’No, no; the other one, which tells it all.  Where is it!  I must have lost it.  Find it, find it.  To be so near, and yet so far.  What did it say?  Why can’t I think?  Am I like Mr. Arthur—­crazy, like him?’

Mrs. Crawford thought her crazier than Arthur, and waited still more impatiently for Harold, until she heard his step outside, and knew that he had come.

‘Harold!’

‘Grandma!’ was all they said for a moment while the poor old lady was sobbing on his neck, and then he comforted her as best he could, telling her that it was all over now—­that no one but Peterkin had accused him—­that everybody was ready to defend him, and that after a little he could explain everything.

‘And now I must see Jerrie,’ he continued, starting for the stairs, and glad that his grandmother did not attempt to follow him.

Jerrie had heard his voice, and had raised herself in bed, and as he came in, met him with the question: 

‘Have you brought them?  Has any one seen them?’

The strange light in her eyes should have told Harold how utterly incapable she was of giving any rational answers to his questions, but he did not think of that, and instead of trying to quiet her, he plunged at once into the subject she had broached: 

‘Do you mean the diamonds?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘the diamonds! the diamonds!  Where are they?’

‘Mrs. Tracy has them by this time,’ Harold replied.

‘Mrs. Tracy!’ Jerrie exclaimed.  ’What has she to do with them?  They are not hers.  They are mine—­they are mine!  Bring them to me—­bring them to me.’

She was terribly excited, and for a time Harold bent all his energies to soothe her, and at last when from sheer exhaustion she became quiet he said to her: 

‘Jerrie, where did you find the diamonds?’

She looked at him curiously, but made no reply, and he continued: 

‘You must tell me where you found them:  it is necessary I should know.’

Still she did not reply, but stared at him, as if not fully comprehending what he meant.

‘Jerrie,’ he said again, ‘do you love me?’

Quickly her eyes filled with tears, and she replied: 

’Love you, Harold!  Yes, more than you ever dreamed of; more than you love me.’

Instantly Harold had his arms around her, for she had risen to a sitting posture, and pillowing her head upon his breast, he said: 

‘No, darling, that is impossible, for I love you better than my life,’ and his lips pressed hers passionately.  He felt that this was their betrothal, for he did not take into consideration the state of her mind; but she undeceived him quickly, for although she kissed him back, she said, with a tinge of sarcasm in her voice: 

‘Aren’t you afraid they will see you?’

‘Who are they?’ he asked, and she replied

‘The people, and the Harvard boys and Maude.’