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“I suppose, Mr. ” “I wasn’t jesting,” said Capes, abruptly. Besides," added he, opening the shawl in which the infant was wrapped, and throwing the light of the candle full upon its sickly, but placid features, "it's sinful to repine while you've a child like this to comfort you. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. His face brightened at the sight of her, and he came toward her. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream.

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