oked again for that box
and ring and they--were gone!"

Kreutzer, pale, his forehead damp from perspiration of pure agony, as
truly sweat of pain as any ever beaded on the brow of an excruciated
prisoner upon the rack, looked at her with pleading eyes. "Gone!
Madame, you do not think--"

She smiled a bitter little smile. There was, also, just a touch of
triumph in it, such as small souls show when they are on the point of
proving to another, even though a stranger, that they have been wrong
in trusting someone, believing in some thing. "My dear sir," she said
slowly, not from unwillingness to speak but to give emphasis, "what
else can I think? No one but my son, myself and Anna had been near
that room--"

Kreutzer straightened up as one whose shoulders have been stooped for
the reception of a mighty load which, finally, has been fixed upon
them. "You have told him?"

"Not yet."

"Ah, that is lucky.... I beg your pardon, Madame, you have dropped
your handkerchief."

The handkerchief had fallen not less than a minute before, and,
instinctively, he had started forward, intending to restore it to her;
but by that time the situation had begun to be quite clear to him--ah,
deadly clear to him!--and, in a flash the strategy had come to him.
Knowing, then, that that dropped handkerchief would be essential to
its execution, he had let it lie.

Mrs. Vanderlyn turned carelessly to raise the handkerchief, and, as
she turned, he carried out his plan. Quick as a flash, he slipped the
box which held the ring, out of the bag and into his own pocket. When
she straightened up again, after having (with a flush, for he had
seemed exceedingly polite, before) recovered her own handkerchief, she
found him standing as he had stood, only, possibly, a little more
erect than he had been, with some addition of calm dignity to his
carriage, with a calmer look in his old eyes.

"Why is it lucky that I have not told him?" Mrs. Vanderlyn asked, now.
"Of course he'll have to know. Everyone must know."

It broke his self-control. "That--my little girl is--no, no, no!" he
faltered. "Ah, it is not true! She is not guilty!"

She tried to show a sympathetic smile, but in it there was little
actual sympathy. "Very natural that you should think so," she
admitted. "It came as a great shock--and a surprise--even to me. I had
thought she was unusually well-bred, refined." She sighed, as if the
world were rather hard on her, to fool her so in one sh