"Were you a younger man I would give you cause to remember your violence. Annette, speak the truth."
"I gave it to you, Basil," said Annette, slipping from her aunt's grasp, and putting her hand on Gilbert Bidaud's. "It is false to say he stole it. It belonged to me, and I could do what I pleased with it. I gave it to Basil, and he did not want to take it at first, but I made him."
She strove to wrench it from her uncle's hand, but it was easy for him to keep it from her.
"I will have it!" cried Annette. "I will, I will! It is Basil's, and you have no right to it."
"A storm in a teapot," said Gilbert Bidaud, who seldom lost his self-possession for longer than a moment, "Sister, you should apologise to the young gentleman. Take the precious gift."
But instead of handing it to Basil he threw it over the young man's head, and Newman Chaytor, who during the whole of this scene had been skulking, unseen, in the rear, and had heard every word of the conversation, caught it before it fell, and slunk off with it.
"I shall find it, Annette," said Basil. "Good-bye, once more. May your life be bright and happy!"
Those were the last words, and being uttered at the moment Newman Chaytor caught the locket and was slinking off, were heard and treasured by him.
The whole of that day Basil, assisted by Old Corrie and Chaytor, searched for the locket, of course unsuccessfully. He was in great distress at the loss; it seemed to be ominous of misfortune.