gure spoke, and she started horribly at the sound of the whispered words.
"I don't want to commit murder, but if you move or attempt to wake him, I must shoot you both first, and myself afterwards."
Lady Kenilworth's heart gave a great throb-but this time of relief. There was a queer sound like badly-suppressed tears in the desperado's voice, and she recognized that the burglar's accents were not those of the New Cut or of Whitechapel.
A boyish, intent face, with parted lips and staring eyes, came back in vivid vision to her, just as she had seen it only a few hours before, and with the realisation of all this rash act involved, a wave of infinite regret swept over her sensitive heart. It was her fault; this was her crime; he was merely sinning from the stress of the circumstances into which she had helped to plunge him.
"Your hushand won't wake--easily," the words came halting and half articulated. "If you promise to give me what I came for, I'll not harm either of you."
A desperate young man faces ruin at the turn of a wheel and a woman finds charity in this touching short story.
A century old short story of morals, understanding, forgiveness, restitution and redemption. A pleasant read. 3.5 Stars
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