to two roads. One led to Mr.
Ablewhite's house, and the other to a moorland village some two or three
miles off. Ezra Jennings stopped at the road which led to the village.

"My way lies in this direction," he said. "I am really and truly sorry,
Mr. Blake, that I can be of no use to you."

His voice told me that he spoke sincerely. His soft brown eyes rested on
me for a moment with a look of melancholy interest. He bowed, and went,
without another word, on his way to the village.

For a minute or more I stood and watched him, walking farther and
farther away from me; carrying farther and farther away with him what I
now firmly believed to be the clue of which I was in search. He turned,
after walking on a little way, and looked back. Seeing me still standing
at the place where we had parted, he stopped, as if doubting whether I
might not wish to speak to him again. There was no time for me to reason
out my own situation--to remind myself that I was losing my opportunity,
at what might be the turning point of my life, and all to flatter
nothing more important than my own self-esteem! There was only time to
call him back first, and to think afterwards. I suspect I am one of the
rashest of existing men. I called him back--and then I said to myself,
"Now there is no help for it. I must tell him the truth!"

He retraced his steps directly. I advanced along the road to meet him.

"Mr. Jennings," I said. "I have not treated you quite fairly. My
interest in tracing Mr. Candy's lost recollection is not the interest of
recovering the Moonstone. A serious personal matter is at the bottom
of my visit to Yorkshire. I have but one excuse for not having dealt
frankly with you in this matter. It is more painful to me than I can
say, to mention to anybody what my position really is."

Ezra Jennings looked at me with the first appearance of embarrassment
which I had seen in him yet.

"I have no right, Mr. Blake, and no wish," he said, "to intrude myself
into your private affairs. Allow me to ask your pardon, on my side, for
having (most innocently) put you to a painful test."

"You have a perfect right," I rejoined, "to fix the terms on which you
feel justified in revealing what you heard at Mr. Candy's bedside. I
understand and respect the delicacy which influences you in this matter.
How can I expect to be taken into your confidence if I decline to
admit you into mine? You ought to know, and you shall know, why I am
interested