So, his servants said, and Sharp repeated the story to Arch with sundry variations and alterations suited to the case.  He had a persuasive tongue, and it is little wonder that the boy, hating his grandfather as he did, and resolved as he was upon revenging his father’s wrongs, should fall into the snare.  He wanted Mr. Trevlyn to suffer—­he did not care how.  If the loss of his diamonds would be to him a severer blow than any other, then let it fall.

Sharp used many specious arguments to induce Arch to become his accomplice in robbing the Trevlyn mansion, but the only one which had any weight was that he could thus revenge his father’s wrongs.

“Only assist me, and secure your revenge,” said the wily schemer, “and I will share the spoils with you.  There will be enough to enrich us both for life!”

Arch drew himself up proudly, a fiery red on his cheek, a dangerous gleam in his dark eye.

“I am no thief, sir!  I’d scorn to take a cent from that old man to use for my benefit!  I would not touch his diamonds if they lay here at my feet!  But if I can make him suffer anything like as my poor father suffered through him, then I am ready to turn robber—­yes, pickpocket, if you will!” he added, savagely.

Sharp appointed the night.  His plans were craftily laid.  Mr. Trevlyn, he had ascertained, would be absent on Thursday night; he had taken a little journey into the country for his health, and only the servants and his ward would sleep in the house.

Thursday night was dark and rainy.  At midnight Sharp and Arch stood before the house they were about to plunder.  No thought of shame or sin entered Archer Trevlyn’s heart; he did not seem to think he was about to disgrace himself for life; he thought only of Mr. Trevlyn’s dismay when he should return, to find the bulk of his riches swept away from him at one blow.

“He took all my father had,” he said, under his breath; “he would have sullied the fair fame of my mother; and if I could take from him everything but life, I would do it.”

Sharp, with a dexterous skill, removed the fastenings of a shutter, and then the window yielded readily to his touch.  He stepped inside; Arch followed.  All was quiet, save the heavy ticking of the old clock on the hall stairs.  Up the thickly carpeted stairway, along the corridor they passed, and Sharp stopped before a closed door.

“We must pass through one room before reaching that where the safe is which contains the treasure,” he said, in a whisper.  “It is possible that there may be some one sleeping in that room.  If so, leave them to me, that is all.”

He opened the door with one of a bunch of keys which he carried, and noiselessly entered.  The gas was turned down low, but a mellow radiance filled the place.  A bed stood in one corner, and Sharp advanced toward it.  The noise he had made, slight though it was, aroused the occupant, and, as she started up in affright, Arch met the soft, pleading eyes of Margie Harrison.  She spoke to him, not to Sharp.