It was as if all life and hope had gone, leaving him nothing now to care for.

In his anxiety and worry about the diamonds Harold had scarcely given a thought to what Peterkin had said of Jerrie's refusal of Billy, for it seemed so improbable that the latter would presume to offer himself to her; but at sight of Billy's face it came back to him with a throb of pity for the man, and a thrill of joy for himself for whom Peterkin had said his son was rejected.
'Does Billy know of the diamonds, I wonder ?' he thought.
As if to answer the question in the negative, Billy came quickly forward, and offering his hand, bade Harold good-morning, and then motioning him to a seat, took one beside him, and began: 'I'm awful sorry, Hal, th-that you are mix-mixed up in th-this but I sup suppose you m-must t-tell the truth.' 'Yes, I must tell the truth, Harold said.' 'Fa-father will be so m-mad,' Billy continued.

'I wi-wish I could t-t-testify f-for you, bu-but I can't.

You were th-there, I wa-wan't, and all I know fa-father told me; bu-but d don't volunteer information.' 'No,' Harold said, slowly, wishing that the ocean were rolling between him and this detestable suit.
Once he resolved to go to Judge St.Claire, deliver up the diamonds, and tell him all he knew about them, but this would be bringing Jerrie into the matter, and so he changed his mind and wondered aimlessly about the town until it was time for him to appear at the court-house, where a crowd was gathering.

It was late before the suit known as _Wilson vs.
Peterkin_ was called, and later still when Harold took the stand.
White and trembling, so that both his hands and his knees were shaking visibly, he seemed more like a criminal than a witness, he was so agitated and pre-occupied, too, it would seem, for at first his answers were given at random, as if he hardly knew what he was saying; nor did he, for over and beyond the sea of long faces confronting him, Judge St.
Claire's wondering and curious--Billy's wondering, too--Wilson's disappointed and surprised, and Peterkin's threatening and exultant by turns--he saw only Jerrie coming to him in the lane and asking him to keep the diamonds for her--saw her, too, away back years ago up in the little low room, with her fever-stained cheeks and shorn head, talking the strangest things of prisons, and substitutes, and accessories, and assuring some one that she would never tell, and was going for him, if necessary.
Who was that man?
Where was he now?
and why had he imposed this terrible secret upon Jerrie?
These were the thoughts crowding through his brain while he was being questioned as to what he knew of the agreement between the plaintiff and defendant while in the office of the latter.