“It won’t,” answered Jane. “What do you care for a Protestant Bible? I must have your oath on the crucifix, before I believe it.” “The crucifix! But I haven’t got a crucifix!” “Where is the gold one you used to plot mischief over on your knees?” questioned Jane, sneeringly. “The gold one? The gold crucifix? Oh! yes, that is in that box, with all the other jewels. It wasn’t safe here, you know!” answered the old woman, clutching her fingers more tightly around her treasure, “so you see I can’t swear on the crucifix; but I’ll do it on anything else you like!” Jane had watched the sly movement of the old woman’s hand, with all the sharp suspicion natural to her character. Without a word of reply, she drew close to the bed, seized the old woman’s wrist, and drew forth the skeleton hand still clutched upon the crucifix. “Miserable old liar, what is this?” she cried, shaking the poor hand till the crucifix fell from its clutch. “I don’t know,” answered the old woman, cowering down in the bed. “It’s my religion. It’s my all in all. Don’t touch it.” “Bother!” exclaimed Jane, brutally seizing upon the crucifix and holding it up. “Now swear on this, that you have put the gold and jewels in the bank, and I’ll believe it. Come, sit up and swear. I’ll hold it to your lips.” “No, no. It’s not allowed to swear about worldly matters on that. Give me anything else, and I’ll do it,” cried Madame, snatching at the crucifix. “This, or nothing,” was the stern reply. “Give me my crucifix. Oh! lay it down. Give me my crucifix!” almost shrieked the old woman, with wild terror in her eyes, as she saw Jane walking backward toward the door, carry off her treasure. “No, no, I’m going to try what it can do; you have prayed to it for bread that didn’t come. I’ll set it to work. See if I don’t get something to eat out of it.” “Something to eat?” cried Madame De Marke, “what! my crucifix! Where are you going?” “To my uncle’s!” “You have no uncle. It will be lost, bring it back. I have a shilling in the pocket of my dress—you shall have that, only give back the holy crucifix.” “A shilling, indeed. My uncle will give me ten times the money if I spout it handsomely—but don’t fret, I’ll bring you the ticket, on honor, and you can buy back your religion with some of the gold when it comes from the bank. Keep cool, old lady, it’s my turn now.” “But you will not carry off my crucifix!” screamed the old woman. “Won’t I?” replied Jane, with a taunting laugh, “won’t I? It may save you, but you can’t save it: here goes, my fine old lady.” Jane Kelly turned back to utter the last tormenting words, and left the old woman in a pitiable state of distress.