"What is it now?" he asked in a fearful voice. He stood by her side and gazed at the well, as though half expecting to see the cause of her alarm emerge from it.
"Oh, my bracelet," she cried in distress, "my poor mother's bracelet. I've dropped it down the well."
"Your bracelet!" repeated Benson, dully. "Your bracelet? The diamond one?"
"The one that was my mother's," said Olive. "Oh, we can get it back surely. We must have the water drained off."
"Your bracelet!" repeated Benson, stupidly.
"Jem," said the girl in terrified tones, "dear Jem, what is the matter?"
For the man she loved was standing regarding her with horror. The moon which touched it was not responsible for all the whiteness of the distorted face, and she shrank back in fear to the edge of the well. He saw her fear and by a mighty effort regained his composure and took her hand.
"Poor little girl," he murmured, "you frightened me. I was not looking when you cried, and I thought that you were slipping from my arms, down—down—"
His voice broke, and the girl throwing herself into his arms clung to him convulsively.
"There, there," said Benson, fondly, "don't cry, don't cry."