Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. “What ought she to do?” “Suppose you—” “Yes, suppose I—” He felt that his advice was being asked. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. Her thoughts were busy with the possibilities of this break in her journey. Most of their relics are in yonder cases; but I don't remember that any of them have disturbed my rest.
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