For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. I saw it this morning in the Daily Journal—an advertisement, offering a reward—" "A reward!" echoed Jack. Wood?" "With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. “I remember you now,” he said. An unwelcome idea came to him.
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