“What did she say?”
“She! Oh, Harry. Tell me. I have waited. Something has happened. Tell me. You have told me nothing. You are not like the old Harry.”
“Tell me about the Nervina. What did she say? Charlotte, tell me everything. Am I so much different from the old Harry?”
She clutched at my arm fearfully; she looked into my eyes.
“Oh,” she said, “how can you say it? You haven't laughed once. You are melancholy; you are pale, drawn, haggard. You keep muttering. You are not the old Harry. Is it this Nervina? At first I thought she loved you; but she does not. She wanted to know all about you, and about our love. She was so interested. What is this danger?”
I didn't answer.
“You must tell me. This ring? She said that you must give it to me. What is it?” she insisted.
“Did she ask that? She told you to take the ring? My dear,” I asked, “if it were the ring and it were so sinister would I be a man to give it to my loved one?”
“It would not hurt me.”
But I would not. Something warned me. It was a ruse to get it out of my possession. The whole thing was haunting, weird, ghostly. Always I could hear Watson. I still had a small quota of courage and will-power. I clung steadfastly to my purpose.