the diamonds
that Mr Whittlestaff had taken her to his own home. He had heard of
Mr Whittlestaff as the friend of her father, and nothing better he
thought could have happened. But Mary might have been weak during his
absence, and have given herself up to some other man who had asked
for her hand. She was still, at heart, Mary Lawrie. So much had been
made known to him. But from the words which had fallen from her own
lips, and from the statement which had fallen from Mr Whittlestaff,
he feared that it must be so. Mr Whittlestaff had said that he need
not trouble a stranger with Mary's affairs; and Mary, in answer
to his appeal, had declared that he could not be considered as a
stranger to her.

He thought a moment how he would act, and then he spoke boldly to
both of them. "I have hurried home from Kimberley, Mr Whittlestaff,
on purpose to find Mary Lawrie."

Mary, when she heard this, seated herself on the chair that was
nearest to her. For any service that it might be to her, his coming
was too late. As she thought of this, her voice left her, so that she
could not speak to him.

"You have found her," said Mr Whittlestaff, very sternly.

"Is there any reason why I should go away again?" He had not at this
moment realised the idea that Mr Whittlestaff himself was the man to
whom Mary might be engaged. Mr Whittlestaff to his thinking had been
a paternal providence, a God-sent support in lieu of father, who had
come to Mary in her need. He was prepared to shower all kinds of
benefits on Mr Whittlestaff,--diamonds polished, and diamonds in the
rough, diamonds pure and white, and diamonds pink-tinted,--if only
Mr Whittlestaff would be less stern to him. But even yet he had no
fear of Mr Whittlestaff himself.

"I should be most happy to welcome you here as an old friend of
Mary's," said Mr Whittlestaff, "if you will come to her wedding."
Mr Whittlestaff also had seen the necessity for open speech; and
though he was a man generally reticent as to his own affairs, thought
it would be better to let the truth be known at once. Mary, when
the word had been spoken as to her wedding, "blushed black" as her
stepmother had said of her. A dark ruby tint covered her cheeks and
her forehead; but she turned away her face, and compressed her lips,
and clenched her two fists close together.

"Miss Lawrie's wedding!" said John Gordon. "Is Miss Lawrie to be
married?" And he purposely looked at her, as though asking her the
questi