e, every thing else may go to the devil,
till I see it out. Do you desire it, Erema?"

"I certainly do not wish that any of your great works should be
neglected. But if, without that, you can give me your strong help, my
only difficulty will be to thank you."

"I like plain speaking, and you always speak plainly; sometimes too
plainly," he said, recollecting little times when he had the worst of
it. "How far do you trust me now?"

"Major Hockin, I trust you altogether. You may make mistakes, as all men
do--"

"Yes, yes, yes. About my own affairs; but I never do that for other
people. I pay a bill for twopence, if it is my own. If I am trustee of
it, I pay three half-pence."

His meaning was a little beyond me now; but it seemed better not to tell
him so; for he loved to explain his own figures of speech, even when he
had no time to spare for it. And he clearly expected me to ask him to
begin; or at least it seemed so from his eyebrows. But that only came
home to me afterward.

"Please not to speak of my affairs like that," I said, as if I were
quite stupid; "I mean to pay fourpence for every twopence--both to
friends and enemies."

"You are a queer girl; I have always said so. You turn things to your
own ideas so. However, we must put up with that, though none of my
daughters have ever done it; for which I am truly thankful. But now
there is very little time to lose. The meaning of this thing must be
cleared up at once. And there is another thing to be done as well, quite
as important, in my opinion. I will go to London with you to-morrow, if
you like. My clever little Cornishman will see to things here--the man
that sets up all the angles."

"But why should I hurry you to London so?" I asked. "Surely any good
country jeweler could manage it? Or let us break it open."

"On no account," he answered; "we might spoil it all; besides the great
risk to the diamonds, which are very brittle things. To London we must
take it, for this reason--the closure of this case is no jeweler's work;
of that I have quite convinced myself. It is the work of a first-rate
lapidary, and the same sort of man must undo it."

To this I agreed quite readily, because of such things I knew nothing;
whereas my host spoke just as if he had been brought up to both those
walks of art. And then I put a question which had long been burning on
my tongue.

"What made you imagine, Major Hockin, that this very beautiful face
could have ever bee