Charles and Henry both were silent; in truth, they knew not what to think and the words uttered by Marchdale were too strikingly true to dispute for a moment. They were lost in wonder.

"Human means against such an appearance as we saw to-night," said Charles, "are evidently useless."

"My dear young friend," said Marchdale, with much emotion, as he grasped Henry Bannerworth's hand, and the tears stood in his eyes as he did so, — "my dear young friend, these constant alarms will kill you. They will drive you, and all whose happiness you hold dear, distracted. You must control these dreadful feelings, and there is but one chance that I can see of getting the better of these."





A Game of Questions by Lara Eckener

“What is that?”

“Is it to be a game of Questions, then?” Henry said.

“Would that be amenable to Mr. Marchdale?”

“It would be amenable to me,” Mr. Marchdale began, “if you were to leave this place and never return. I would hope it would be most amenable to you as well, Mr. Holland.”

“Statement and statement.” Henry held up his right hand, as it was closest to Charles, and held up two fingers. “Two - love.”

The look on Mr. Marchdale’s face, with its screwed up mouth and bulging eyes, telegraphed to Henry and Charles that he was in no way amenable to a game of questions. He seemed to realize rather quickly that he was helpless to both of them. He closed his eyes and counted to ten before he said, “Would you please leave this place, Mr. Holland, and never darken its door again?”

“Where am I to go?” Charles said.

“Why should you care where you go, if it takes you from such horrors as have surrounded you here?”

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