I proceeded to Manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of Sir Montacute Trenchard. Probably he has something to say and can't say it, or he writes well about nothing. “Jacques is wounded and we are arrested by this imbecile of a sergeant. This lifeless appearance was heightened by the extreme sharpness of her features—especially the nose and chin,—and by the emaciation of her limbs, which was painfully distinct through her drapery. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. Such was the condition of his mind that the danger exhilarated rather than depressed him. But where in the world was the girl? A door led to another chamber beyond. His brain reeled.
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