A startled exclamation broke from her employer, as the lost necklace fell from her nerveless fingers.
"You—you the thief, Mrs. Medhurst? Oh, I could never have dreamed it possible!" said Margaret agitatedly. "You—who pretended such sympathy, and help! No wonder you said you believed you could find it." The last words were bitter in their reproach.
Mrs. Medhurst had somewhat recovered herself, although she clasped and unclasped her hands nervously. Then she stepped back a pace and drew herself up to her full height, and, forcing indignation into her voice, answered haughtily:
"I think you must be mad! How dare you accuse me of such things! I will send you out of my house at a moment's notice if you repeat here, or to anyone else, your absurd accusations."
Margaret was almost stunned by the answer; she felt herself falling into an awkward position, although the certainty still dwelt in her mind that in this superbly elegant woman before her she had discovered the thief she had been looking for.
"If you did not take the necklace, Mrs. Medhurst, can you tell me how it comes to be in your possession?" she asked quietly.
Meanwhile another figure had come softly up the stairs, and now stood in the doorway, a silent listener to the conversation.
"I can easily answer that question," answered Mrs. Medhurst, with a short, contemptuous laugh. "I went out into the garden a few moments ago to get a little cool air, it has been so stifling to-day, and as I walked down the drive I saw something which looked bright in the moonlight. I picked it up, and discovered it was your lost property. I meant to give it you in the morning; you had better take it now." With this she stooped and gathered the gemmed chain into her hands, and held it out to Margaret with a little cold smile.
Margaret took it with shaking fingers, the ready words of gratitude which would ordinarily have sprung from her heart at its restoration seemed frozen upon her lips. There was a moment's tense silence when each looked into the eyes of the other, and then, almost unconsciously, the glances of both, as if by intuition, turned towards the door.
There stood the master of the house, his face drawn and white, an expression of silent misery on his countenance, as he looked steadily at his wife. A start—and a smothered groan escaped her.