Claire, as Harold began:
'I cannot tell you now--I must not? but by and by perhaps I can. They
were handed to me to keep by some one, just for a little while. I cannot
tell you who it was. I think I would die sooner than do it. Certainly I
would rather go to prison, as Peterkin wishes me to.'
There was a thoughtful, perplexed look on the judge's face as he said:
'This is very strange, Harold, that you cannot tell who gave them to
you, and with some people will be construed against you.'
'Yes, I know it; but I would rather bear it than have that person's name
brought in question,' was Harold's reply.
'Do you think that person took them?' the judge asked.
'No, a thousand times, no!' and Harold leaped to his feet and began to
pace the floor hurriedly. 'They never took them, never; I'd swear to
that with my life. Don't talk any more about it, please; I can't bear
it. I have gone through so much to-day, and last night I never slept a
wink. Oh, I am so tired!' and with a groan he threw himself again upon
the couch, and, closing his eyes, dropped almost instantly into a heavy
slumber, from which the judge did not rouse him until after dinner, when
he ordered some refreshments sent to his room, and himself awoke the
young man, whose face looked pinched, and white, and haggard, and who
could only swallow a cup of coffee and a part of a biscuit.
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