“I’ve been very foolish,” said Lizzie—“but you won’t desert me!”
“Upon my word I don’t know what I’m to do.”
“Will you have them—as a present?”
“Certainly not.”
“They’re worth ever so much;—ten thousand pounds! And they are my own, to do just what I please with them.”
“You are very good;—but what should I do with them?”
“Sell them.”
“Who’d buy them? And before a week was over I should be in prison, and in a couple of months should be standing at the Old Bailey at my trial. I couldn’t just do that, my dear.”
“What will you do for me? You are my friend;—ain’t you?” The diamond necklace was not a desirable possession in the eyes of Lord George de Bruce Carruthers;—but Portray Castle, with its income, and the fact that Lizzie Eustace was still a very young woman, was desirable. Her prettiness too was not altogether thrown away on Lord George—though, as he was wont to say to himself, he was too old now to sacrifice much for such a toy as that. Something he must do—if only because of the knowledge which had come to him. He could not go away and leave her, and neither say nor do anything in the matter. And he could not betray her to the police. “You will not desert me!” she said, taking hold of his hand, and kissing it as a suppliant.
He passed his arm round her waist, but more as though she were a child than a woman, as he stood thinking. Of all the affairs in which he had ever been engaged, it was the most difficult. She submitted to his embrace, and leaned upon his shoulder, and looked up into his face. If he would only tell her that he loved her, then he would be bound to her—then must he share with her the burden of the diamonds—then must he be true to her. “George!” she said, and burst into a low suppressed wailing, with her face hidden upon his arm.
“That’s all very well,” said he, still holding her—for she was pleasant to hold—“but what the d⸺ is a fellow to do? I don’t see my way out of it. I think you’d better go to Camperdown, and give them up to him, and tell him the truth.” Then she sobbed more violently than before, till her quick ear caught the sound of a footstep on the stairs, and in a moment she was out of his arms and seated on the sofa, with hardly a trace of tears in her eyes. It was the footman, who desired to know whether Lady Eustace would want the carriage that afternoon. Lady Eustace, with her cheeriest voice, sent her love to Mrs. Carbuncle, and her assurance that she would not want the carriage before the evening. “I don’t know that you can do anything else,” continued Lord George, “except just give them up and brazen it out. I don’t suppose they’d prosecute you.”
“Prosecute me!” ejaculated Lizzie.
“For perjury, I mean.”
“And what could they do to me?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Lock you up for five years, perhaps.”
“Because I had my own necklace under the pillow in my own room?”
“Think of all the trouble you’ve given.”
“I’ll never give them up to Mr. Camperdown. They are mine;—my very own. My cousin, Mr. Greystock, who is much more of a lawyer than Mr. Camperdown, says so. Oh, George, do think of something! Don’t tell me that I must give them up! Wouldn’t Mr. Benjamin buy them?”
“Yes;—for half nothing; and then go and tell the whole story and get money from the other side. You can’t trust Benjamin.”
“But I can trust you.” She clung to him and implored him, and did get from him a renewed promise that he would not reveal her secret. She wanted him to take the terrible packet from her there and then, and use his own judgment in disposing of it. But this he positively refused to do. He protested that they were safer with her than they could be with him. He explained to her that if they were found in his hands, his offence in having them in his possession would be much greater than hers. They were her own—as she was ever so ready to assert; or if not her own, the ownership was so doubtful that she could not be accused of having stolen them. And then he needed to consider it all—to sleep upon it—before he could make up his mind what he would do.
But there was one other trouble on her mind as to which he was called upon to give her counsel before he was allowed to leave her. She had told the detective officer that she would submit her boxes and desks to be searched if her cousin Frank should advise it. If the policeman were to return with her cousin while the diamonds were still in her desk, what should she do? He might come at any time; and then she would be bound to obey him. “And he thinks that they were stolen at Carlisle?” asked Lord George. “Of course he thinks so,” said Lizzie, almost indignantly. “They would never ask to search your person,” suggested Lord George. Lizzie could not say. She had simply declared that she would be guided by her cousin. “Have them about you when he comes. Don’t take them out with you; but keep them in your pocket while you are in the house during the day. They will hardly bring a woman with them to search you.”
“But there was a woman with the man when he came before.”
“Then you must refuse in spite of your cousin. Show yourself angry with him and with everybody. Swear that you did not intend to submit yourself to such indignity as that. They can’t do it without a magistrate’s order, unless you
