Hand and Ring quotes

“No, no—nothing to brag of. But the brutes are so clumsy—that is the word, clumsy. They don’t know how to cover up their tracks.”

“The smart ones don’t make tracks,”

interposed a rough voice near them, and a large, red-haired, slightly humpbacked man, who, from the looks of those about, was evidently a stranger in the place, shuffled forward from the pillar against which he had been leaning, and took up the thread of conversation.

… the something that lay behind that beauty was more incontestable still, and held you, in spite of yourself, long after you had become acquainted with the broad white brow, the clear, deep, changing gray eye, the straight but characteristic nose, and the ruddy, nervous lip.

You felt that, young and beautiful as she was, and charming as she might be, she was also one of nature’s unsolvable mysteries⁠—a woman whom you might study, obey, adore, but whom you could never hope to understand; a Sphinx without an oedipus.

She was dressed in dark green, and held her gloves in her hand. Her appearance was that of one who had been profoundly startled.

Orcutt and the young woman at his side drop apart from each other as though a dividing sword had passed between them.

“May the vengeance of Heaven light upon the head of him who has brought me to this pass,” were the words that now rose ringing and clear from that bed of death.

“May the fate that has come upon me be visited upon him, measure for measure, blow for blow, death for death.”

… would have seized with avidity upon the opportunity of hearing what she had to say on such a subject, and would not only have cajoled her into confidence, but encouraged her to talk until she had given utterance to all that was on her mind.

But in the stress of a feeling to which he was not anxious to give a name, he had forgotten that he was a detective, and remembered only that he was a man

; and the consequence was that he had frightened the old creature, and cut short words that it was possibly his business to hear. In the second place, he felt himself in a quandary as regarded Miss Dare.

at that last phrase she had grown so terribly white and breathless. But something in her manner, notwithstanding, seemed to encourage him to proceed, and smothering his doubts, trampling, as it were, upon his rising apprehensions, he calmed down his tone and went quietly on:

“Imogene, I love you.”

“Imogene, I want you for my wife. Will you listen to my prayer, and make my home forever happy with your presence?”

Imogene’s hand was on the door, but she turned back.

“I am not like other women,” she declared. “When I hear of anything strange or mysterious, I want to understand it. I did not stop to ask what people would think of my conduct.”

“But your grief and terror, Imogene? They are real, and not to be disguised. Look in the glass over there, and you will yourself see what an effect all this has had upon you. If Mrs. Clemmens is a stranger to you;

He resolved he would think of her no more in that or any other connection; that he would follow the example of her best friend, and give his doubts to the wind.

And yet such a burr is suspicion

, that he no sooner saw a young man approaching her with the evident intention of speaking, than he felt an irresistible desire to hear what she would have to say, and, led by this impulse, allowed himself to saunter nearer and nearer the pair, …

“And Gouverneur Hildreth? Any special gossip in regard to him?”

There are some noes that are equivalent to affirmations.

This was one of them. Naturally the coroner pressed the question.

… felt assured that the quiet watch he had interrupted by his careless importunity, had been again established, and that if he could tear down the partition separating their two rooms, he should see that bowed form and buried face crouched despairingly above the disfigured picture.

The depths of human misery and the maddening passions that underlie all crime had been revealed to him for the first time, perhaps, in all their terrible suggestiveness

, and he asked himself over and over as he tossed on his uneasy pillow, if he possessed the needful determination to carry on the scheme he had undertaken, in face of the unreasoning sympathies which the fathomless misery of this young man had aroused.

And for a moment not a sound was heard within or without the hut, save that low flutter of the disturbed leaves. “It is not to be,” she then whispered, with a return of her old calmness, that was worse than any shriek. “

Murder is not to be avenged thus.

” Then, shortly: “A dark and hideous line of blood is drawn between you and me, Craik Mansell. I cannot pass it, and you must not, forever and forever and forever.

“It is not to be,” she then whispered, with a return of her old calmness, that was worse than any shriek. “Murder is not to be avenged thus.” Then, shortly: “

A dark and hideous line of blood is drawn between you and me, Craik Mansell. I cannot pass it, and you must not, forever and forever and forever.

But that does not hinder me from wishing to help you, and so I ask, in all sincerity, What is it you want me to do for you today?”

“So I was,” the fellow good-naturedly allowed; “so I was.

The byways of a crime like this are dreadful dark and uncertain.

It isn’t strange that a fellow gets lost sometimes. But I got a jog on my elbow that sent me into the right path,” said he, “as, perhaps, you did too, sir, eh?”

