“My dear child,” said Miss Crawford, laughing, “what are you afraid of? Do you think Henry will claim the necklace as mine, and fancy you did not come honestly by it? or are you imagining he would be too much flattered by seeing round your lovely throat an ornament which his money purchased three years ago, before he knew there was such a throat in the world? or perhaps”—looking archly—“you suspect a confederacy between us, that I am now doing this with his knowledge and at his desire?”

“I would not be surprised if it were indeed thus,” whispered Fanny.

“Come, prove me wrong,” said the vampire. “Show me your courage in taking it.”

Fanny blushed.

“Well, then,” replied Miss Crawford more seriously, “take the necklace, and say no more about it. It being a gift of my brother’s need not make any difference. Rest assured, it makes none for me. He is always giving me something or other. I have innumerable presents from him. I would rather part with it and see it in your possession than any other. Such a trifle.”

Fanny decided not to make any further opposition; and accepted the necklace again but without enthusiasm, for there was an inexplicable expression in Miss Crawford’s eyes.

It was impossible for Fanny to be insensible of Mr. Crawford’s change of manners. She had long seen it. He evidently tried to please her: he was gallant, attentive, as he had been to her cousins. He wanted, she supposed, to cheat her of her heart’s peace as he had cheated them. Whether he might have some ulterior motive in this necklace—she could not be convinced that he had not.

Reflecting upon this, she walked home, with new cares to weigh her down.

Chapter XXVII

On reaching home Fanny went immediately upstairs to deposit the unexpectedly acquired necklace in some favourite box in the East room, which held all her smaller treasures. But on opening the door, she was surprised to find her cousin Edmund there, writing at the table! Such a sight, having never occurred before, was wonderful and welcome.

“Fanny,” said he directly, leaving his seat and his pen, and meeting her with something in his hand, “I beg your pardon for being here. I came to look for you, and after waiting a little, started to leave a note. My business is merely to beg your acceptance of this little trifle—a chain for William’s cross. I have only just now received it at Northampton. I hope you will like the chain itself; it has the simplicity of your taste. Consider it a token of the love of one of your oldest friends.”

And so saying, he was hurrying away, before Fanny, overpowered by a thousand feelings of pain and pleasure, could speak. But she then called out, “Oh! cousin, stop a moment, pray stop!”

He turned back.