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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"St. George and St. Michael Volume II"

I heard but thy last words; be not afraid of thy
secret. But what hath come to thee? Thou art white and thin, there
are tears on thy face, and it seems as thou wert not so glad to see
me as I thought thou wouldst have been. What is amiss? I hope thou
art not sick--but plainly thou art ill at ease! Go not yet after my
Molly, cousin, for truly we need thee here yet a while.'
'Would I might go to Molly, my lord!' said Dorothy. 'Molly would
believe me.'
'Thou need'st not go to Molly for that, cousin. I will believe thee.
Only tell me what thou wouldst have me believe, and I will believe
it. What! think'st thou I am not magician enough to know whom to
believe and whom not? Fye, fye, mistress! Thou, on thy part, wilt
not put faith in thy cousin Herbert!'
His kind words were to her as the voice of him that calleth for the
waters of the sea that he may pour them out on the face of the
earth. The poor girl burst into a passion of weeping, fell on her
knees before him, and holding up her clasped hands, cried out in a
voice of sob-choked agony--for she was not used to tears, and it
was to her a rending of the heart to weep--
'Save me, save me, my lord! I have no friend in the world who can
help me but thee.


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