Do you mean the diamonds?' he asked.

'Yes,' she replied, 'the diamonds! the diamonds! Where are they?'

'Mrs. Tracy has them by this time,' Harold replied.

'Mrs. Tracy!' Jerrie exclaimed. 'What has she to do with them? They are
not hers. They are mine--they are mine! Bring them to me--bring them to
me.'

She was terribly excited, and for a time Harold bent all his energies to
soothe her, and at last when from sheer exhaustion she became quiet he
said to her:

'Jerrie, where did you find the diamonds?'

She looked at him curiously, but made no reply, and he continued:

'You must tell me where you found them: it is necessary I should know.'

Still she did not reply, but stared at him, as if not fully
comprehending what he meant.

'Jerrie,' he said again, 'do you love me?'

Quickly her eyes filled with tears, and she replied:

'Love you, Harold! Yes, more than you ever dreamed of; more than you
love me.'

Instantly Harold had his arms around her, for she had risen to a sitting
posture, and pillowing her head upon his breast, he said:

'No, darling, that is impossible, for I love you better than my life,'
and his lips pressed hers passionately. He felt that this was their
betrothal, for he did not take into consideration the state of her mind;
but she undeceived him quickly, for although she kissed him back, she
said, with a tinge of sarcasm in her voice:

'Aren't you afraid they will see you?'

'Who are they?' he asked, and she replied

'The people, and the Harvard boys and Maude.'

He did not know at all what she meant, but at the mention of Maude he
groaned involuntarily, as the white face came up before him again and
the eyes looked into his, fuller far of love and tenderness than those
confronting him so steadily, with no consciousness of his real meaning
in them.

'Those diamonds have caused me a great deal of trouble,' he began again,
'and will cause me more unless you tell me where you found them. Try and
think. Was it in the Tramp House?'

That started her at once, and she began to rave of the Tramp House, and
the rat-hole, and the table, and Peterkin, who dealt the blow. The
bruise on her head had not proved so serious as was at first feared, and
with her tangled hair falling over her face Harold had not noticed it.
But he looked at it now and questioned her of it, and asking if Peterkin
had struck her there.

'No,' she said, and began the senseless babbling of rat-holes, and
table-legs