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Updated: May 22, 2025
There was but one thing that day more beautiful to see than that fearless attempt to tackle; and that one thing was the leap high into the air that the Harwell left half made just in the nick of time, clearing the tackler, barely avoiding a fall, and again running free with the ball still safe!
My reply was probably inaudible, for he added, as he passed to his own seat: "I am afraid you are not well." I roused myself. "I am not ill." And, pulling the papers towards me, I began looking them over. But the words danced before my eyes, and I was obliged to give up all attempt at work for that night. "I fear I am unable to assist you this evening, Mr. Harwell.
A silence ensued which, like the darkness of Egypt, could be felt; then a great and terrible cry rang through the room, and a man's form, rushing from I knew not where, shot by me and fell at Mr. Gryce's feet shrieking out: "It is a lie! a lie! Mary Leavenworth is innocent as a babe unborn. I am the murderer of Mr. Leavenworth. It was Trueman Harwell. "Saint seducing gold." Romeo and Juliet.
The coroner, to whom his appearance one way or the other seemed to be a matter of no moment, addressed him immediately and without reserve: "Your name?" "James Trueman Harwell." "Your business?" "I have occupied the position of private secretary and amanuensis to Mr. Leavenworth for the past eight months." "You are the person who last saw Mr. Leavenworth alive, are you not?"
Clavering's face or form must; then, have been known to you. The mere fact of seeing a strange gentleman in the hall would have been insufficient to cause you astonishment, Mr. Harwell." He uneasily fingered the back of the chair before which he stood, but made no reply. "Sit down," I again urged, this time with a touch of command in my voice.
"A little one on the basement floor." "And where do the other members of the household sleep?" "Mostly on the third floor, sir; the ladies in the large back rooms, and Mr. Harwell in the little one in front. The girls sleep above." "There was no one on the same floor with Mr. Leavenworth?" "No, sir." "At what hour did you go to bed?" "Well, I should say about eleven."
But let us come as near to it as we can. The tune "Pisgah" has been standing long enough on "Jordan's stormy banks." Let it pass over and get out of the wet weather. Good-bye, "Antioch," "Harwell" and "Boylston." Good-bye till we meet in glory. But if the prescription of new tunes does not end congregational singing, I have another suggestion.
I heard him go up-stairs, felt the jar when his room door closed, and sat down to enjoy my solitude. But solitude in that room was unbearable. By the time Mr. Harwell again descended, I felt I could remain no longer, and, stepping into the hall, told him that if he had no objection I would accompany him for a short stroll. He bowed a stiff assent, and hastened before me down the stairs.
Joel bowled over an Amherst end who was foolish enough to get in the way and started down the field like an Indian warrior on the war path. The Harwell ends were a little in advance but off to the sides, and Joel sprinted hard and easily passed them both.
"No, sir." "You open Mr. Leavenworth's letters?" "I do." "Has there been anything in his correspondence of late calculated to throw any light upon this deed?" It actually seemed as if he never would answer. Was he simply pondering over his reply, or was the man turned to stone? "Mr. Harwell, did you hear the juryman?" inquired the coroner. "Yes, sir; I was thinking." "Very well, now answer."
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