A glance back at the sixteenth and seventeenth chapters of Betteredge's Narrative will show that there
really was a reason for my thus sparing myself, at a time when my fortitude had been already cruelly
tried. Twice over, the unhappy woman had made her last attempt to speak to me. And twice over, it had
been my misfortune (God knows how innocently!) to repel the advances she had made to me. On the
Friday night, as Betteredge truly describes it, she had found me alone at the billiard-table. Her manner
and language suggested to me--and would have suggested to any man, under the circumstances--that
she was about to confess a guilty knowledge of the disappearance of the Diamond. For her own sake,
I had purposely shown no special interest in what was coming; for her own sake, I had purposely looked
at the billiard-balls, instead of looking at her--and what had been the result? I had sent her away from
me, wounded to the heart! On the Saturday again--on the day when she must have foreseen--after what
Penelope had told her, that my departure was close at hand--the same fatality still pursued us. She had
once more attempted to meet me in the shrubbery walk, and she had found me there in company with
Betteredge and Sergeant Cuff. In her hearing, the Sergeant, with his own underhand object in view, had
appealed to my interest in Rosanna Spearman. Again for the poor creature's own sake, I had met the
police-officer with a flat denial, and had declared--loudly declared, so that she might hear me too--that
I felt 'no interest whatever in Rosanna Spearman.' At those words, solely designed to warn her against
attempting to gain my private ear, she had turned away and left the place: cautioned of her danger, as
I then believed; self-doomed to destruction, as I know now. From that point, I have already traced the
succession of events which led me to the astounding discovery at the quicksand. The retrospect is now
complete. I may leave the miserable story of Rosanna Spearman--to which, even at this distance of
time, I cannot revert without a pang of distress--to suggest for itself all that is here purposely left unsaid.
I may pass from the suicide at the Shivering Sand, with its strange and terrible influence on my present
position and future prospects, to interests which concern the living people of this narrative, and to events
which were already paving my way for the slow and toilsome journey from the darkness to the light.
1NOTE: by Franklin Blake.--The writer is entirely mistaken, poor creature. I never noticed her. My intention
was certainly to have taken a turn in the shrubbery. But, remembering at the same moment that my
aunt might wish to see me, after my return from the railway, I altered my mind, and went into the house.od
knows how innocently!) to repel the advances she had made to me. On the Friday night, as Betteredge
truly describes it, she had found me alone at the billiard-table. Her manner and language suggested to
me--and would have suggested to any man, under the circumstances--that she was about to confess
a guilty knowledge of the disappearance of the Diamond. For her own sake, I had purposely shown
no special interest in what was coming; for her own sake, I had purposely looked at the billiard-balls,
instead of looking at her--and what had been the result? I had sent her away from me, wounded to
the heart! On the Saturday again--on the day when she must have foreseen--after what Penelope had
told her, that my departure was close at hand--the same fatality still pursued us. She had once more
attempted to meet me in the shrubbery walk, and she had found me there in company with Betteredge
and Sergeant Cuff. In her hearing, the Sergeant, with his own underhand object in view, had appealed
to my interest in Rosanna Spearman. Again for the poor creature's own sake, I had met the police-
officer with a flat denial, and had declared--loudly declared, so that she might hear me too--that I felt 'no
interest whatever in Rosanna Spearman.' At those words, solely designed to warn her against attempting
to gain my private ear, she had turned away and left the place: cautioned of her danger, as I then believed; self-
doomed to destruction, as I know now. From that point, I have already traced the succession of events
which led me to the astounding discovery at the quicksand. The retrospect is now complete. I may leave
the miserable story of Rosanna Spearman--to which, even at this distance of time, I cannot revert without
a pang of distress--to suggest for itself all that is here purposely left unsaid. I may pass from the suicide
at the Shivering Sand, with its strange and terrible influence on my present position and future prospects,
to interests which concern the living people of this narrative, and to events which were already paving
my way for the slow and toilsome journey from the darkness to the light.