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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"Thomas Wingfold, Curate V1"


"Do you mean what you said a moment since--that the police are in
search of you?" asked Helen, with forced calmness.
"They must be. They must have been after me for days--I don't know
how many. They will be here soon. I can't think how I have escaped
them so long. Hark! Isn't that a noise at the street-door?--No,
no.--There's a shadow on the curtains!--No! it's my eyes; they've
cheated me a thousand times. Helen! I did not try to hide her; they
must have found her long ago."
"My God!" cried Helen; but checked the scream that sought to follow
the cry.
"There was an old shaft near," he went on, hurriedly. "If I had
thrown her down that, they would never have found her, for there
must be choke-damp at the bottom of it enough to kill a thousand of
them. But I could not bear the thought of sending the lovely thing
down there--even to save my life."
He was growing wild again; but the horror had again laid hold upon
Helen, and she stood speechless, staring at him.
"Hide me--hide me, Helen!" he pleaded. "Perhaps you think I am mad.
Would to God I were! Sometimes I think I must be. But this I tell
you is no madman's fancy. If you take it for that, you will bring me
to the gallows.


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