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Updated: May 27, 2025
"No," with a start. "You have seen the weapon before?" "Yes." "You placed it into Bordine's house one night, where it was found by the officers, for the purpose of fixing that awful murder upon an innocent man. Do you deny that?" The outlaw was pallid and silent. "It is true, and you dare not deny it.
A white face, marked with the most intense suffering, was uplifted to the gaze of the young girl. "Are you August Bordine's wife?" Rose put the question hotly, so full of indignation as scarcely to contain herself in calmness. "His wife?" "Yes." "I am Andrew Barkswell's wife, I do not know the parson you mention." "Indeed! So he has more than one name, the infamous wretch!"
He came from August Bordine's room, bearing in his hand a small dressing-case, which he held up before the eyes of the widow. "Madam, who owns that?" "You don't, I can tell you that." "No. Is it yours?" "It belongs to August." "Your son?" "Yes, sir." "I thought so. And this is his, also?" With these words the officer opened the case and took therefrom a slender dagger.
That was the saddest moment of August Bordine's life. Not even when his own sister died six years before had he felt the solemn weight of sadness more deeply. Victoria had been his friend. She was not over-bright, yet she was kind and tender of heart.
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