"It is", seplied Winifred; "have you brought any tidings of Thames Darrell!" "Troth have I!" replied Terence: "but, bless your angilic face, how did you contrive to guess that?" "Is he well?—is he safe?—is he coming back," cried the little girl, disregarding the question. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family.
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