"Will the birds sing at sunrise?"
Nelly, I slept twelve long hours without a dream. It was four o'clock in
the afternoon of Monday when I awoke, and only then, I believe, from the
mesmeric influence of being gazed at. Eleanor! there is only one such
pair of eyes in all the world! George Manners was kneeling by my side.
Abraham was still sacrificing his son upon the wall, but my Isaac was
restored to me. I sat up and flung myself into his arms. It was long,
long before either of us could speak, and, oddly enough, one of the
first things he said was (twitching my cloak with the quaint curiosity
of a man very ignorant about feminine belongings), "My darling, you seem
sadly ill, but yet, Doralice, your sweet face does look so pretty in
these great furs."
* * * * *
My story is ended, Nelly, and my promise fulfilled. The rest you know.
How the detective, who left London before four o'clock that morning,
found the rusty knife that had been buried with the hand, and
apprehended Parker, who confessed his guilt. The wretched man said, that
being out on the fatal night about some sick cattle, he had met poor
Edmund by the low gate; that Edmund had begun, as usual, to taunt him;
that the opportunity of revenge was too strong, and he had murdered him.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60