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Updated: June 14, 2025
"D d old fool!" he muttered to himself angrily. "Hi, hansom, Scotland Yard, and drive like blazes! The game's getting exciting, at any rate," he added. "It was mine easy before that last move; now it's a blessed toss up which way it goes. Well, I'll back my luck. I rather reckon I stand to win still, if Miss Thurwell acts on the square."
Bernard Maddison had pleaded "not guilty," but had declined to say another word. "Anything there is to be said on my behalf," he remarked quietly, in answer to a question from the bench, "I will say myself to the jury before whom I presume you will send me." While the committal was being made out, Mr. Thurwell leaned over and whispered to him. "Helen sends her love.
The great artist who had just taken Sir Allan Beaumerville's place by her side was not one of these. "I am so glad that you are here to-day, Miss Thurwell," he said, holding her grey-gloved hand in his for a moment. "I have been looking for you everywhere." "That is very nice of you," she answered, smiling up at him. "Ah! but I didn't mean only for my own sake.
Together they stood and became subject to the subtle charm of their environment. It seemed to Helen Thurwell then that a change was creeping into her life. Impersonal thought had attained a new strength and a new sweetness. But at that time she had no knowledge of what it meant.
Ah, how good of you!" exclaimed Sir Allan, coming forward out of the shadow; "and you, too, Miss Helen. I am honored indeed. Morton, lights at once!" "We must not stay a moment," declared Lady Thurwell, shaking hands. "No, we won't sit down, thanks! You know why we've called? It's about the opera to-night. You got my note?"
Miss Helen promised us a little music, didn't she?" he added. "If you are ready, shall we go and remind her?" Sir Allan brought the conversation to an end with a shrug of his shoulders, and during the remainder of his stay Mr. Thurwell noticed that he carefully avoided any reopening of it. Evidently his guest has no taste for horrors.
They stood on the doorstep for a moment while the carriage, which had been driven a little way down the avenue to quiet the mettlesome horses, returned, and Mr. Thurwell spoke a few more encouraging words. "Jenkins has packed some things of mine, which may be useful to you, in a portmanteau," he said. "You will find it in the carriage, and also an ulster. Keep up your spirits, Maddison.
Thurwell, his light overcoat, hastily thrown over his evening clothes, still unremoved. She rose to her feet, and he saw the dim outline of her graceful figure, even a vision of her white, tear-stained face. "The truth has come out," he said gravely. "To-morrow Bernard will be free. The man who killed Sir Geoffrey Kynaston has confessed." "Confessed!" Helen repeated. "Where? To whom?"
I do not ask you to believe it. I only ask you to bring this painful interview to an end." "We will go," said Mr. Thurwell, suddenly advancing from the other end of the cell. "I am not your judge, Bernard Maddison, and it is not for me to hold you guilty. God shall pass His own judgment upon you. There is my hand. Dare you take it?"
"Yes, that is it," Helen answered quietly, but with deep intensity. "Can he be saved? Do you know anything? Can you help?" Mr. Benjamin Levy cleared his throat, and appeared to reflect for a moment or two. Then he turned towards Helen, and commenced speaking earnestly. "Look here, Miss Thurwell," he said, "your interest in this matter is, of course, a personal one.
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