The Argosy — page 366: what you’re looking at

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

The White Witch. 343 boldly added, sick of the fencing. ‘‘And even if it did, are you a detective officer ?” “No. But ——” “ Stay, Mr. Godfrey. Do you not know e She seemed to stop for breath: it was growing short. The moon- beams, broken slightly by the branches of a tree outside, fell on her face. How sweet and sad it looked! Do you not know that all women, young or old, may have little secrets, innocent enough generally, which are as sacred to them as the laws of their religion? Can you tell me what reason I could have for making you, against my own will, the high priest of my confi- dences? My mother has married your father. Does that give you a right to the key of my heart and conscience ?” *‘T pray you, hear me. Mr. Mayne has never asked for a journal of my inmost thoughts, never even taken the common precaution of sending some astute person about the country to find out whether I am not masquerading under false colours. But you have. Not content with suspecting, watching, tracking, you are beginning to per- secute me and to make my very life a burden to me.” She put her hand upon the window-sill, her slight frame shaking. Godfrey did not speak. “Yes, Now begin your cross-examination, for I must submit to it, I see. It would be absurd for me to try to stop you by calling your conduct mean and cowardly: on a man, who can behave as you are doing, such words can have no effect.” At that moment Godfrey thought he heard a sound behind them ; he turned his ear sharply to listen. She, not understanding his silence, tapped her fingers upon the window-sill impatiently. “Well, are you not going on?” cried she, in a reckless tone. * No criminal has to stand at the Bar all night.” You are partly making sport of this, Miss Dixon. To me it is anything but sport. I feel half ashamed to question you; and to explain to you what it is that has given rise to—to Sir William Hunt was telling us a tale this evening,” he rapidly went on; “and it took, I hardly know why, a strangely-curious hold upon me.” All her bravado vanished at once. ‘‘ What tale was it?” ** One which contained an implication so terrible that I—dare not repeat it.” *On me?” “ Heaven help me! I—don’t—know.” “Of what kind?” He answered without daring to look at her. ‘‘ Treachery. Con- nivance at—at a crime.” “What crime?” : “I cannot tell you,” he burst forth with emotion. “I feel as if I were going mad?” (EONNIE MOO KS (EO) m