The man made no reply but stood, a strong, dark figure, a yard or two from the well, as though waiting for her to join him.

“Come and sit down, sir,” cried Olive, patting the brickwork with her small, white hand, “one would think that you did not like your company.”

He obeyed slowly and took a seat by her side, drawing so hard at his cigar that the light of it shone upon his fare at every breath.  He passed his arm, firm and rigid as steel, behind her, with his hand resting on the brickwork beyond.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked tenderly, as she made a little movement.  “Pretty fair,” she shivered; “one oughtn’t to be cold at this time of the year, but there’s a cold, damp air comes up from the well.”

As she spoke a faint splash sounded from the depths below, and for the second time that evening, she sprang from the well with a little cry of dismay.

“What is it now?” he asked in a fearful voice.  He stood by her side and gazed at the well, as though half expecting to see the cause of her alarm emerge from it.

“Oh, my bracelet,” she cried in distress, “my poor mother’s bracelet.  I’ve dropped it down the well.”

“Your bracelet!” repeated Benson, dully.  “Your bracelet?  The diamond one?”

“The one that was my mother’s,” said Olive.  “Oh, we can get it back surely.  We must have the water drained off.”

“Your bracelet!” repeated Benson, stupidly.

“Jem,” said the girl in terrified tones, “dear Jem, what is the matter?”

For the man she loved was standing regarding her with horror.  The moon which touched it was not responsible for all the whiteness of the distorted face, and she shrank back in fear to the edge of the well.  He saw her fear and by a mighty effort regained his composure and took her hand.

“Poor little girl,” he murmured, “you frightened me.  I was not looking when you cried, and I thought that you were slipping from my arms, down—­down—­”

His voice broke, and the girl throwing herself into his arms clung to him convulsively.

“There, there,” said Benson, fondly, “don’t cry, don’t cry.”

“To-morrow,” said Olive, half-laughing, half-crying, “we will all come round the well with hook and line and fish for it.  It will be quite a new sport.”

“No, we must try some other way,” said Benson.  “You shall have it back.”

“How?” asked the girl.

“You shall see,” said Benson.  “To-morrow morning at latest you shall have it back.  Till then promise me that you will not mention your loss to anyone.  Promise.”

“I promise,” said Olive, wonderingly.  “But why not?”

“It is of great value, for one thing, and—­But there—­there are many reasons.  For one thing it is my duty to get it for you.”

“Wouldn’t you like to jump down for it?” she asked mischievously.  “Listen.”

She stooped for a stone and dropped it down.