But she cried with unmoved sternness, and a relentless crushing down of all emotion that was at once amazing and painful to see:

“The innocent is to be saved from the gallows, no matter what the fate of the guilty may be.”

And a short but agitated silence followed which Mr. Orcutt broke at last by saying:

“Helen!” The deep tone made the sympathetic little bride-elect quiver. “

Helen, some griefs are best borne alone.

Only a few hours now and I shall know the worst. Leave me.”

A petted child, the favorite of happy fortune, you have been kept from evil as from a blight. None of the annoyances of life have been allowed to enter your path, much less its griefs and sins.

Terror with you is but a name, remorse an unknown sensation.

Even your love has no depths in it such as suffering gives.

“Just so,” he cried.

“One’s imbecility has to stop somewhere.”

Then, as he saw Byrd look grave, added: “I haven’t a single fact at my command that isn’t shared by you. My conclusions are different, that is all.”

“How in the deuce could this man have known what I was whispering to you on the other side of the courtroom? Is he a wizard, this Orcutt?”

He forgot that a successful lawyer is always more or less of a wizard.

“I was on duty; I had a bird to look after.”

“Yes, a wild bird; one who is none too fond of its cage; a desperate one who might find means to force aside its bars and fly away.”

“What do you mean, Hickory? What nonsense is this?”

“You regret, then,” he said, “that you tossed my happiness away with a breath of your perjured lips?”

“I regret I did not tell the truth and trust God.”

At this answer, uttered with the simplicity of a penitent spirit, Mr. Orcutt unconsciously drew back.

Turning his face aside, Mr. Orcutt walked to the hearth and began kicking the burnt-out logs with his restless foot. As he did so, Imogene heard him mutter between his set teeth:

“It is almost enough to make one believe in a God!”

Struck, horrified, she glided anxiously to his side.

“You did not think this when you faced the court this morning with perjury on your lips,” came in slow, ironical tones from her companion.

“Heaven sometimes accepts a sacrifice,” she returned.

“But who will sacrifice himself for a man who could let the trial of one he knew to be innocent go on unhindered?”

She ended with a gasp. Mr. Orcutt, with a sudden movement, had laid his hand upon her lips.

“Hush!” he said, “let no curses issue from your mouth. The guilty can perish without that.”

Releasing herself from him in alarm, she drew back, her eyes slowly dilating as she noted the dead whiteness that had settled over his face, and taken even the hue of life from his nervously trembling lip.

He found the aspect unchanged. On the pillow the same white, immovable face; at the bedside the same constant and expectant watchers. Imogene especially seemed scarcely to have made a move in all the time of his absence.

Like a marble image watching over a form of clay she sat silent, breathless, intent⁠—a sight to draw all eyes and satisfy none

;

And merely stopping to cast one final look in the direction of the bed, she stumbled from the room. A few minutes later and she reached the front door; but only to fall against the lintel with the moan:

“My words are true, but who will ever believe them?”

“Pardon me,” exclaimed a bland and fatherly voice over her shoulder, “I am a man who can believe in anything. Put your confidence in me, Miss Dare, and we will see—we will see.”

“Pardon me,” exclaimed a bland and fatherly voice over her shoulder,

“I am a man who can believe in anything. Put your confidence in me, Miss Dare, and we will see⁠—we will see.”

Startled by her surprise into new life, she gave one glance at the gentleman who had followed her to the door. It was the same who had offered her his arm, and whom she supposed to have remained behind her in Mr. Orcutt’s room.

“What!” he suddenly exclaimed; “suspect a man of Mr. Orcutt’s abilities and standing of a hideous crime—the very crime, too, with which his client is charged, and in defence of whom he has brought all his skill to bear! The idea is preposterous, unheard of!”

“I acknowledge that,” dryly assented Mr. Gryce; “but it has been my experience to find that it is the preposterous things which happen.”

For a minute the prisoner stared at the speaker incredulously; then he cried:

All but the fact of her denouncing herself yesterday; that I cannot comprehend.”

“A woman in love can do anything,” quoth Mr. Gryce.

Then admonished by the flush of the prisoner’s cheek that he was treading on dangerous ground, he quickly added: “But she will explain all that herself some day. Let us hear what you have to tell me.”

Clemmens before she came to Sibley. To be sure, she had already been questioned by the coroner, but

Mr. Gryce was a man who had always found that the dryest well could be made to yield a drop or two more of water if the bucket was dropped by a dexterous hand.

He accordingly prepared himself for a trip to Utica.