The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary. “And let’s have a look at you, Vee!” said Mr. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. Presently he became filled with astonishment over the singular fact that Ruth was eluding him in fancy as well as in reality. The militia were in already. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. " "Rely on me," rejoined Kneebone.
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