He walked to the window again with a shudder, and the sea still seemed to be all diamonds.
He could not bear it, but turned to his seat, into which he sank heavily, and covered his face with his hands.
Diamonds again—glistening diamonds, half a dozen of which, taken—why not borrowed for a time from the old woman who owed him so much, and would not pay? Just borrowed for the time, and paste substituted till fate smiled upon him, and his plans were carried out. How easy it would be. And she, old, helpless, would never know the difference—and it was to benefit his children.
“I cannot bear it,” he moaned; and then, “Barclay would do it for me. He is secret as the tomb. He never speaks. If he did, what reputations he could blast.”
So easy; the old woman took her opiate every night, and slept till morning. She would not miss the cross—yes, that would be the one—no, a bracelet better. She never wore that broad bracelet, Claire said, now she had realised that her arms were nothing but bone.
“Am I mad?” cried the old man, starting up again. “Yes, what is it?”
“Messenger from Mr Barclay, sir, to say he will call to-morrow at twelve, and he hopes you will be in.”
“Yes, yes, Isaac; say yes, I will be in,” said the wretched man, sinking back in his chair with the perspiration starting out all over his brow. And then, as he was left alone, “How am I to meet him? What am I to say?” he whispered. “Oh, it is too horrible to bear!”
Once more he started to his feet and walked to the window and looked out upon the sea.
Diamonds—glittering diamonds as far as eye could reach, and the Master of the Ceremonies, realising more and more the meaning of the word temptation, staggered away from the window with a groan.