"Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. ’ He bowed and indicated the open door at the back of the hall. ’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. ‘Oh, famous. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs. "'Sblood!" cried Jonathan, who had listened to the foregoing conversation with angry wonder, "I've been nicely done here.
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