Part 25 (1/2)
”Send the children away!” The words recalled that first day of sorrow--eight months before.
”Salome, I have lost the necklet set with emeralds, which really belongs to you. When we first settled in here, I looked over all my personal jewels, and everything was right. This afternoon, when I came in from the vicarage, I opened my large dressing-case to look for a ring I thought I would sell, and the necklet was gone! Salome, do you, _can_ you imagine the Pryors are dishonest?” Salome looked bewildered for a moment, and then the terrible suspicion, which was almost a certainty, flashed upon her. ”Salome, do you think the Pryors can have been dishonest? Do you think we are living in a den of thieves? There is no one but Stevens and the Pryors who ever go about the house. It must lie between them.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'Salome, I have lost the necklet set with emeralds.'”
_Page 208._]
”Mother!” exclaimed Salome, ”Stevens! How can you say so?”
”What _am_ I to say or think, Salome? The necklet is old-fas.h.i.+oned, but it is very valuable. They are fine emeralds, and, I daresay, worth sixty or seventy pounds. I was very foolish to keep it here; I ought to have sent it to your Uncle Loftus to put in his plate-chest, or to the bank.
Salome, have you nothing to advise or to say? Shall I question Stevens?”
Salome was taking the daffodils one by one from the basket, and did not speak for a moment.
”No, mother; do not question anybody yet; let us wait. It is so dreadful to suspect innocent people. Are you quite sure the necklet was in that large dressing-case? Have you looked through the little one?”
”Yes, over and over again. I know I am not mistaken. I was thinking of a ring which belonged to an uncle of mine which I do not value; and I thought if I sold it I might get a few pounds for the boys. Reginald would like to go to Westmoreland this Easter, and it is so hard to have no spare money. Raymond, too, wants five pounds,--so much, though I fear he is very extravagant.”
Salome started as her mother was speaking, for Raymond came in. It was Thursday, the day for the early closing of the offices in Harstone, and Mrs. Wilton said,--
”This has been a lovely afternoon. Where have you been?”
”I came in here about three o'clock and found everybody out, so I went off again. I thought you might have liked a drive, mother, and I could have hired a little trap for a trifle. Where had you flown to?”
”Only to the vicarage. How kind of you to think of me. Look at Salome's daffodils! But I have had a most unpleasant loss, Raymond,--do not mention it to the little ones or to Reginald. I have missed something of value out of my large jewel-box--that old gold necklet set with emeralds.”
”I thought that was Salome's,” Raymond said, taking up the newspaper, and sitting down with it on the sofa, soon appeared to be absorbed in it.
Salome went on quietly arranging her daffodils, and then as quietly left the room. She went upstairs to her mother's room, and then, after much thought and prayer, determined to speak at once to Raymond. For how could she doubt that he had taken the necklet? A shudder of pity and deep pain at this deed of her brother's thrilled through her. But it seemed all clear. The necklet was hers, and he had talked to her about it; and she had said, when he asked if it could be sold, ”I do not know if it would be right.” Then there arose before her the past six months, and the pains she had taken to cover her brother's sin. Had she been right to do this? Would it not have been better to have gone direct to her Uncle Loftus and confided in him?
Poor Salome! The same doubts and fears have at times beset us all; and the question is a hard one to answer. Desire to s.h.i.+eld those we love from exposure may not be the truest kindness to them, and yet loving hearts shrink from inflicting pain, especially when, as in Salome's case, the frank avowal of Raymond's sin must bring sorrow on his mother, already so heavily tried and burdened with grief and trouble.
But Salome was now determined to be brave, as far as Raymond himself was concerned; and that night, when her mother and Reginald had both gone to their rooms, she tapped gently at Raymond's door, and said,--
”Please let me in. I want to speak to you.”
The door was opened at once, and Raymond, looking straight at his sister, said,--
”Well, what is the matter?”
”Raymond,” Salome said, closing the door behind her and clasping her little hands tightly together, ”I am come to speak to you about my necklet set with emeralds.”
”You had better have up Pryor, and--”
He faltered, for Salome's clear, steadfast eyes were fixed on his face as if she could read his thoughts.
”Raymond, I believe you have taken my necklet out of mother's large dressing-case! Why did you do so by stealth and like a thief?”
”Come now, Salome--no insults. How dare you speak like that?”
”Raymond,” the brave girl went on, ”I am certain you took the necklet; and you must tell mother to-morrow morning, and not allow innocent people to be accused. What have you done with the money? Have you paid Mr. Percival? Raymond, I mean to be answered, and I shall wait here till you speak.”