The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 379: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

362 REYNOLDS’ WORKS It was not until a late hour in the afternoon that Mr. Denison arrived at Hawkshaw Hall, and in the meantime the clothes had been thoroughly cleansed and dried. When Mr. Denison was ushered into the parlour where the squire received him, he was much astonished at the look of pro- found sorrow, mingled with consternation and horror, which his friend wore; and this feeling was enhanced when he beheld a pistol, a cloak, trousers, a pair of boots, and a couple of stockings lying upon the table. ‘“ What has occurred, Hawkshaw? ”’ asked the old gentle- man, with a degree of nervous suspense. “The murder of the ballet-dancer and her servant-maid,” answered the squire, solemniv, “‘is no longer involved in mysterv.”’ ‘Indeed!’ ejaculated Denison, and he glanced toward the things on the table, suspecting that they were connected with the announcement just made to him, though, with the single exception of the pistol, he did not understand how they could possibly furnish links in the chain of evidence. ‘“ Yes,’ continued Hawkshaw, “it is from those articles which you are surveying that I have gleaned the damning truth. That pistol sent the unfortunate victims to the other world, and those were the garments worn by the murderer at the time. I understand it all, Denison. But, my God! what a blow for the relatives of the wretched assassin! ” ‘“ Speak, Hawkshaw!’ exclaimed Mr. Denison; ‘“ who is he? You evidently know him — ”’ ‘“ And you also, my dear friend,” added the squire, pro- foundly distressed. ‘‘ He is —”’ = Who: = ‘“ Lord Harold Staunton! ”’ Mr. Denison staggered as if smitten violently with a hammer. He became pale as death, and, sinking upon a seat, murmured, “‘ Heavens, the poor marquis and Florina! Lady Macdonald, too — it is frightful! ”’ ‘“ Frightful indeed! ” said Hawkshaw, and the two friends exchanged looks of indescribable horror. “But are you sure?” exclaimed Mr. Denison, catching at the hope that the squire might possibly be deceived. ‘Are you certain that you may not be mistaken? ” ‘’ No, my dear friend, the truth is indeed but too apparent. Listen and I will give you all requisite explanations. I con- CONNIE DOO KS (E(0)