g the heart to employ it. But she knew best what
her husband was; and to worship forever is not wise.

"Go and knock at his door in about five minutes," Mrs. Hockin said to
me, with some mischief in her eyes. "If he continues to fail, he may
possibly take a shorter way with it. And with his tools so close at
hand--"

"Oh," I exclaimed, "his geological hammer--that dreadful crusher! May I
go at once? I detest that thing, but I can not have it smashed."

"He will not break it up, my dear, without your leave. He never would
think of such a thing, of course. However, you may as well go after
him."

It was wrong of Mrs. Hockin to make me do this; and I felt quite
ashamed of myself when I saw the kind old Major sitting by his lamp, and
wrinkling his forehead into locks and keys of puzzle, but using violence
to his own mind alone. And I was the more ashamed when, instead of
resenting my intrusion, he came to meet me, and led me to his chair, and
placed the jeweled trinket in my hand, and said, "My dear, I give it
up. I was wrong in taking it away from you. You must consult some one
wiser."

"That odious thing!" I answered, being touched by this unusual humility
of his; "you shall not give it up; and I know no wiser person. A
lapidary's tricks are below your knowledge. But if you are not tired of
me and offended, may I leave it to you to get it opened?"

"I would like nothing better," he replied, recovering his natural
briskness and importance; "but you ought to be there, my dear; you must
be there. Are you sure that you ought not rather to take it to your good
cousin Lord Castlewood? Now think before you answer."

"I need not think twice of that, Major Hockin. Good and learned as
my father's cousin is, he has distinctly refused to help me, for some
mysterious reason of his own, in searching into this question. Indeed,
my great hope is to do it without him: for all that I know, he might
even wish to thwart me."

"Enough, my dear; it shall be just as you wish. I brought you to
England, and I will stand by you. My cousin, Colonel Gundry, has
committed you to me. I have no patience with malefactors. I never took
this matter up, for very many reasons; and among them not the least was
that Sampson, your beloved 'Uncle Sam,' thought it better not to do so.
But if you desire it, and now that I feel certain that an infamous wrong
has been done to you--which I heartily beg your pardon for my doubt
of--by the Lord of all justic