Why did the tones of her voice dwell on my ear all the way?
Why did my hand still feel the last cold, faint pressure of her fingers when I led her out of court?
I took a sudden resolution to go back to England.
When I returned to the farm, it was evening.

The lamp was not yet lighted in the hall.

Pausing to accustom my eyes to the obscurity indoors, I heard the voice of the lawyer whom we had employed for the defense speaking to some one very earnestly.
"I'm not to blame," said the voice.

"She snatched the paper out of my hand before I was aware of her." "Do you want it back ?" asked the voice of Miss Meadowcroft.
"No; it's only a copy.

If keeping it will help to quiet her, let her keep it by all means.