He also told me that he had sold it to Lady Carwitchet more
than a year ago."
"It is a terrible position."
"It is. My co-trustee died lately. I have never dared to have another
appointed. I am bound to hand over the sapphire to my daughter on her
marriage, if her husband consents to take the name of Montanaro."
The bishop's face was ghastly pale, and the moisture started on his brow.
I racked my brain for some word of comfort.
"Miss Panton may never marry."
"But she will!" he shouted. "That is the blow that has been dealt me
to-day. My chaplain--actually, my chaplain--tells me that he is going out
as a temperance missionary to equatorial Africa, and has the assurance to
add that he believes my daughter is not indisposed to accompany him!" His
consummating wrath acted as a momentary stimulant. He sat upright, his
eyes flashing and his brow thunderous. I felt for that chaplain. Then he
collapsed miserably. "The sapphires will have to be produced, identified,
revalued. How shall I come out of it? Think of the disgrace, the ripping
up of old scandals! Even if I were to compound with Lady Carwitchet, the
sum she hinted at was too monstrous. She wants more than my money. Help
me, Mr. Acton! For the sake of your own family interests, help me!"
"I beg your pardon--family interests? I don't understand."
"If my daughter is childless, her next of kin is poor Marmaduke Panton,
who is dying at Cannes, not married, or likely to marry; and failing him,
your nephew, Sir Thomas Acton, succeeds.
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