"
Bartley drew back aghast. "Assassination!" he cried, and by a generous
impulse of horror he half fled from the tempter; but Monckton followed
him up and laid his hand upon his shoulder.
"Hush," said he, "you are getting too near that window; and it is open.
Let me see there's nobody inside."
He looked in. There was nobody. Grace was upstairs, but it did so happen
that she came into the room soon after.
"Nothing of the kind. Accident. Accidents will happen in mines, and
talking of luck, this mine was declared dangerous this very day."
"No, no," groaned Bartley, trembling in every limb, "it's a horrible
crime; I dare not risk it."
"It is but a risk. The alternative is certain. You will be indicted for
fraud by the Cliffords."
Bartley groaned.
"They'll live in your home, they'll revel in your money, while you wear a
cropped head--and a convict dress--in a stone cell at Portland."
"No, never!" screamed Bartley. "Man, man; you are tempting me to my
perdition!"
"I am saving you. Just consider--where is the risk? It is only an
accident, and who will suspect you? Men don't ruin their own mines.
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