"I never interfere in any of my father's matters," she said, coldly: "he is quite right. If you know the thief, you should be forced to tell who it is."
Too dumb from anguish to realize the extreme audacity of the girl who could stand before her and so coolly make a speech like that, yet seeing that she had nothing to hope for in that quarter, Leonie turned away with a weary groan.
"I have nothing more to say," she exclaimed, dully. "I pray that you will spare me for my father's sake. Oh, dad, dad! you tried to save me from this but I would not let you. God help you and me!"
Regardless of their presence, or perhaps forgetful of it, the unhappy girl sunk upon the floor, and covering her white face with her hands rocked her body to and fro miserably.
Twice Leonard Chandler spoke to her, but she did not hear; then motioning the others from the room, he, too, passed out, and turning the key in the lock upon the outside, he left her there a prisoner.
[CHAPTER VI.]
The house had barely become quiet again than a noiseless step descended the stairs, a light hand turned the key in the door of the library, and Evelyn Chandler once more entered the presence of her sister.
"I have risked my father's displeasure to give you your liberty," said Miss Chandler, coldly. "If you are wise, you will leave here at once and forever. My father is a man whose justice is not tempered with mercy. I tell you frankly that if he can find you he will most certainly punish you as he has threatened to do."
"You mean that you would allow him to do that?" Leonie asked, her voice still unsteady almost to inarticulation.