"I have a faint
remembrance of an old lady by that name, and a pretty girl who was her
daughter. But as God is my judge, I never wronged her." Still there was
that expression of guilt, which did not escape the scrutinizing glance
of the inventor.
Marcus could have hunted up evidence to transfer the burden of the
imputed wrong to the memory of the dead Aurelius. But should he commit
this profanation of the grave--as he regarded it? The voice of brotherly
love--for he had tenderly loved his erring brother--said, "No." Would
any amount of proof satisfy the nervous, doubting man before him? He
feared not. Therefore Marcus Wilkeson did an act of awful solemnity, to
prove his innocence. And, because the doing of it thrilled his sensitive
soul, as if he had thrust himself into the terrible presence of the
Infinite, he weakly supposed that the most suspicious of men would
unhesitatingly believe him.
He stood up, turned his eyes to the ceiling, raised both hands, and
said, in a deep, trembling voice:
"May God strike me dead, if I am guilty of this offence, or any like it,
or of any thought of wrong toward your daughter.
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