Two or three times he arose and lighted the gas, examined the diamonds carefully to see if there were not some mistake.  But there could be none.  He had seen them on the lady’s person and had heard them described so accurately that he could not be mistaken; and then the box was the same he had once seen when Jack took him to his mother’s room to show him what Uncle Arthur had brought.  That was a tortoise shell, of an oval shape, lined with blue satin, and this was a tortoise shell, oval shaped, and lined with blue satin.  Harold felt, when at last the daylight shone into his room, that if it had tarried a moment longer he must have gone mad.  He was very white and haggard, and there were dark rings under his eyes, when he went down to the office, where the first person he met was Billy, who also looked pale and worn, with a different expression upon his face from anything Harold had ever seen before.  It was as if all life and hope had gone, leaving him nothing now to care for.  In his anxiety and worry about the diamonds Harold had scarcely given a thought to what Peterkin had said of Jerrie’s refusal of Billy, for it seemed so improbable that the latter would presume to offer himself to her; but at sight of Billy’s face it came back to him with a throb of pity for the man, and a thrill of joy for himself for whom Peterkin had said his son was rejected.

‘Does Billy know of the diamonds, I wonder?’ he thought.

As if to answer the question in the negative, Billy came quickly forward, and offering his hand, bade Harold good-morning, and then motioning him to a seat, took one beside him, and began: 

’I’m awful sorry, Hal, th-that you are mix-mixed up in th-this but I sup suppose you m-must t-tell the truth.’

‘Yes, I must tell the truth, Harold said.’

‘Fa-father will be so m-mad,’ Billy continued.  ’I wi-wish I could t-t-testify f-for you, bu-but I can’t.  You were th-there, I wa-wan’t, and all I know fa-father told me; bu-but d don’t volunteer information.’

‘No,’ Harold said, slowly, wishing that the ocean were rolling between him and this detestable suit.

Once he resolved to go to Judge St. Claire, deliver up the diamonds, and tell him all he knew about them, but this would be bringing Jerrie into the matter, and so he changed his mind and wondered aimlessly about the town until it was time for him to appear at the court-house, where a crowd was gathering.  It was late before the suit known as Wilson vs.  Peterkin was called, and later still when Harold took the stand.

White and trembling, so that both his hands and his knees were shaking visibly, he seemed more like a criminal than a witness, he was so agitated and pre-occupied, too, it would seem, for at first his answers were given at random, as if he hardly knew what he was saying; nor did he, for over and beyond the sea of long faces confronting him, Judge St. Claire’s wondering and curious—­Billy’s wondering, too—­Wilson’s