Miriam went on to the drawing-room. The Marquess was sitting in his usual deep chair, his hands folded on his knees, his head bowed; he looked as if he were asleep, but he was not; he was thinking, at that moment, of the half-tipsy son he had left in the dining-room, of the thin, bent figure of the old man who had suddenly reappeared on that morning months ago at Sutcombe House. What a terrible tangle it was; what a mockery that he should be sitting here at Thexford Hall, while the real owner was living in poverty in London! His thoughts were almost too bitter to be borne, and the so-called Marquess crouched in his chair and stifled a groan.

Thinking he was dozing, Miriam went straight to the piano and began to play. When she had finished the piece, she was startled—for she had been going over and over in her mind the scene in the smoking-room—by the grave voice of the Marquess saying,

"Thank you, Miriam. That was very beautiful." He paused a moment. "My wife used to play that; it is a favourite of mine. Please go on, if you are not tired."

She played a nocturne of Chopin; and he rose and stood at the fireplace, with his hands folded behind his back. As she turned and looked at him, he said, with a smile,

"That is a pretty pendant, Miriam. I think you have not many jewels, have you?"

She started, and turned her head away from him.

"Oh, I have quite enough," she said, with a laugh. "You must remember, Lord Sutcombe, that I am a poor clergyman's fourth daughter, and that I am not accustomed to much jewellery."

"You are my son's wife, my dear Miriam," he said, with a slight smile. "And a lady of your position has usually quite a quantity of jewellery. Personally, I do not attach much importance to the decrees of fashion, but I suppose that it is as well to comply with them. Has Percy ever by chance spoken to you of the family diamonds?"

The blood mantled in Miriam's face for a moment; then left it paler than before.

"No," she replied.

"Ah!" said the Marquess. "Of course, there are some. Indeed, there are a great many, and some of them are very beautiful, very valuable; in fact, I do not think I should exaggerate if I were to say that some of the stones are priceless; not only in a monetary sense, but because of their size and quality. There are, too, historic associations," he added, thoughtfully.

There was a pause; Miriam drooped over the piano, touching a note here and there softly.

"Yes, some of them are historic," resumed the Marquess meditatively. "There is a necklace which belonged to Madame du Barri, and another which Queen Elizabeth gave to one of her ladies-in-waiting. An ancestor of ours was a son of hers. I think the time has arrived when the jewels should, so to speak, be resurrected; that they should pass into your possession."

Miriam's heart beat fast; but the flush of gratification did not rise to her face, for she was thinking of the base, the nefarious uses to which her husband would put these historic jewels.

"Indeed, they almost belong to you by right," said the Marquess. "They have always gone with the title."

His voice grew gradually slower, and presently he stopped and looked straight before him, as if he had forgotten her presence. Indeed, he had done so; for as he spoke of the title, there rose suddenly, like a cinematograph film thrown on the screen, the bent figure, grey face and piercing eyes of the real owner of the title. Not for the first time, he, the false Marquess, was giving away that which belonged to the shabbily-dressed old man who had refused to accept the position which was his by right of inheritance. The pause was a momentary one only, and the Marquess went on,

"I am a widower; fortunately, Percy is married, and the family jewels really belong to you. You shall have them."

Miriam moistened her lips; her heart was beating thickly. As a woman, she desired the jewels; as a wife, she must obey Heyton.

"Oh, how good of you!" she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Indeed, it is more than kind of you, Lord Sutcombe. But—but I don't think I ought to accept them—now. They must be of very great value——"

"They are," he interjected, not complacently but with a sigh; for he recalled them as they shone on the neck and arms of his dead wife.

"And I feel as if they would be a great responsibility," Miriam continued. "Percy thinks of—of going abroad, of travelling for a time. Perhaps, when we come back and have settled down, you—you will be so good, so kind as to give them to me. I can't thank you enough."

Her voice broke; for weak and foolish as she was, she could not but think of the still weaker and more vicious man who had planned so base a use for the Sutcombe diamonds.

"Very well, my dear," he said, in a kindly voice. "We will leave them to their repose in the safe upstairs. I brought them down from the bank, intending to give them to you."

"Upstairs?" she said, in something like a whisper, a frightened whisper.

"Why, yes," he said, simply. "They are in the safe in the little room adjoining my bedroom. I have not seen them since my wife died," he added, with unconscious pathos.

Scarcely knowing why, a vague dread, a presentiment of evil stirred within Miriam's breast.

"Oh, ought they not to be sent back to the bank, Lord Sutcombe?" she said in a low voice.

"Perhaps they ought," he said, gravely. "You are thinking of burglars," he added, with a smile. "You need not be apprehensive; the safe is a remarkably good one; one of the best, I believe, and I carry the key about with me always. I have it on my watch-chain. I don't think the most modern and scientific burglar could break open the safe; at any rate, he could not do so without making a noise which someone in the house would hear. Oh, they are quite secure from burglars, believe me, Miriam."

