CHAPTER III. He was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. She entered quietly and padded up to her shared bedroom. Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. “Well, well, Martin. “What’s that young lady’s name—girl in dark brown, stranger here?” Mr. "A man!" "At your service, my dear," replied the jailer. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. "Auntie?" he cried. Brendon.
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