Sheriff Stanyan did not gain an entrance until Mary had been concealed in a closet, but the frightened aspect of the little group in the room told the keen-eyed officer that he was on the right track.
“Where is the girl?” he demanded. “Oh, she need not think she can escape me. I saw her enter this house, and I will find her if we have to tear the old shell down. It is a fitting abode for such as you, and you may thank your stars that I am not after the whole of you.”
Mrs. Bayne tried to speak, but the words died away in a whisper, while Mrs. Little could only sob out her anguish.
At that moment Mr. Little, leaning heavily on his cane, entered the room. He had overheard enough to know what was causing the excitement, and facing the sheriff, he said, defiantly:
“Our daughter a thief! never, sir! Begone from these premises, and never darken——”
“So you dare to offer resistance?” cried the officer. “Nothing suits me better than to snap these handcuffs on your wrists, which, no doubt, have felt their like before.”
The women screamed, and Mr. Little, in his righteous indignation, ordered the sheriff to stand back. In the midst of the scene the door opened, and Mary stepped into the apartment, saying:
“Let them take me, father. It will be better so. I am not a thief, but it does not matter what they will do with me.”
Tears and cries of pain followed, but they availed nothing. Eager to finish his work, the officer took Mary Little by the arm and led her from the room, his associates covering his retreat.
“Don’t let them rob me of my child!” moaned the distracted mother; but her grief and her appeals fell on hearts of stone.