naturally to the present time. Under whose
care had she been placed after leaving Mr.
Bruff's house? and where was she living now?

She was living under the care of a widowed
sister of the late Sir John Verinder— one Mrs.
Merridew whom her mother's executors had
requested to act as guardian, and who had
accepted the proposal. They were reported to
me, as getting on together admirably well, and
as being now established, for the season, in
Mrs. Merridew's house in Portland Place.

Half an hour after receiving this information,
I was on my way to Portland Place— without
having had the courage to own it to Mr. Bruff!

The man who answered the door was not sure
whether Miss Verinder was at home or not. I
sent him up-stairs with my card, as the speediest
way of setting the question at rest. The man
came down again with an impenetrable face,
and informed me that Miss Verinder was out.

I might have suspected other people of
purposely denying themselves to me. But it was
impossible to suspect Rachel. I left word that
I would call again at six o'clock that evening.

At six o'clock, I was informed for the second
time that Miss Verinder'was not at home. Had
any message been left for me? No message
had been left for me. Had Miss Verinder not
received my card? The servant begged my
pardon— Miss Verinder had received it.

The inference was too plain to be resisted.
Rachel declined to see me.

On my side, I declined to be treated in this
way, without making an attempt, at least, to
discover a reason for it. I sent up my name to
Mrs. Merridew, and requested her to favour me
with a personal interview at any hour which it
might be most convenient to her to name.

Mrs. Merridew made no difficulty about
receiving me at once. I was shown into a
comfortable little sitting-room, and found myself in
the presence of a comfortable little elderly lady.
She was so good as to feel great regret and
much surprise, entirely on my account. She
was at the same time, however, not in a
position to offer me any explanation, or to press
Rachel on a matter which appeared to relate to
a question of private feeling alone. This was
said over and over again, with a polite patience
that nothing could tire; and this was all I
gained by applying to Mrs. Merridew.

My last chance was to write to Rachel. My
servant took a letter to her the next day, with
strict instructions to wait for an answer.

The answer came back, literally in one
sentence.

"Miss Verinder begs to decline entering into
any correspondence with Mr. Franklin Blake."

Fond as I was of her, I felt indignantly the
insult offered to me in that reply. Mr. Bruff
came in to speak to me on business, before I
had recovered possession of myself. I
dismissed the business on the spot, and laid the
whole case before him. He proved to be as
incapable of enlightening me as Mrs. Merridew
herself. I asked him if any slander had been
spoken of me in Rachel's hearing. Mr. Bruff
was not aware of any slander of which I was
the object. Had she referred to me in any
way, while she was staying under Mr. Bruff's
roof? Never. Had she not so much as asked,
during all my long absence, whether I was
living or dead? No such question had ever
passed her lips.

I took out of my pocket-book the letter
which poor Lady Verinder had written to me
from Frizinghall, on the day when I left her
house in Yorkshire. And I pointed Mr. Bruff's
attention to these two sentences in it:

"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."

"Is it possible," I asked, " that the feeling
towards me which is there described, is as
bitter as ever against me now?"

Mr. Bruff looked unaffectedly distressed.

"If you insist on an answer," he said, " I
own I can place no other interpretation on her
conduct than that."

I rang the bell, and directed my servant to
pack my portmanteau, and to send out for a
railway guide. Mr. Bruff asked, in astonishment,
what I was going to do.

"I am going to Yorkshire," I answered, " by
the next train."

"May I ask for what purpose?"

"Mr. Bruff, the assistance I innocently
rendered to the inquiry after the Diamond
was an unpardoned offence, in Rachel's mind,
nearly a year since; and it remains an
unpardoned offence still. I won't accept that
position! I am determined to find out the
secret of her silence towards her mother, and
her enmity towards me. If time, pains, and
money can do it, I will lay my hand on the
thief who took the Moonstone!"

The worthy old gentleman attempted to
remonstrate— to induce me to listen to reason—
to do his duty towards me, in short. I was
deaf to everything that he could urge. No
earthly consideration would, at that moment,.
have shaken the resolution that was in me.

"I shall take up the inquiry again," I went
on, " at the point where I dropped it; and I
shall follow it onwards, step by step, till I come
to the present time. There are missing links in
the evidence, as I left it, which Gabriel Betteredge
can supply. And to Gabriel Betteredge I go!"

Towards sunset, that evening, I stood again
on the well-remembered terrace, and looked
once more at the peaceful old country house.
The gardener was the first person whom I saw
in the deserted grounds. He had left Betteredge,
an hour since, sunning himself in the
customary corner of the back yard. I knew it
well; and I said I would go and seek him
myself.