He stopped the child, and made love to the nursemaid; showed her his diamonds—­he carried them all about him—­told her he had thirty thousand acres in Cape Colony, and diamonds on them; and was going to buy thirty thousand more of the government.  “Here, take one,” said he.  “Oh, you needn’t be shy.  They are common enough on my estates.  I’ll tell you what, though, you could not buy that for less than thirty pounds at any shop in London.  Could she, my little duck?  Never mind, it is no brighter than her eyes.  Now do you know what she will do with that, Master Christie?  She will give it to some duffer to put in a pin.”

“She won’t do nothing of the kind,” said Emily, flushing all over.  “She is not such a fool.”  She then volunteered to tell him she had no sweetheart, and did not trouble her head about young men at all.  He interpreted this to mean she was looking out for one.  So do I.

“No sweetheart!” said he; “and the prettiest girl I have seen since I landed:  then I put in for the situation.”

Here, seeing the footman coming, he bestowed a most paternal kiss on little Christie, and saying, “Not a word to John, or no more diamonds from me;” he moved carefully away, leaving the girl all in a flutter with extravagant hopes.

The next moment this wolf in the sheep-fold entered the drawing-room.  Mrs. Staines was not there.  He waited, and waited, and began to get rather uneasy, as men will who walk among pitfalls.

Presently the footman came to say that Mrs. Staines was with her father, in his study, but she would come to him in five minutes.

This increased his anxiety.  What!  She was taking advice of an older head.  He began to be very seriously alarmed, and, indeed, had pretty well made up his mind to go down and gallop off, when the door opened, and Rosa came hastily in.  Her eyes were very red with weeping.  She came to him with both hands extended to him; he gave her his, timidly.  She pressed them with such earnestness and power as he could not have suspected; and thanked him, and blessed him, with such a torrent of eloquence, that he hung his head with shame; and, being unable to face it out, villain as he was, yet still artful to the core, he pretended to burst out crying, and ran out of the room, and rode away.

He waited two days, and then called again.  Rosa reproached him sweetly for going before she had half thanked him.

“All the better,” said he.  “I have been thanked a great deal too much already.  Who would not do his best for a dying countryman, and fight night and day to save him for his wife and child at home?  If I had succeeded, then I would be greedy of praise:  but now it makes me blush; it makes me very sad.”

“You did your best,” said Rosa tearfully.

“Ah! that I did.  Indeed, I was ill for weeks after, myself, through the strain upon my mind, and the disappointment, and going so many nights without sleep.  But don’t let us talk of that.”