Mary Barton, ch. 20
She-she had deserved it all : but he was the victim,- he, the beloved. She could not conjecture, she could not even pause to think who had revealed, or how he had discovered her acquaintance with Harry Carson. It was but too clear, some way or another, he had learnt all; and what could he think of her? No hope of his loveoh, that she would give up, and be content: it was his life, his precious life, that was threatened. Then she tried to recall the particulars, which, when Mrs. Wilson had given them, had fallen but upon a deafened ear,-something about a gun, a quarrel, which she could not remember clearly. Oh, how terrible to think of his crime, his blood-guiltiness; he who had hitherto been so good, so noble, and now an assassin ! And then she shrank from him in thought : and then, with bitter remorse, clung more closely to his image with passionate self-upbraiding.