The Hunted Outlaw - or, Donald Morrison, the Canadian Rob Roy by Anonymous
page 62 of 76 (81%)
page 62 of 76 (81%)
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We won't tell you what Minnie wore, nor how she got to Marsden, nor what fears she endured, lest the police, suspecting her as a stranger, should follow her, and discover Donald's whereabouts. Minnie reached Marsden in safety. It was in the afternoon. She had written a brief note to Donald, telling him that she was coming. The meeting took place in his father's house, the old people keeping guard, so as to be able to warn the fugitive should any stranger approach the house." "Donald!" "Minnie!" Then they shook hands. A mutual instinct caused them to shrink from endearments. Donald was brown, thin, and weary-looking. His pistols were in his pockets, and his rifle slung by his side. He had just come in from the woods. Minnie looked at him, and the calmness which she thought she had schooled herself to maintain deserted her. She burst into tears. "Oh! Donald, Donald," she cried, "why will you not end this? If you ever loved me, I beg of you to give yourself up, and stand your trial. Your friends will see that you get fair play. I never believed you guilty of murder. From what I can hear outside, nobody believes such a thing. That |
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