"You must be mad, father!" exclaimed Harry, in blank amazement. "I know no thief!" "You know Richard Yorke, you wicked, wanton wench!" interrupted Trevethick, passionately. "And how could _he_ have heard of yonder box except through you? Of course you'll lie; a lie or two is nothing to one like you. But here's the proof. The padlock has been opened, the money taken. Who did it? Who could have done it, except him, or you?" "As I am a living woman, father, as I hope for heaven," answered Harry, earnestly, "I did not do it, and I do not know who did." "You didn't, and you don't! The thing's incredible. Reach here that Bible." He still held her by the wrist. "You shall swear that, and be damned forever! What! you never told that villain where my money lay?" "I did tell Mr. Yorke that, father. Pray, pray, be patient. It was long ago; we were talking together about I know not what, and it slipped from me that you kept money in a strong-box. That was all." "All," said the old man, bitterly, and flinging her arm away from him, the wrist all black and bruised with his angry clutch. "What more, or worse, could you have told than the one secret I had bid you keep? You told him the exact sum, too, I'll warrant? Two thousand pounds!" "Yes, father, I did. It was very wrong, and I was very sorry directly I had done it. But I knew the secret would be safe with a gentleman like Mr. Yorke." "A gentleman! A cheat, an impostor, a common rogue!" "Oh no, oh no, father!" "But I say 'yes.' To-morrow he will have the handcuffs on him! What! Have you tears for him, and none for me, you slut! Perhaps you _showed_ him where the box was kept, as well as told him! Did you, _did_ you?" There was something in Harry's frightened face that made her father rise and lock the door. "Speak low!" said he, in an awful voice; "you have something to tell me. Tell it."