Phœbe was silent. She sat staring helplessly at her tormentor.
“A liar and a thief! You’ll spend your life in prison for this, Phœbe Daring, unless you come to your senses and return my money.”
Phœbe answered not a word. There was nothing to be said. Elaine waited impatiently. Don was calling loudly for Phœbe from some of the lower rooms. Perhaps he would come here in a few minutes.
“See here,” said the housekeeper, suddenly, “I’ll give you till to-morrow—at noon—to bring me that money. Unless I get it—every penny, mind you—I’ll send the constable for you and have you arrested and jailed.”
With this threat she walked into her own room, closing and securing the door after her. Phœbe sat in a stupor. Her mind refused to dwell upon this amazing discovery. She was glad Don had ceased calling to her and vaguely wondered what he had wanted. The stockings must be darned; but really there was no hurry about it; they would not be needed for a day or two.
A sharp blow upon the door startled her out of this rambling reverie. Elaine was driving nails. Viciously she pounded them into the door with her hammer, utterly regardless of the certainty of disturbing Gran’pa Eliot. She intended to assure herself that Phœbe would be unable to get at the hidden treasure again.
And now the full horror of the situation burst upon the girl’s mental vision, making her cringe and wince as if in bodily pain. Jail! Jail for helping Phil! Well, it was far better that she should suffer than her twin—a boy whose honor was all in all to him. She would try to be brave and pay the penalty for Phil’s salvation unflinchingly.
For a while the poor girl sat cowering in the depths of despair. What could she do? where could she turn for help? Then a sudden thought came to her like an inspiration. Judge Ferguson had once made her promise to come to him if she was in any trouble. Of course. Judge Ferguson was her father’s old friend. She would see him at once, and perhaps he would be able to advise her in this grave emergency.