“He looked at me as if I was a stranger, when I handed him the washing-book; and he was very specially polite in thanking me for bringing it.  I thought those were both bad signs.  There was no knowing what he might say of me behind my back; there was no knowing how soon I might not find myself taken in custody on suspicion, and searched.  It was then time for your return from seeing Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite off by the railway; and I went to your favourite walk in the shrubbery, to try for another chance of speaking to you—­the last chance, for all I knew to the contrary, that I might have.

“You never appeared; and, what was worse still, Mr. Betteredge and Sergeant Cuff passed by the place where I was hiding—­and the Sergeant saw me.

“I had no choice, after that, but to return to my proper place and my proper work, before more disasters happened to me.  Just as I was going to step across the path, you came back from the railway.  You were making straight for the shrubbery, when you saw me—­I am certain, sir, you saw me—­and you turned away as if I had got the plague, and went into the house.*

* Note:  by Franklin Blake.—­The writer is entirely mistaken, poor creature.  I never noticed her.  My intention was certainly to have taken a turn in the shrubbery.  But, remembering at the same moment that my aunt might wish to see me, after my return from the railway, I altered my mind, and went into the house.

“I made the best of my way indoors again, returning by the servants’ entrance.  There was nobody in the laundry-room at that time; and I sat down there alone.  I have told you already of the thoughts which the Shivering Sand put into my head.  Those thoughts came back to me now.  I wondered in myself which it would be harder to do, if things went on in this manner—­to bear Mr. Franklin Blake’s indifference to me, or to jump into the quicksand and end it for ever in that way?

“It’s useless to ask me to account for my own conduct, at this time.  I try—­and I can’t understand it myself.

“Why didn’t I stop you, when you avoided me in that cruel manner?  Why didn’t I call out, ’Mr. Franklin, I have got something to say to you; it concerns yourself, and you must, and shall, hear it?’ You were at my mercy—­I had got the whip-hand of you, as they say.  And better than that, I had the means (if I could only make you trust me) of being useful to you in the future.  Of course, I never supposed that you—­a gentleman—­had stolen the Diamond for the mere pleasure of stealing it.  No.  Penelope had heard Miss Rachel, and I had heard Mr. Betteredge, talk about your extravagance and your debts.  It was plain enough to me that you had taken the Diamond to sell it, or pledge it, and so to get the money of which you stood in need.  Well!  I could have told you of a man in London who would have advanced a good large sum on the jewel, and who would have asked no awkward questions about it either.