My aunt caught me by the hand, and whispered, “Stand between us for a minute or two.  Don’t let Rachel see me.”  I noticed a bluish tinge in her face which alarmed me.  She saw I was startled.  “The drops will put me right in a minute or two,” she said, and so closed her eyes, and waited a little.

While this was going on, I heard dear Mr. Godfrey still gently remonstrating.

“You must not appear publicly in such a thing as this,” he said.  “Your reputation, dearest Rachel, is something too pure and too sacred to be trifled with.”

“My reputation!” She burst out laughing.  “Why, I am accused, Godfrey, as well as you.  The best detective officer in England declares that I have stolen my own Diamond.  Ask him what he thinks—­and he will tell you that I have pledged the Moonstone to pay my private debts!” She stopped, ran across the room—­and fell on her knees at her mother’s feet.  “Oh mamma! mamma! mamma!  I must be mad—­mustn’t I?—­not to own the truth now?” She was too vehement to notice her mother’s condition—­she was on her feet again, and back with Mr. Godfrey, in an instant.  “I won’t let you—­I won’t let any innocent man—­be accused and disgraced through my fault.  If you won’t take me before the magistrate, draw out a declaration of your innocence on paper, and I will sign it.  Do as I tell you, Godfrey, or I’ll write it to the newspapers I’ll go out, and cry it in the streets!”

We will not say this was the language of remorse—­we will say it was the language of hysterics.  Indulgent Mr. Godfrey pacified her by taking a sheet of paper, and drawing out the declaration.  She signed it in a feverish hurry.  “Show it everywhere—­don’t think of me,” she said, as she gave it to him.  “I am afraid, Godfrey, I have not done you justice, hitherto, in my thoughts.  You are more unselfish—­you are a better man than I believed you to be.  Come here when you can, and I will try and repair the wrong I have done you.”

She gave him her hand.  Alas, for our fallen nature!  Alas, for Mr. Godfrey!  He not only forgot himself so far as to kiss her hand—­he adopted a gentleness of tone in answering her which, in such a case, was little better than a compromise with sin.  “I will come, dearest,” he said, “on condition that we don’t speak of this hateful subject again.”  Never had I seen and heard our Christian Hero to less advantage than on this occasion.

Before another word could be said by anybody, a thundering knock at the street door startled us all.  I looked through the window, and saw the World, the Flesh, and the Devil waiting before the house—­as typified in a carriage and horses, a powdered footman, and three of the most audaciously dressed women I ever beheld in my life.

Rachel started, and composed herself.  She crossed the room to her mother.

“They have come to take me to the flower-show,” she said.  “One word, mamma, before I go.  I have not distressed you, have I?”