His face had suddenly become pallid. He was pointing with a trembling finger at her throat.
“What?” she asked, drawing hastily back with a frightened look.
“That! That bow! Where did you get it?” he cried, starting up, and seizing her wrist in his excitement, while he eagerly scrutinized the innocent ornament.
“I do not know what you mean, uncle,” she exclaimed, drawing her wrist from his too severe gripe.
“It is a piece of the silk! of the stolen silk! I tell you,” he ejaculated, in strong excitement. “You may have the clew there to the robbery. Where did you get it?”
“The stolen silk! It cannot be!”
“It is. There is no doubt of it.”
This was a dreadful revelation. She sunk back in her chair, a deep pallor coming upon her face. A thousand fearful contingencies crossed her mind in that one dread minute.
“But you have not answered, Jennie.”
Nor did she yet answer. Her face grew even whiter. She covered it with her hands, with a shuddering motion that surprised and pained him.