“But—but—I didn’t do it,” began Brenda.
“Oh, poor Brenda!” said Penelope. “Why will you add to all the misery by telling lies? You know you did it. I will call Mademoiselle.”
She turned swiftly and left her sister standing in the middle of the room. The very instant this happened, Brenda flew up to the little ornament on the shelf on the over-mantel, took out the key, and opened the drawer. She laid her hand on the box on which she had written Fanchon’s name, opened it, and took out the false bangle. She was looking at it in a sort of stunned way, when Mademoiselle, accompanied by Mrs Dawson, came in.
“Ah!” said Mademoiselle, whose face was white with rage; for she never expected that Penelope would act as she had done. “You are the thief—convicted in the very act!” and she pointed with a finger of scorn at Brenda.
“You’re a nice young woman to have as a visitor in my respectable house!” said Mrs Dawson.
“Pauvre petite! She looks as if she could faint,” said Mademoiselle, who still did not give up hope of obtaining money and having the affair hushed up. “Why, will her own sister ruin her! The thing can be—oh, not spoken of, but put away in the most secret of the heart’s recesses—buried there for all time. A leetle—a very leetle money, will do this.”
“No,” said Penelope, turning and flashing her eyes upon her. “You tempted me last night, but I am thankful to say your temptation has not the smallest attraction for me any longer. I want you, and Mrs Dawson—if she likes—and Brenda to come back with me immediately to the Castle; and you, Mademoiselle, who so cleverly discovered the bangle, will receive your reward. But the bangle itself must be returned. Fetch it, please; for there is no time to lose.”
“Then you will,” said Mademoiselle, “with your own hands, send your only young sister to prison! Oh, the hardness of your heart!”
Penelope made no reply to that, but as she glanced at Brenda, who was absolutely silent—all the brilliant colour gone from her pretty face, the hand of age itself seeming to steal over her features—such a sharp pain went through the younger girl’s heart that, involuntarily, she put her hand to her brow as though to feel the weight of the crown of thorns. Whatever that actually signified, it seemed to comfort her and steady her resolves. She turned to Brenda, and said quickly: “Will you get ready at once, dear?” And Mademoiselle, seeing that she was defeated, went out of the room, and brought the bangle.
“I myself convey it to the Castle,” she said. “I will myself relate the story, and will claim that shabby reward which has been offered for the recovery of the lost treasure.”