“No, indeed; it is very evident that he knows too much about the jewels, while we know too little. But how are we going to get out of this abominable muss, anyhow?” and Isabel looked miserably anxious.
“Keep her in there until she gives up the box and promises secrecy,” returned her mother, with a significant nod at the veiled door.
“Well, suppose she will not yield at all?”
“She must sleep, at all events; and, if we cannot catch her in a natural sleep, there are things that will make her unconscious, and then we can take the jewels away from her,” was the whispered reply.
“But she will be missed, meanwhile.”
“Well, we must wonder with the rest what has become of her. I am confident no one saw her come in here, and so no one will suspect us in the matter. I tell you, Isabel, we have a desperate game to play now, or you will lose Sir Charles. Those jewels we must have, for their absence will occasion endless inquiry and remark. If she won’t yield, we must keep her shut up until after the wedding. When that is over, and you are sure of your position, I do not care what becomes of them or her,” the proud woman whispered, in concentrated tones, and with a desperate and reckless air that almost frightened her daughter.
“Mamma, would you dare keep her in there so long?”
“Yes, I will dare anything, rather than that all your bright prospects should be sacrificed. Just so sure as we let her out, she will reveal everything, and we shall be ruined.”
“But you know we are all to go to Paris next week to be gone a fortnight, and attend to my trousseau.”
“I know it was so arranged, but you and Lady Randal will have to go—I shall be ill, and not able to go; then I can easily look after our prisoner, and no one will be the wiser for it.”