"But," I said, laying my hand on hers, and trying to speak as kindly as I could, although her whole behaviour would have been exceedingly repulsive but for her evidently great suffering, "you have now all but confessed taking something that did not belong to you. Why don't you summon courage and tell me all about it? I want to help you out of the trouble as easily as ever I can; but I can't if you don't tell me what you've got that isn't yours."
"I haven't got anything," she muttered.
"You had something, then, whatever may have become of it now."
She was again silent.
"What did you do with it?"
"Nothing."
I rose and took up my hat. She stretched out her hand, as if to lay hold of me, with a cry.
"Stop, stop. I'll tell you all about it. I lost it again. That's the worst of it. I got no good of it."
"What was it?"
"A sovereign," she said, with a groan. "And now I'm a thief, I suppose."