It was amid the jostling traffic of the booths that I found her; she
was standing before a stall devoted to the sale of gauds and finery,
but espying me she made off and I, intent on pursuit, was wriggling my
way through the crowd when rose a sudden cry of "Thieves! Robbery!
Stop thief!" Rough hands seized me and, checked thus rudely in full
career, I was swung around to confront a small, fierce-eyed fellow who
cursed and swore, hopped and flourished his fists under my nose in
very threatening and unpleasant manner.
"V'ere is it, ye young wagabone?" he demanded in shrill accents.
"V'ere is it? As fine a lady's lookin'-glass as ever vas, a genuine
hantique framed in solid silver an' worth its weight in gold. V'at ha'
ye done wi' it, you desp'rit, thievin' young willin', you?"
Now it was upon my lips to indignantly deny so vile an accusation, but
the words were arrested by a sudden, horrid thought, a dreadful
suspicion, for in this moment I remembered Diana had passed this way
very recently and, calling to mind the unfortunate predilection for
appropriating the goods of others which she had termed "prigging," I
knew a sudden shame on her account and therewith a sick fear lest she
be caught with the damning evidence of guilt upon her.
Thus, despite the fierce hands that grasped me and the bony knuckles
that obtruded themselves painfully into the nape of my neck, I stood
mute, profoundly unheedful of the little man's excited capering,
whirling fists and threats of condign punishment.
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