"Hush! don't talk so loud. If you have any pity in your nature,
give me back, I entreat of you, that gold ingot which my father
gave you this evening."
"Great heaven!" said I, "can it be possible that so fair a woman
can be such a mercenary, shameless wretch?"
"Ah! you know not--I cannot tell you! Do not judge me harshly. I
call God to witness that I am not what you deem me. Some day or
other you will know. But," she added, interrupting herself, "the
ingot--where is it? I must have it. My life depends on your
giving it to me."
"Take it, impostor!" I cried, placing it in her hand, that closed
on it with a horrible eagerness. "I never intended to keep it.
Gold made under the same roof that covers such as you must be
accursed."
So saying, heedless of the nervous effort she made to detain me, I
stumbled down the stairs and walked hastily home.
The next morning, while I was in my office, smoking my matutinal
cigar, and speculating over the singular character of my
acquaintances of last night, the door opened, and Marion Blakelock
entered. She had the same look of terror that I had observed the
evening before, and she panted as if she had been running fast.
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