"R. BARTLEY."
Whilst writing it his hand shook, and when it was written he would not
tear it out. He panted and quivered and was as pale as ashes, and said,
"No, no, it's a death-warrant; I can not;" and his trembling hand tried
to convey the note-book back to his pocket, but it fell from his shaking
fingers, and Monckton took it up and quietly tore the leaf out, and took
it across to Burnley, in spite of a feeble gesture the struggling wretch
made to detain him. He gave Ben the paper, and whispered, "Be off before
he changes his mind."
"You'll hear of an accident in the mine before the day is over," said
Burnley, and he went off without a grain of remorse under the double
stimulus of revenge and lucre.
"He'll do it," cried Monckton, triumphantly, "and Hope will end his days
in the Bartley mine."
* * * * *
These words were hardly out of his lips when Grace Hope walked out of the
house, pale, and with her eyes gleaming, and walked rapidly past them.
She had nothing on her head but a white handkerchief that was tied under
her chin.
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