This is not a matter
in which any stranger can help us. He adds to
what I have to suffer; and he maddens Rachel
if she only hears his name.

"My plans for the future are as well settled
as they can be. My present idea is to take
Rachel to London—partly to relieve her mind
by a complete change, partly to try what may
be done by consulting the best medical advice.
Can I ask you to meet us in town? My
dear Franklin, you, in your way, must imitate
my patience, and wait, as I do, for a fitter time.
The valuable assistance which you rendered to
the inquiry after the lost jewel is still an
unpardoned offence, in the present dreadful state
of Rachel's mind. Moving blindfold in this
matter, you have added to the burden of
anxiety which she has had to bear, by innocently
threatening her secret with discovery, through
your exertions. It is impossible for me to
excuse the perversity which holds you responsible
for consequences which neither you nor I
could imagine or foresee. She is not to be
reasoned with—she can only be pitied. I am
grieved to have to say it, but, for the present,
you and Rachel are better apart. The only
advice I can offer you is, to give her time."

I handed the letter back, sincerely sorry for
Mr. Franklin, for I knew how fond he was of my
young lady; and I saw that her mother's account
of her had cut him to the heart. "You know the
proverb, sir," was all I said to him. "When