Mr. Chilter gazed at the emerald ring that glowed and winked at him from the palm of my lord's hand. He looked up into the blue eyes and stammered a little.
"Indeed, sir—I—I—"
"'Tis honestly come by!" pleadingly. "Come, Mr. Chilter, you'll not hurt my feelings by refusing? You will keep it in remembrance of a man—a fat man, Mr. Chilter—who rudely jerked you on to the road?"
The clerk took it with unsteady fingers.
"I thank you most—"
"Nay, I beg of you. 'Tis I thank you for aiding me so kindly.... Come and see my Jenny! Well, lass?" For the mare at the first sound of his voice had turned in her loose-box, and was whinnying and pawing the ground eagerly.
"I do not understand, sir, anything: how it is that you are a highwayman, or why you have honoured me with your confidence—why you should trust me. But—thank you."
As he spoke, Mr. Chilter placed his hand in my lord's, and for the second time in his life, felt the pressure of those firm, kindly fingers.
"Why, your honour! Ye've lost your emerald!"
"No, Jim. I gave it away."