"So help me God, I will not!" returned Helen, looking up.
Leopold rose, and again stood quietly before her, but again with downbent head, like a prisoner about to receive sentence.
"Do you mean what you said a moment since—that the police are in search of you?" asked Helen, with forced calmness.
"They must be. They must have been after me for days—I don't know how many. They will be here soon. I can't think how I have escaped them so long. Hark! Isn't that a noise at the street-door?—No, no.—There's a shadow on the curtains!—No! it's my eyes; they've cheated me a thousand times. Helen! I did not try to hide her; they must have found her long ago."
"My God!" cried Helen; but checked the scream that sought to follow the cry.
"There was an old shaft near," he went on, hurriedly. "If I had thrown her down that, they would never have found her, for there must be choke-damp at the bottom of it enough to kill a thousand of them. But I could not bear the thought of sending the lovely thing down there—even to save my life."
He was growing wild again; but the horror had again laid hold upon
Helen, and she stood speechless, staring at him.
"Hide me—hide me, Helen!" he pleaded. "Perhaps you think I am mad. Would to God I were! Sometimes I think I must be. But this I tell you is no madman's fancy. If you take it for that, you will bring me to the gallows. So, if you will see me hanged,——"
He sat down and folded his arms.
"Hush! Poldie, hush!" cried Helen, in an agonized whisper. "I am only thinking what I can best do. I cannot hide you here, for if my aunt knew, she would betray you by her terrors; and if she did not know, and those men came, she would help them to search every corner of the house. Otherwise there might be a chance."