"Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. " "It was Blueskin," observed Jack. About noon, next day, he was able to move; and the gale having abated, he set out homewards with his little charge. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. It was too good to be true. The horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart. But, here they are.
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