He walked to his desk, unlocked it, and held out the diamonds. "You shall have what you ask," he said; "because you ask it; but never tell any one, Mrs. Thorpe, for I am ashamed of being such a fool."
Then, as she gave a little cry of joy, his fingers closed again on the locket.
"Margaret, Margaret! is his life worth a kiss?" he said. "You shall give me that for it. Ah, God! What a brute I am!" as she shrank back terrified. "There, take it—and go—go quickly." He threw the locket on the table, and turned his back on her. "It may as well still be something for nothing; for, where you are concerned, it always has been," he said. "No; don't stop to thank me. You'd better not. The blessedness of giving isn't at all in my line, you know, and if you stay I shall repent."
And Meg went quickly, with the diamonds in her hand.
The trial ended on the Monday; but the last act of the drama was not so dramatic as had been expected. A rumour had, somehow, got about as to the finding of the jewels. It had been whispered that George Sauls was going to enter the witness box again, and startle every one with a grand coup de théâtre. But nothing of the sort happened. No additional evidence was forthcoming. The judge, in summing up, pointed to the fact of the prosecutor's pockets having been rifled, as indicating that greed, rather than vengeance, had prompted the crime. The prisoner's character for probity was unimpeachable. The doctor's evidence showed that the blow had been given by a sharp-edged instrument. The prisoner had had nothing in his hand when he encountered Mr. Sauls on the marsh by the pool. It had been said that the accused was of a naturally passionate disposition, and that a "violent impulse" might have assailed him, such as had possessed him sixteen years before in the churchyard; but, apparently, he had shown considerable self-control in the interview that had been described. If he was guilty, he was guilty of a deliberate and premeditated assault, and the weapon with which the assault was committed must have been concealed about his person when he came up to the prosecutor. It was a crime apparently at variance with the whole tenor of his life. It was not the sudden yielding to temptation of a passionate and sorely provoked man, but a cowardly and cunningly planned attempt at murder. If Barnabas Thorpe was not guilty the case remained shrouded in mystery. There was absolutely no clue to guide to the discovery of the offender.
The jury were absent half an hour, and returned a verdict for the prisoner. The diamonds that George Sauls had been robbed of were resting safely on Margaret Thorpe's neck, and she kept pressing her hand over them during the judge's summing up. She had not dared to leave them behind her. George Sauls guessed where they were, and laughed rather sardonically to himself as he reflected that "the clue" was not far off.
Well! he gave the "case" as well as the diamonds. He had given Meg a good deal from first to last; and, though he wasn't aware of the fact, he was no loser, seeing that no man can give of his best and yet receive nothing.
Barnabas Thorpe looked immensely surprised when he found himself free. "Do ye mean to say that that's all?" he said. "That I may go where I like? Hasn't Mr. Sauls any more to say? But I know he has."
He did not seem to realise his liberty, even when Tom seized him by the shoulders.