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"Miss Dallas, I know no more than you do; but he evidently desires to make a clean breast of this whole miserable business." "Very good," said Jen, calmly. "Then I shall say nothing to any one about your very curious behavior. I shall work hard to secure the condemnation of this scoundrel. You can do your best to save him. But against you, or for you, I shall not open my mouth. At the trial I shall expect an explanation." "How mean!" cried Patricia spiritedly. "Bruce hasn't even seen that study. What did he say about it?".

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He was half-clothed, pale as the white dress of Isabella Dallas, and evidently, from the wild look in his eyes and the quivering of his nether lip, badly scared. Stopping short a few paces from the door, he held up the lamp which he carried, to survey the astonishing scene before him. The sight of Jen tongue-tied and immovable, of Isabella weeping on her knees by the bedside, of the bed itself vacant of its dead occupant--all these things were calculated to shock even stronger nerves than those of David Sarby. Nevertheless, after a pause of sheer astonishment, he managed to stammer out a question: "Yes, yes," whispered the girl, stepping into the room. "I got out of my bedroom window and escaped from my mother and Dido. I want to see Maurice." "But she can't be very far away," said Jen, hopefully. "I saw her in Deanminster, and thought she had gone there with a message from you." Bruce flung the door wide..