“Yes, Harry,” she said, as she stood before him cold, and striving hard to master her emotion as a mute feeling of despair attacked her.
“And you’ll help me, won’t you?”
“Yes, Harry,” she said, in the same cold mechanical way.
“Let me have your chain and rings, and any other trinket that will fetch money. Must have something to live upon till this trouble has blown over. You see I am penniless, I am not a thief. I shall soon get right again, and you shall have all these things a dozen times over.” She suppressed a sigh. “Be quick then—there’s a good girl. I’ve no time to waste.”
Louise moved across the room to the drawers and took from the top a small rosewood box, which she placed upon the table. Then taking her watch from her waist, she was in the act of unfastening the chain, when there was the sound of a closing door below, and her father’s voice, sounding loud and excited, as it called her by name.
Chapter Twenty Eight.
In Defence of his Young.
“Louise! Where is Louise?” The step on the stairs sounded like that of a younger man; and as the door was tried, Harry had reached the window, from whence he was about to climb, when he fancied he saw some one below, and he hastily closed the casement, and drew back trembling. “Louise! open this door.”