‘But we felt,’ said the Jew, ’that even if the judgment of the dying boy were a true one, and this lady had committed the crime, we still had no evidence against her, and that whoever was wicked enough to steal would certainly deny the act, and conceal that which was stolen.  Hopeless as it seemed to wait, doing nothing, our only chance of redress would be lost by making any inquiry which might frighten her.  We sent a message to the goldsmith in London who mends her jewels, asking him to watch for this necklace, and so we waited.  At last we heard news.  An amethyst which we do not doubt is ours came to the goldsmith to be put in a ring; but there was no necklace with it.  I came here to see if I could do something, but I have been here for some time and can devise no plan.  If she still possess the other part, to speak would be to cause its destruction, and how can I find out without asking if she still has by her the thing that would prove her crime?  Do not be angry with me when I tell you this.  Remember it was not I who presumed to suspect the wife of your priest, but the English boy, who knew her well.’

‘Yes,’ said the curate, ‘I shall remember that.’  He had grown tired of standing in the wind, and had sat down on the frosty grass below the cross.  The blast was very cold, and he crouched down to avoid it, hugging his knees with his hands.

‘You are about to be united to the family,’ said the Jew; ’perhaps you have seen the stone.  Will you, for the sake of that justice which we all hope for, try to find out for me if the other part of the amulet still exists?  I will give you a drawing of it, and if you find it as I describe, you will know that my tale is true.  Remember this—­that we have no wish to make the wrong public or punish the wrong-doer.  We only want to obtain our property.’

‘Have you got a drawing of it now?’

‘Yes, I have it here.’

The curate rose up and took the paper.  He lit a match, and held its tiny red flame in the shelter of the stone.  The paper was soiled and untidily folded, but the drawing was clear.  It took but a glance to satisfy him that what he had seen in his dream was but the reflection in his own thought of the idea in the Jew’s mind.  He did not stop to ask any explanation of the fact; the fact itself pressed too hard upon him.  While the match was still burning he mechanically noticed the Jew’s face, as it leaned over the paper near his own—­not a handsome face, but gentle and noble in its expression.  Then the match went out; it dropped from his hand, a tiny spark, into the grass, and for a moment illuminated the blades among which it fell.

CHAPTER IV

The two men walked back over the bleak cliffs together, and for the greater part of the way in silence; at last the curate spoke.  He told the Jew quite truly that he believed the vicar’s wife had his jewel, and that he supposed she must have come by it according to his worst suspicions.  ‘But,’ he added, ‘I believe she is a good woman.’