On the twentieth, there came a note from Mr. Godfrey.  He had arranged to stop at Frizinghall that night, having occasion to consult his father on business.  On the afternoon of the next day, he and his two eldest sisters would ride over to us on horseback, in good time before dinner.  An elegant little casket in China accompanied the note, presented to Miss Rachel, with her cousin’s love and best wishes.  Mr. Franklin had only given her a plain locket not worth half the money.  My daughter Penelope, nevertheless—­such is the obstinacy of women—­still backed him to win.

Thanks be to Heaven, we have arrived at the eve of the birthday at last!  You will own, I think, that I have got you over the ground this time, without much loitering by the way.  Cheer up!  I’ll ease you with another new chapter here—­and, what is more, that chapter shall take you straight into the thick of the story.

CHAPTER IX

June twenty-first, the day of the birthday, was cloudy and unsettled at sunrise, but towards noon it cleared up bravely.

We, in the servants’ hall, began this happy anniversary, as usual, by offering our little presents to Miss Rachel, with the regular speech delivered annually by me as the chief.  I follow the plan adopted by the Queen in opening Parliament—­namely, the plan of saying much the same thing regularly every year.  Before it is delivered, my speech (like the Queen’s) is looked for as eagerly as if nothing of the kind had ever been heard before.  When it is delivered, and turns out not to be the novelty anticipated, though they grumble a little, they look forward hopefully to something newer next year.  An easy people to govern, in the Parliament and in the Kitchen—­that’s the moral of it.  After breakfast, Mr. Franklin and I had a private conference on the subject of the Moonstone—­the time having now come for removing it from the bank at Frizinghall, and placing it in Miss Rachel’s own hands.

Whether he had been trying to make love to his cousin again, and had got a rebuff—­or whether his broken rest, night after night, was aggravating the queer contradictions and uncertainties in his character—­I don’t know.  But certain it is, that Mr. Franklin failed to show himself at his best on the morning of the birthday.  He was in twenty different minds about the Diamond in as many minutes.  For my part, I stuck fast by the plain facts a we knew them.  Nothing had happened to justify us in alarming my lady on the subject of the jewel; and nothing could alter the legal obligation that now lay on Mr. Franklin to put it in his cousin’s possession.  That was my view of the matter; and, twist and turn it as he might, he was forced in the end to make it his view too.  We arranged that he was to ride over, after lunch, to Frizinghall, and bring the Diamond back, with Mr. Godfrey and the two young ladies, in all probability, to keep him company on the way home again.