"I am glad," she said, almost inaudibly. "Shall I play you something else."

"Do," he responded. "Where is Percy?"

"In the smoking-room, I believe," she replied.

He went to her and laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Percy is too fond of the smoking-room," he said, gravely. "Miriam, I do not wish to intrude—I have always held that no man has a right to interfere between his son and his wife. But—forgive me, Miriam—I am anxious about Percy. You, who are his wife, must have seen that—forgive me again—that he needs guidance. He is too fond of—what shall I say?—of pleasure, the sensation of the moment. I had hoped that his marriage would have wooed him from—from the self-indulgence to which he had yielded in early life. Miriam, I count a great deal upon your influence," he wound up lamely and with a deep sigh.

Her head bowed still lower over the keys, and she nodded.

"I know," she said. "I will do my best. But you know Percy!"

He sighed again. "Yes, I know," he assented. "There are certain weaknesses in most families which crop up, now and again, like ill-weeds, in some member; I fear that Percy—Don't cry, Miriam, we will hope for the best; and, as I say, I rely on you, I rely on you very much. You look tired, my child; it is time for your beauty sleep. I will go and find Percy."

She stretched out her hand with a sudden apprehension.

"No, don't!" she exclaimed, with a catch of her breath. "I mean, that I think he has gone to bed. He was very tired."

The Marquess nodded, as if he understood.

"Very well, my dear. Now go. But don't forget," he said, as he held her hand and kissed her on the forehead, "the diamonds are yours, whenever you would like to have them."

When she reached her room, Miriam sank into a chair and covered her eyes with her hands. She was weak and foolish, but she was not so weak and foolish as not to be touched by the kindness of the Marquess. She was glad that Percy had changed his mind about getting the diamonds, though she could not guess why he had done so. When the Marquess next offered them to her, she would refuse again to accept them until Percy had found some other way out of his difficulty. She knew that the diamonds were almost sacred in the eyes of the Marquess, not only because they were family heirlooms, but because his wife had worn them; and she shuddered at the idea of their falling into Percy's hands, the deceit and treachery which he contemplated.

She dismissed her maid when she heard Percy enter his dressing-room; she listened to his movements with a sense of uneasiness; he had already become indifferent to her, and a feeling of actual dislike of him was growing up within her. Presently the door between the two rooms opened and he looked in.

"Hallo! not in bed?" His voice was thick, as it always was at that hour of the night; but he spoke with affected lightness and smiled. "You and the old man been having a palaver, haven't you? Did he say anything about—the diamonds?" he added, casually.

"Yes," she said, without turning her head from the glass. "He offered them to me; but I refused them, as you told me to do."

He had been fumbling at his collar, but as she spoke, his hand fell to his side and he looked straight before him, with a curious expression on his face.

"That's right," he said, after awhile. "It wouldn't have done to have seemed too anxious for them, greedy. He'll think all the better of you. Let 'em lie at the bank a little longer, till we come back from the Continent."

"They're not at the bank; they're in the safe in Lord Sutcombe's dressing-room," she said, unthinkingly. Her eyes were still averted from him, and she did not see the sudden change in his face; it had grown absolutely white.

"Oh!" he said indifferently, too indifferently. "In the safe upstairs, are they? Then he meant giving them to you? Well, they're all right there. Don't you take them: I mean, put him off. Look here, I've thought of another way out of the mess I'm in, Miriam. After all, it would have been playing it rather low down to pop the things, to play tricks with them; they're the family diamonds, you know."

"Yes; your mother wore them," said Miriam in a low voice. "I'm glad you don't—want them, Percy."

"That's all right," he said, with a forced laugh. "Don't you worry yourself."

He closed the door and sank into a chair in his dressing-room. He was shaking, as if with ague; for the little plan he had formed in the smoking-room was now rendered of no avail.

The little plan can be stated in a few words. There is a certain fascination in forgery; it is so beautifully easy; you have but to write another's man's name, copying that man's handwriting, and the trick is done. Percy had tried his hand at the game already, and they say that a horse that once stumbles is certain to fall again. He had intended forging an order on the bank for the delivery of the jewels: and now they were not in the bank but here in the house. Within a few yards of him were diamonds and other precious stones, the possession of which would save him from ruin. The sweat broke out on his face, his lips grew parched, and he tried to moisten them with a tongue that was almost as dry. He knew the safe well enough, knew that even a skilled burglar would find it difficult, if not impossible, to break into it. The diamonds were within his reach, with only the door of that safe between him and them. It would have been far better for his purpose, if they had been at the bank!

Cursing his luck, the miserable man went on with his undressing.