While this was going on, I heard dear Mr. Godfrey still gently
remonstrating.
"You must not appear publicly in such a thing as this," he said. "YOUR
reputation, dearest Rachel, is something too pure and too sacred to be
trifled with."
"MY reputation!" She burst out laughing. "Why, I am accused, Godfrey, as
well as you. The best detective officer in England declares that I have
stolen my own Diamond. Ask him what he thinks--and he will tell you that
I have pledged the Moonstone to pay my private debts!" She stopped, ran
across the room--and fell on her knees at her mother's feet. "Oh mamma!
mamma! mamma! I must be mad--mustn't I?--not to own the truth NOW?" She
was too vehement to notice her mother's condition--she was on her feet
again, and back with Mr. Godfrey, in an instant. "I won't let you--I
won't let any innocent man--be accused and disgraced through my fault.
If you won't take me before the magistrate, draw out a declaration of
your innocence on paper, and I will sign it. Do as I tell you, Godfrey,
or I'll write it to the newspapers I'll go out, and cry it in the
streets!"
We will not say this was the language of remorse--we will say it was the
language of hysterics.
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