Mildred looked at the ominous wares with dilated eyes, and for a moment was speechless with astonishment and terror.

“Your words and deeds are a trifle discordant,” began the woman, in cold satire, “but your manner is more in keeping.”

“I know nothing about that lace,” Mildred exclaimed passionately.  “This is a plot against—­”

“Oh, nonsense!” interrupted the woman harshly.  “Here, officer,” she continued, opening the door, “take your prisoner.  These goods were found upon her person, concealed within the lining of her cloak,” and she showed him where the lace had been discovered.

“A mighty clear case,” was his grinning reply; “still you must be ready to testify to-morrow, unless the girl pleads guilty, which will be her best course.”

“What are you going to do with me?” asked Mildred, in a hoarse whisper.

“Oh, nothing uncommon, miss—­only what is always done under such circumstances.  We’ll give you free lodgings to-night, and time to think a bit over your evil ways.”

One of the seniors of the firm, who had drawn near to the door and had heard the result of the search, now said, with much indignation, and in a tone that all present could hear, “Officer, remove your prisoner, and show no leniency.  Let the law take its full course, for we intend to stamp out all dishonesty from our establishment, most thoroughly.”

“Come,” said the policeman, roughly laying his hand on the shoulder of the almost paralyzed girl.

“Where?” she gasped.

“Why, to the station-house, of course,” he answered impatiently.

“Oh, you can’t mean that.”

“Come, come, no nonsense, no airs.  You knew well enough that the station-house and jail were at the end of the road you were travelling.  People always get found out, sooner or later.  If you make me trouble in arresting you, it will go all the harder with you.”

“Can’t I—­can’t I send word to my friends?”

“No, indeed, not now.  Your pals must appear in court to-morrow.”

She looked appealingly around, and on every face within the circle of light saw only aversion and anger, while the cruel, mocking eyes of the man whose coarse advances she had so stingingly resented were almost fiendish in their exultation.

“It’s of no use,” she muttered bitterly.  “It seems as if all the world, and God Himself, were against me,” and giving way to a despairing apathy she followed the officer out of the store—­out into the glaring lamplight of the street, out into the wild March storm that swept her along toward prison.  To her morbid mind the sleet-lad en gale seemed in league with all the other malign influences that were hurrying her on to shame and ruin.

“Hi, there!  Look where you are going,” thundered the policeman to a passenger who was breasting the storm, with his umbrella pointed at an angle that threatened the officer’s eye.