‘Tom,’ Harold exclaimed, with great energy, as he sprang to his feet, ‘that decides me;’ and then he told of the offer Billy had made him on the car.  ’When I saw how sick Jerrie was, I made up my mind not to accept it, although I need the money badly.  But now, if Jerrie gets no worse, I shall start for Tacoma in a few days and shall find your uncle Arthur, if he is to be found.’

It was growing dark when the two young men finally emerged from the house and stood for a moment outside, while Harold inquired for Maude.

‘She is not very well, that’s a fact,’ Tom said, gloomily; ’and no wonder, when mother keeps her cooped up in one room, without enough fresh air, and lets nobody see her except the family and the doctor, for fear they will excite her.  She knows nothing about the diamonds, nor that Jerrie is sick.  I did tell her, though, that you had come home; and, by Jove!  I pretty near forgot it.  She wants to see you bad; but, Lord! mother won’t let you in.  No use to try.  She’s like a she-wolf guarding its cub.  Good-night.’

And Tom walked away, while Harold went back to the cottage, where he found Jerrie sleeping very quietly, with a look on her face so like that it had worn in her babyhood, when he called her his little girl, that he involuntarily stooped down and kissed it as one would kiss a beautiful baby.

The next morning Jerrie was very restless, and talked wildly of the Tramp House and the diamonds, insisting that they were hers and must be brought to her.

‘Why did you tell her about them?’ Mrs. Crawford asked, reproachfully.

But Harold did not reply, his mind was so torn with distracting doubts as to whether he ought to take the western trip or not.

If he went, he must go at once, and to leave Jerrie in her present state seemed impossible.  He would consult the physician first, and Judge St. Claire next.  The doctor gave it as his opinion that Jerrie was in no danger, if she were only kept quiet.  She had taken a severe cold and overtaxed her strength, while most likely she had inherited from some one a tendency to be flighty when anything was the matter, and he thought Harold might venture to leave her.

‘Yes, I’d go if I were you,’ he added, looking intently at the young man; for, like Billy, he too thought it might be pleasanter for him to be out of the way for a time, although he did not say so.

And this was the view the judge took of it, after a few moments’ conversation.  His first question had been: 

‘Well, my boy, can you tell me now who gave them to you?’

‘No, I can’t,’ was Harold’s reply; and then, acting upon a sudden impulse, he burst out impetuously:  ’Yes, I will tell you, for I can trust you, and I want your advice so badly.’