“They all seem to think that the diamonds are at Paris,” he said to her one day.
“If you only knew how little I care about them. It seems as though I had almost forgotten them in these after troubles.”
“Mr. Camperdown cares about them. I’m told he says that he can make you pay for them out of your jointure.”
“That would be very terrible, of course,” said Lizzie, to whose mind there was something consolatory in the idea that the whole affair of the robbery might perhaps remain so mysterious as to remove her from the danger of other punishment than this.
“I feel sure that he couldn’t do it,” said Frank, “and I don’t think he’ll try it. John Eustace would not let him. It would be persecution.”
“Mr. Camperdown has always chosen to persecute me,” said Lizzie.
“I can understand that he shouldn’t like the loss of the diamonds. I don’t think, Lizzie, you ever realised their true value.”
“I suppose not. After all, a necklace is only a necklace. I cared nothing for it—except that I could not bear the idea that that man should dictate to me. I would have given it up at once, at the slightest word from you.” He did not care to remind her then, as she lay in bed, that he had been very urgent in his advice to her to abandon the diamonds—and not the less urgent because he had thought that the demand for them was unjust. “I told you often,” she continued, “that I was tempted to throw them among the waves. It was true;—quite true. I offered to give them to you, and should have been delighted to have been relieved from them.”
“That was, of course, simply impossible.”
“I know it was;—impossible on your part; but I would have been delighted. Of what use were they to me? I wore them twice because that man,”—meaning Lord Fawn—“disputed my right to them. Before that I never even looked at them. Do you think I had pleasure in wearing them, or pleasure in looking at them? Never. They were only a trouble to me. It was a point of honour with me to keep them, because I was attacked. But I am glad they are gone—thoroughly glad.” This was all very well, and was not without its effect on Frank Greystock. It is hardly expected of a woman in such a condition, with so many troubles on her mind, who had been so persecuted, that every word uttered by her should be strictly true. Lizzie, with her fresh nightcap, and her laced handkerchief, pale, and with her eyes just glittering with tears, was very pretty. “Didn’t somebody once give someone a garment which scorched him up when he wore it—some woman who sent it because she loved the man so much?”
“The shirt, you mean, which Dejanira sent to Hercules. Yes;—Hercules was a good deal scorched.”
“And that necklace, which my husband gave me because he loved me so well, has scorched me horribly. It has nearly killed me. It has been like the white elephant which the Eastern king gives to his subject when he means to ruin him. Only poor Florian didn’t mean to hurt me. He gave it all in love. If these people bring a lawsuit against me, Frank, you must manage it for me.”
“There will be no lawsuit. Your brother-in-law will stop it.”
“I wonder who will really get the diamonds after all, Frank? They were very valuable. Only think that the ten thousand pounds should disappear in such a way!” The subject was a very dangerous one, but there was a fascination about it which made it impossible for her to refrain from it.
“A dishonest dealer in diamonds will probably realise the plunder—after some years. There would be something very alluring in the theft of articles of great value, were it not that, when got, they at once become almost valueless by the difficulty of dealing with them. Supposing I had the necklace!”
“I wish you had, Frank.”
“I could do nothing with it. Ten sovereigns would go further with me—or ten shillings. The burden of possessing it would in itself be almost more than I could bear. The knowledge that I had the thing, and might be discovered in having it, would drive me mad. By my own weakness I should be compelled to tell my secret to someone. And then I should never sleep for fear my partner in the matter should turn against me.” How well she understood it all! How probable it was that Lord George should turn against her! How exact was Frank’s description of that burden of a secret so heavy that it cannot be borne alone! “A little reflection,” continued Frank, “soon convinces a man that rough downright stealing is an awkward, foolish trade; and it therefore falls into the hands of those who want education for the higher efforts of dishonesty. To get into a bank at midnight and steal what little there may be in the till, or even an armful of banknotes, with the probability of a policeman catching you as you creep out of the chimney and through a hole, is clumsy work; but to walk in amidst the smiles and bows of admiring managers and draw out money over the counter by thousands and tens of thousands, which you have never put in and which you can never repay, and which, when
