“My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. Well, if she survives the accident—as the blood, who styles himself Sir Cecil, fancies she may do—this ring will make my fortune by leading to the discovery of the chief parties concerned in this strange affair. " "Then you will stay!" she cried, clapping her hands joyfully, "for I'm sure he won't part with you. Maggot had disappeared. But for perfect satisfaction, he must take a peek into the bedroom. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. She chastised herself for thinking of her husband and lord as being weak.
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