I'm a haunted man, Andrew. I got up last night simply because
I couldn't sleep, and walked down as far as the paddock. I seemed to see
her face in all the shadowy corners, to see her moving towards me from
amongst the trees. And I'm not an imaginative person, Andrew, and I've
got no nerves. Look!"
He held out his hand, strong and firm and brown. It was as steady as a
rock.
"I can't sleep," he continued, "I can't rest. Is there witchcraft in
this thing, Andrew?"
Andrew Pelham laughed shortly. It was a laugh which had no kinship to
mirth.
"And I," he said, "have seen her grow up. We were boy and girl together.
I stole apples for her. I have watched her grow from girlhood into
womanhood. I have known flesh and blood, and you a cardboard image. I
too am a strong man, and I am helpless. I lie awake at night and I
think. It is as though the red flames of hell were curling up around me.
George, if she has come to any evil, whether I am blind or whether I can
see, I'll grope my way from country to country till my hand is upon the
throat of the beast who has harmed her."
The man's voice shook with passion. Duncombe was awed into silence.
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