"Perhaps you don't know that this Darrell so contrived matters, that your child should be mistaken for his own; by which means it had a narrow escape from a tight cravat, I can assure you. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding. You are my prisoner, murderer. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. " "Hum!" exclaimed Jonathan. ‘Oh, I do love a flatterer. ” He stared at her, trying to guess at the mystery of her thoughts.
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