I now with horror remembered that when I left the barn in the night I had forgot to take the key from my neck, and that it was still in my possession. With my eyes fixed on the ground, I remained silent. The question was angrily repeated.
'I have it,' I falteringly answered.
'Hand it over. We must see the contents of that box.'
I attempted to obey, but the key had slipped so low into my bosom that it had somehow got fixed in the ribbon belonging to my father's picture, and I trembled so violently that I could not disentangle it without drawing the picture entirely out, and holding it in my hand while I disengaged the key. The keen eye of the justice instantly caught it.
'What fine picture is that, set in gold and adorned with pearls?' said he. 'Hand it over, and let me look at it.'
'It is my father's picture,' I replied; 'it is my own property, and I will not part with it to anybody.'
'You must part with it to me,' said the justice. 'Hand it over immediately.'
I slipped it within my stays and spread my hands over my bosom, while I replied:
'It is my father's picture. It does not belong to anybody in the world but myself, and I will sooner die than part with it.'
'Take it from her, Johnson,' said the justice.