say that Mr. Luker's valuable gem is—the Moonstone?'
As the name of the Indian Diamond passed her lips, I saw a change come over my admirable friend. His complexion deepened. He lost the genial suavity of manner which is one of his greatest charms. A noble indignation inspired his reply.
'They DO say it,' he answered. 'There are people who don't hesitate to accuse Mr. Luker of telling a falsehood to serve some private interests of his own. He has over and over again solemnly declared that, until this scandal assailed him, he had never even heard of the Moonstone. And these vile people reply, without a shadow of proof to justify them, He has his reasons for concealment; we decline to believe him on his oath. Shameful! shameful!'
Rachel looked at him very strangely—I can't well describe how—while he was speaking. When he had done, she said, 'Considering that Mr. Luker is only a chance acquaintance of yours, you take up his cause, Godfrey, rather warmly.'
My gifted friend made her one of the most truly evangelical answers I ever heard in my life.
'I hope, Rachel, I take up the cause of all oppressed people rather warmly,' he said.
The tone in which those words were spoken might have melted a stone. But, oh dear, what is the hardness of stone? Nothing, compared to the hardness of the unregenerate human heart! She sneered. I blush to record it—she sneered at him to his face.
'Keep your noble sentiments for your Ladies' Committees, Godfrey. I am certain that the scandal which has assailed Mr. Luker, has not spared You.'
Even my aunt's torpor was roused by those words.
'My dear Rachel,' she remonstrated, 'you have really no right to say that!'
'I mean no harm, mamma—I mean good. Have a moment's patience with me, and you will see.'
She looked back at Mr. Godfrey, with what appeared to be a sudden pity for him. She went the length—the very unladylike length—of taking him by the hand.
'I am certain,' she said, 'that I have found out the true reason of your unwillingness to speak of this matter before my mother and before me. An unlucky accident has associated you in people's minds with Mr. Luker. You have told me what scandal says of HIM. What does scandal say of you?'
Even at the eleventh hour, dear Mr. Godfrey—always ready to return good for evil—tried to spare her.
'Don't ask me!' he said. 'It's better forgotten, Rachel—it is, indeed.'
'I WILL hear it!' she cried out, fiercely, at the top of her voice.
'Tell her, Godfrey!' entreated my aunt. 'Nothing can do her such harm as your silence is doing now!'
Mr. Godfrey's fine eyes filled with tears. He cast one last appealing look at her—and then he spoke the fatal words:
'If you will have it, Rachel—scandal says that the Moonstone is in pledge to Mr. Luker, and that I am the man who has pawned it.'
She started to her feet with a scream. She looked backwards and forwards from Mr. Godfrey to my aunt, and from my aunt to Mr. Godfrey, in such a frantic manner that I really thought she had gone mad.
'Don't speak to me! Don't touch me!' she exclaimed, shrinking back from all of us (I declare like some hunted animal!) into a corner of the room. 'This is my fault! I must set it right. I have sacrificed myself—I had a right to do that, if I liked. But to let an innocent man be ruined; to keep a secret which destroys his character for life—Oh, good God, it's too horrible! I can't bear it!'
My aunt half rose from her chair, then suddenly sat down again. She called to me faintly, and pointed to a little phial in her work-box.
'Quick!' she whispered. 'Six drops, in water. Don't let Rachel see.'
Under other circumstances, I should have thought this strange. There was no time now to think—there was only time to give the medicine. Dear Mr. Godfrey unconsciously assisted me in concealing what I was about from Rachel, by speaking composing words to her at the other end of the room.
